She goes unnoticed, she knows no limits
She doesn't know why she does it, but she does do it. She stays after at the shoot after everyone's already packed up and trooped home to get extra tips from the photographers and the other workers there. She spends hours picking the perfect spots and ads and banners to do when she could just choose a handful randomly like the others do. She gets to the Academy on her full-training days at dawn and leaves at dusk, sweat soaked and aching, her hands covered in blisters and her face feeling like it's covered in a layer of gritty sand. No one says anything about the extra effort. They watch her walk down the hallways, and they part like the sea did for Moses for her, but she doesn't really take that into account. She thinks it's just a common courtesy; she does it for most other people when they're not parting for her. She doesn't know why the trainers are either nicer or harder on her, showing their appreciation in their own ways. She doesn't know why people cast their eyes to their feet as she walks past like she's some goddess; in her eyes, she is a goddess. She's Rhoda Hamilton, the guaranteed next Victor from One, trademarked and all that. She doesn't see the posters, she rarely pays attention to the commercials, and she subconsciously picks the prettiest outfits and layers on her makeup each day. She doesn't know when to stop, and she doesn't know that she should be stopping; she's just gone so far. She's pushed past everything and doesn't know anything else.
She creeps down the street in One. Everything feels charged with electricity, and she knows it's because of her. After she died, there were riots and protests and petitions and attempted suicides and death threats to Shane Donegal. She can't admit that she likes the newest Victor from Four, but she can't admit that she likes anyone that has anything to do with the Capitol at this point. She gets him in a way, just like she gets her changed District. They're fed up with everything too, the lies and the deceit and the murder, but they're One, they're Four. They can't do anything but smile and use excuses like Rhoda Hamilton's death to show their distaste. She's almost...happy...that she died that first time. Now she knows. Now she knows, at home in One, that she's not alone.
A/N: I'm posting two today, because I have a surplus already pre-made. Enjoy! :D
