I wake softly to the sweet sounds of birds singing. Yawning, I stretch, my arms and legs extending to the edges of the full size mattress when I realize I'm in twelve, home in the Victor's Village. Opening my eyes, I gaze up at the familiar white ceiling of intricate designs. Sunlight glistens through the cream curtains and illuminates the pale yellow walls.
"Katniss?" I call, expecting to hear her voice to echo. A moment of silence passes and I sigh. She must be hunting, I think, jumping out of bed and into the bathroom. Quickly, I shower, brush my teeth and pull on clean underwear.
Emerging from the steam, I dry my hair and strangely notice a large blank canvas propped in the corner of the bedroom. Tossing the towel aside, I stroll over with curious eyes and sit on the little wooden stool. Brushing my fingers against the canvas, a wave of serenity washes over me. Breathing a sigh of relief, I open the cream curtains, unleashing blinding sunshine and a warm summer breeze wafts through the open window.
I face the easel toward the bedroom door. With my bare back to the window, the sun warms the tiny blonde hairs and casts a silhouette of myself on the hard wooden floors. Sighing, I grab a bottle of red paint and squeeze a spoonful of into the shallow pools on the easel. In the next few minutes, I squeeze bottle after bottle of glistening acrylic paints until I have the colours of the rainbow.
A soft breeze wafts in from the window, rustling the curtains and a shiver runs down my spine. Grabbing a thick paintbrush, I gaze at the blank canvas before me with not a single inspiration. I huff and glance around the room, hoping something will catch my eye.
Since I moved into this house in the Victor's Village, the designs of the walls ceased to amaze me. Just the delicate detail rendered me speechless, and to know it was all by hand stirred a great admiration in me.
Eyes wandering to the canvas again, inspiration flickers in my mind's eye. Dipping the tip of the brush into the pool of shimmering black, I dab the paint onto the back of my hand, adding flakes of white to the palette until I find the perfect shade of grey. Raising the brush to the canvas, I hesitate a moment, listening to birdsong and the sway of the trees.
Sighing, I take a breath and touch the brush to the smooth canvas and begin to paint. As the minutes pass, my hesitant dabs of colour become long thick strokes; with each the motion of my wrist becomes familiar. Quickly, my hand flies across the canvas, coating almost the entire white space in grey leaving an arch of white for the door. With a smaller brush, I paint delicate detail in a darker shade of grey into the ceiling until the room is nearly an exact replicate of the room before me.
Quickly, I rinse the grey paint from my hand with a damp cloth. Careful not to smudge the grey, I paint an arch with a pointed tip for the door in ruby red, adding a pair of knockers in grey. Then I paint the remaining space around the door grey, using short strokes in the same fluid movement.
With a thin brush, I paint yellow picket fence of x's, encompassing the entire room except the left hand corner. Picking up the little pot of deep green, I dab the brush ever so lightly over and over, until a lush green garden grows within the fence. With the brown, I paint thin wooden stakes spaced evenly in rows. With the emerald green, I paint pair of stems, wounding around the each stake.
Finally, with a smaller brush, I paint glorious roses. Row upon row of sumptuous blooms, in ruby red, lush pink, sunset orange, peach, and even gold. Finally adding a magnificent white bud blooming in the center of the garden. A thin black shadow emerges on the floor. Arms wrap around my torso suddenly and Inhale a sharp breath.
"Katniss," I sigh, feeling her warmth before I hear her voice; her single brown braid falling onto my shoulder.
"I've never seen you paint." She whispers, her chin in the nook of my left shoulder blade, her cheek pressed to mine.
"Maybe if you weren't hiding in the woods." I smile slyly, her hair tickles as it brushes against my bare skin. Katniss' head dips back in a little laugh. The sound is sweeter than even the birds. And I plant a quick kiss on her neck.
"What do you see in that strange head of yours?" She muses, knocking her knuckles on my skull; her gaze fixated on the canvas.
"I don't know yet." I lie, I know exactly. Setting down the brush, I place my hands on hers and sigh, feeling the beat of her heart thump through her shirt.
"The colours are lovely, but nothing says perfection like white." She whispers, her breath on my ear.
In silence we gaze at the painting. The sunlight catches the colours brilliantly. The rhythm of her heartbeat is soothing and within minutes our breathing is in sync. Katniss sighs in awe, kissing my neck.
"Hazelle invited us to a picnic in the meadow?" Her lips still pressed into my skin; her fingers tracing my stomach. "Should I cancel?"
"No, no." I say, both longing to relax in the midst of tall green grass surrounded by laughing children and yet eager to finish my masterpiece, "Wait for me?"I ask, peering up to meet her gaze.
"Always." She smiles, kissing me full on the mouth.
As her lips ignite sparks with mine, a hunger stirs inside me, burning my tongue. Flexing my arm, I hold Katniss' head in my hand, entangling my fingers in her hair. With each whip of her tongue, a wave of dizziness washes over me as the hunger warms my chest, through my bones and lighting a fire in my soul. Immersed in the pink sunlight behind my eyelids, our kiss on the beach flickers in my mind. Suddenly, my lungs are inflamed and I snatch my lips from hers and suck in a deep breath. She literally leaves me breathless.
Katniss' hand slips out of mine and the warmth of her body disappears. My eyes snap open quick enough to see her slender frame slip out the window.
The hunger inside me simmers, longing for her touch, her warmth. Sighing, I turn to the canvas. The naked patch of grey stares at me.
A smirk curls the sides of my mouth as I pick up a clean brush and dip it into the white. Effortlessly, I paint the image seared into my mind with a hot poker. I paint an elderly man in a crisp white suit and a rose in his breast pocket, chained to a metal chair with shackles around his ankles and spikes across his torso.
...
"Always."
In the twilight of venom, Katniss whispers in my mind. As I wake, I remember holding her, nestled in bed. Stay with me, she'd said. Always, I whispered, but the sleep syrup claimed her before she could hear. Somehow my mind has trapped this word to torment me.
I realize before I even open my eyes, I'm sitting in the metal chair of the Chamber. The question was, had I fallen asleep during a daydream or was Katniss and the painting a tragic figment of a nightmare laced with venom? Sighing, I crane my neck up. My heart skips a beat. I'm staring into the snakelike eyes of President Snow.
My eyes widen in horror, a shiver runs down my spine as I think of the proximity of Annie and Johanna to this man who despises me. My eyes narrow, as rage courses through me.
"It's a curious thing, watching people sleep." He says casually, fiddling with the white leather gloves in his hand. "It's no surprise you whisper Miss Everdeen's name."
I think my tongue has frozen and speech will be impossible, but I surprise myself by replying in a voice equally as casual. "I know what you're trying to do." I say, "It's ingenious actually. I'd shake your hand but...as you can see I'm a little tied up." I smirk, shifting my arms ever to slightly to jiggle the chains binding me.
"What is it you think you know, Mr Mellark?" Snow asks, raising a hairy white eyebrow.
"Changing the rules of the Quell to eliminate the Victors, of course..." I reply, feeling a fire light under my belly.
"You know your history." Snow seems impressed. But he has no idea what I know.
"Then instructing the Gamemakers to give Katniss and I scores of 12, provoking the Careers." I say, remembering the dagger eyes they'd aimed at us during training. "When the Careers failed to kill us and our alliance formed on the beach, you erected the force field. When Katniss burst into tears, she convinced you of her true feelings." I'm furious now and there's no water to extinguish the flames.
My body breaks out in a sweat at the memories. "But why stop there when you can use her ultimate weakness as more than bait!?" I seethe, rattling the chains and clenching my fists until my knuckles turn white. "Why not brainwash me with hallucinating venom. In the hopes that, as a weapon fuelled by fear and rage, I'll kill Katniss myself..." My breathing is heavy, my heart raging like a beast caged behind my ribs.
Snow is speechless, frozen where he stands. His snake-like eyes locked on mine.
"But that's where your plan fails," I say in a near whisper, leaning back in my chair and relaxing my hands, "Because the rebels will be more than eager to execute a traitor."
Snow thaws from paralysis, licking his dry cracked lips. The blood on his breath makes my stomach churn. "You're very clever...I see you have a fire of your own." He begins to pace slowly, "Truth be told, I knew medieval torture was futile. If you knew any rebel secrets you'd rather die than divulge them. So in a way, I owe you congratulations. You're no longer a piece in my games." He says and steps closer to me. "You are the game."
It takes a moment for his last words to sink in. Then the full weight of it hits me. Disgust rises in my throat and I spit on Snow's shoes. His jaw clenches and I know I've crossed the point of no return. Raising his hand, he snaps his fingers and a door opens from within the bright white wall.
A red haired man in an Avox uniform is thrust into the Chamber and tumbles to the floor before my feet. Darius peers up at me with a bloody lip and bruised nose and suddenly I remember his face. He'd defended Gale for game hunting and suffered a blow trying to free him from the whipping post. Darius is a traitor for protecting Gale and now he is going to die because of me.
A strangled sound escapes me. A strange combination of a gasp and a groan that comes from being submerged in water, deprived of oxygen to the point of pain. Darius' eyes widen with fear as Snow pulls on the white leather gloves.
Suddenly I'm thrashing in my chair, as Snow's fist collides into Darius' jaw with such force he's knocked back. But Snow is merciless, pounding bruises and slashing gashes across his face and neck. He kicks Darius once twice three times and I hear the snap of breaking bones.
I break out in a sweat as a cry erupts from Darius. It's truly indescribable, raising the hairs on the back of my neck and sends a shudder through me. I lunge forward in the chair, the spikes across my torso puncture and I feel a gooey warmth that can only be my blood.
Soon Snow's white gloves are saturated red and his suit is splattered. Darius is writhing on the ground, coughing up blood. He's bleeding internally, he only has a few minutes left. Suddenly, Snow takes a breath and straightens up. He slips off the gloves, dripping now and pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Sighing, he wipes the sweat and blood from his face.
I'm glowering now, my chest rising and falling in fury. Darius lies dying on the ground, curled into a ball. Snow's snake-like eyes never leave mine as if he doesn't wish to miss one second of my reaction. His message is clear: one more wrong move and Lavinia is dead. In this moment, Snow knows I would do anything to keep Katniss safe. He knows I would never let the love of my life die even if it means I have to lose my own.
The white door opens again and without a word, Snow disappears. For a moment, only the sound of my heavy breathing fills the Chamber.
"Darius?" I whisper, hoping despite his injuries he holds onto a flicker of life. But he's crippled and immobilized.
The door opened again and two guards emerged. Seeing Darius in a pool of his own blood stopped them in their tracks. I can tell by the look in their eyes, they're impressed by the damage such a fragile old man can do with his bare hands.
"Release me," I say in a low growl, my gaze roaming Darius' body for a pulse. The guards were frozen where they stood. My head snaps up impatiently, "NOW!" I scream, jutting forward in my chair.
The guards side step passed Darius and with a ring of old keys begin to unlock the chains. As the chains fall to the floor, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. The second I'm free, I slump to the floor. Glancing over Darius' body, I fear touching him will cause him more pain. Hesitantly my hands shake as I grab his shoulder and turn him over.
I let out a small cry, seeing his bruised face. One eye is bruised a deep purple, swollen and bloody. Unable to snatch my eyes from him, I suddenly regret attacking the guards and beating them bruised.
"Darius look at me," I whisper, cradling his torso in my arms. Under my hand I feel a faint heartbeat. "Open your eyes." I say, shaking him slightly. Darius sighs suddenly and my breath catches in my throat. His eye opens and a single tear slips out. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Is all I can muster, tears stinging my eyes.
Darius gulps and I know he wishes to say something. Strangely, he raises his hand and I think it's to wipe away my tears when he pulls at the collar of his uniform. Frustrated, Darius tugs at it but suddenly he's shuddering, his body seizing in my hand. Before I can brace myself, Darius inhales a single breath and his heart stops. Conflicting emotions rage inside me, a dangerous cocktail of rage and revenge. With three fingers, I close his eye and stifle my tears. His grasp clenches tightly on his collar and slowly, I pull it aside. Seared into Darius' skin is a mockingjay scar. A smile creeps onto my face. At least his death won't be in vain.
When I return to the Cage I don't dare speak his name, for fear opening my mouth would unleash the aching sobs building beneath my chest. His screams will forever torment my nightmares. Darius was beaten to death right before my eyes. His blood is on my hands. Afflicting such spite on Snow wasn't worth Darius' life. His screams will forever torment my nightmares and I regret not holding my tongue. For if I had Darius would still be alive.