"Sing once again with me, our strange duet
My power over you, grows stronger yet
And though you turn from me, to glance behind
The phantom of the opera is there, inside your mind…"
~Phantom of the Opera (Andrew Lloyd Webber)
One Week Before the Reapings
Shimmer Starlight (18) District One Tribute
Everyone has told Shimmer Starlight that she is beautiful. That smile will take you places, they'd told her, and so she beams at them and wonders about the places she'll go.
She's kept that smile on her face for eighteen years now. A bright, sparkling gem of a thing, and everyone smiles back at her, waves when she passes through the District square and whispers as she walks by.
Sometimes, Shimmer wonders if there's a single person in Panem who can truly recognize her smile for what it is. Wonders if anyone will ever be able to see behind her flawless mask of beauty and carefully planned perfection.
(Of course, there is no one who can, and no one who ever will, because people see what they want to see. It is a flaw that Shimmer discovered years ago, and it is a flaw that will never change.)
It is this thought that she keeps firmy in mind as she ascends the steps to the mansion belonging to the mayor of District One. Tonight is the night of the annual masquerade ball held in honor of the selected District One tributes- honoring the two wolves set into the Games, wearing sheep's clothing.
The masked ball is something truly extravagant to behold- crystal chandeliers sparkling as they hang from the ceiling, the marble floors glittering in the bright lights. Peacock blues and canary yellows swirl across the ballroom floor, with figures in black flitting through the revelers in a dance of their own, servants whisking away empty glasses and replacing bottles of champagne.
There's a fountain in the middle of the room- something grand, made of quartz and marble. Gracefully tiled, flawlessly designed, it's truly a work of art. There are numerous people gathered around it- the mayor and his family, as well as her District partner, Icarus Chapman. Raising her chin and setting her sights on the fountain, Shimmer begins to make her way towards it.
She sees the way people gawk at her as she struts by. She sees the way their eyes follow her as she makes her way through the crowd, her smile firmly in place, a pleasant lilt to her voice as she greets acquaintances, both old and new. Chin up, shoulders back, smile. A long repeated mantra throughout her training. It's something that she reminds herself of every day. Every hour, it seems, when she wears this perfect little mask in this perfect little world of bloodshed and hate.
Shimmer's steps slow as she approaches the crowd by the fountain. She dips her head in a polite nod to the mayor as he smiles at her- nothing but pride and perhaps a small bit of pity in his eyes. Tsk. She doesn't need pity. She has her wits, she has her weapons, and those are two things that she won't let anything take away from her. Those are the two things that will win her these Hunger Games.
But she doesn't intend to go through the hell of the Arena alone- if there's anyone that Shimmer wants on her side in the Arena, it's her District partner. Despite the knowledge that only one of them will make it out of that hellhole alive, they're birds of the same feather. They've trained together for years, and while Icarus Chapman might not be the flashiest fighter, he's certainly one of the quickest, and one of the smartest. There's a sort of District camaraderie between tributes as well- a silent agreement that, unless explicitly stated otherwise, District partners are allies.
It's with no small amount of respect that she acknowledges Icarus as he joins her beside the fountain- a champagne glass in his hand. Despite the glass being near-empty, there is no flush riding high on his cheeks. Shimmer wonders if the alcohol is simply for show, then- if she were him, she wouldn't be drinking either.
Icarus's eyes sweep over her- nothing but cool assessment in his eyes as he takes in her outfit: a black velvet gown with tight sleeves, the neckline skimming just beneath her collarbones. The front is unadorned, save for tendrils of embroidered, shimmering red creeping over the shoulders. It continues from there, sweeping down her back to form a serpentine dragon, its maw roaring towards her neck, the body curving down until the tail forms the border of the lengthened train. Her hair is swept up by ruby batwing combs that rise above either side of her head to look like a primal headdress.
As he looks over her, she returns the favor- he's certainly dressed nicely, in a form-fitting suit that hugs his slim shoulders and clings to his body, enunciating his long legs and graceful posture. His hair is slicked back- a stark contrast to the feathery mop she's grown accustomed too during training.
"You're certainly a sight to behold," he rumbles at last, his voice deeper than she had expected.
She summons the all-too-familiar smile to her face. "You don't look too bad yourself, Chapman."
That draws a slight upwards quirk from his mouth. Interesting.
She loses track of the time she spends talking with Icarus. It could have been mere minutes, or a few hours and she wouldn't have known the difference. But as their conversation gradually comes to an end, Shimmer takes a deep breath, directs her attention inwards… and finds her mask slipping. That carefully crafted mask, painted with care and precision to show everyone what they wanted to see, and nothing of the broken, venomous girl underneath. Shit.
The excuse she gives her District partner is surely piss-poor and unbelievable, but what's important is that she made it out of the interaction. Panic is a swelling knot in her chest as she hurries around the fountain before halting on the opposite side of the rushing water.
She didn't let anything slip. She's still a pretty, perfect porcelain doll. A still pool of water that reflects everything back at the viewer.
Shimmer takes another deep breath and closes her eyes, sitting on the edge of that fountain. She closes her eyes and forgets everything around her for a while, lets the sounds of the ball and revelry slide away for a while, and she tells herself her story again.
Once upon the time, there was a young girl who was destined to break her family's curse. The girl with eyes like ice has always been meant for more than just District One- always meant for the highest and the most glorious. She has always been meant to fight, and so she goes to train for the Hunger Games when she is seven. That girl does not miss her parents or her sisters. She doesn't miss school, or the afternoons of parties and teas; she does not miss the childhood that she never had. That fire-haired girl has always been meant for more, and if that means that she must kill her first squirrel at eight, her first dog at nine, and her first human at age eleven, then it will still be worth it. It will still be worth it, because that girl still knows how to smile and show the world what they expect to see. A wild, untamable girl, destined for greatness, the shining hope from a line of disgraced Careers.
That girl learns, over the years, how to fight with swords and daggers, how to wrestle, how to smile and toss her head until they all underestimate her. That girl learns how to survive through beauty and through brawn, and all the while, she hears the tales of her District's greatest champions.
One day, that girl will be among them. She will not accept anything less.
That girl is named Shimmer Starlight, and this is the story she tells herself every night before she falls asleep. This is the story that she whispers to herself when tears slide silently down her face, as she cries herself a river before drying her eyes and putting on her makeup the next day. This is the story she tells herself whenever she feels that lovely mask begin to slide.
Shimmer opens her eyes and stares her reflection down. If lovely is the one thing I can do, then I'm going to do it better than anyone else in Panem can.
Samuel "Sam" Dai (18) District Six Tribute
Sam still remembers the years when he'd been on top of the world. He still remembers the times when he could run through the rich grass of his parent's lawn without a care in the world, toes curling and digging into the soil beneath. He still remembers when he was able to smile without a care in the world.
Sometimes, he misses those days. Those days when he could be carefree and wild, a young boy whose only concern was when his parents would call him back from the Dai's large garden and into the house for dinner.
There are other days when Sam remembers exactly why he had tried to set fire to those very same gardens a few months ago. When he remembers the feeling of betrayal that had ripped through him, sharper than any sword, deadlier than any vile competition.
It's a feeling like no other. The feeling of finding out that you've been lied to, all your life. When the image of perfection you'd grown up staring at shatters and reveals the monster underneath. Nothing more than an opulent masquerade, a curtain of beautiful lies told to curtain the ugly, revolting truth.
It disgusts him. It horrifies him. It enrages him.
Sam sometimes wishes he could stop the anger, which would come like an impossible build up steam, burning him on the way out, scorching the one on the receiving end. But when he feels unprotected, left to fend for himself, it returns- it's fight or flight that kicks in, and Sam Dai always, always chooses to fight, cold and indifferent. And yet even in those times, he is cognizant of his morality. He still makes good choices. He can still imagine what the better version of himself would do, and carries that action out, even if there's a red-hot flame burning in his chest and burning him alive. He can't undo the trauma, but he can adapt and overcome. He can survive, and in a world such as Panem, that's all one can hope for, isn't it?
It's funny, how four simple months can do so much damage. How all the highs and lows can combine into one sick, twisted roller coaster of a life, and it leaves him feeling like he's so much older than his eighteen years. It sparks something bitter in him- something bitter and vicious, a self-deprecating twist of humor.
What a way to kick off the year, he muses to himself, tracing his fingers along the stone edge of the fountain. The fountain, which had been his single, steadfast friend throughout the years, which had weathered the fire of his rage and the burn-out when he couldn't scream anymore. The fountain, the centerpiece of his family's gardens, the place Sam had come to call home. If it weren't so devastating, Sam might laugh about the irony of it all- the center of the place that grew the drugs his parents had lied to him about, the reason for his rage, had become his sanctuary.
All his life, Sam had grown up thinking that his parents were rich because they provided goods for the District. Legal, healthy goods, things like food and clothes and water, things that everybody needed and everybody wanted. Things that made people happy in the good sort of way, not the way that dilated pupils and slurred words. Not the kind that clouded judgement and short-circuited the brain.
All his life, Sam had believed that all the money they got was from the Dai Factory- the place that produced various replacement parts for hovercrafts and other such modes of transportation that the Capitol had become attached to throughout the years. He'd believed that business was simply booming, all year and every year. He'd never even considered that there was something else going on- some other happenings, dark and wretched happenings - behind his back.
He'd trusted those he'd loved, and that trust had only gotten him hurt.
When he'd discovered what the plants in the family-run garden truly were, he'd been shocked. Rooted in place as his mind tried to process everything that was flashing through his head- the fact that the Dai family wasn't as golden-hearted as he'd thought they were. That he'd been fed perfect, lovely lies for nearly eighteen years of his life, and he'd believed every single one of them. No wonder people laughed at him from behind his back, when they thought he wasn't watching. No wonder.
Sam's initial reaction had been anger. It was always anger- always has been, always will be. It's a flaw that the silver-haired boy has long since come to terms with. For the most part, addictions are to stuff that's bad for you; that's how Sam had been with anger.
It's in those fits of rage that the world and everyone in it is behind fifty feet of glass. Loving bonds become inaccessible. In those moments, Sam has to take great care not to damage his bonds of love, the people and relationships who have become everything to his heart and soul. For a time the glass disappears, and his love returns.
And yet, when things calmed down, when everything was peaceful, that's when he'd find fault in someone. Something. Sam was the emotional volcano, convinced it was always the fault of others, or circumstance. He never wanted to be that way; it's the trait he most disrespects in others… and maybe that explains a lot. Maybe that explains his confusion and the turmoil that rocks his world each night. Don't they say that most are mean, not because they struggle to like you, but because they struggle to love themselves? "Respond, don't react," Sylvester had said. "Breathe. Take yourself out of the situation, be a fly on the wall for a second, and let the love back in."
It's not like that was magic, Sam still blows hot, but it became better over time. Sam's begun to see the real things that were the root of that anger, not the things he believed were.
There are still times, however, when Sam's rage has to find a way to be let free. In the beginning, he'd fought against his anger- determined that it shouldn't be the way he responded to such a situation. He'd swallowed it- that fire-seed of anger and forgotten to drink something cool in the aftermath. So it grew in his belly until it came out hot as any dragon has ever flamed. Came out in times like now, when he was alone in the cannabis garden and there was no one around to hear his torment.
There's a scream that forces its way out of his mouth. As if his spirit has unleashed a demon. All Sam can feel is anger, all he can feel is rage and hate and the desperation that's been eating at him for four long months of life.
It's a scream that bypasses the ears and sinks straight into the heart, a noise of pain and betrayal. It is the scream of a soul dying, because something inside Samuel Dai has been broken from the inside out, and there's nothing except his anger and internal torture to heal this wound.
Eliana "Ellie" Morris (17) District Nine Tribute
People always say that the eyes never lie. That they're doorways into someone's soul, that if you stare into someone's eyes long enough, you'll be able to see the world from their point of view for a while.
People say that you can fake it 'till you make it. That you can't really know something unless someone else tells you… so if you don't scream your incompetence to the world, you'll get by in life.
People have said that you should always try and see the best in everyone, no matter what they've done to you in the past. That everyone has some good in them, if you only look hard enough.
Eliana Morris has decided that people say a whole bunch of bullshit. And some of that bullshit is currently spewing from her best friend's mouth.
Crossing her arms, Ellie leans back against the wall surrounding the trickling fountain. "Calm down," she murmurs. "You're yelling loud enough that the miners in District Twelve can probably hear you."
Sanda mirrors her pose, folding her arms and leveling the other girl with a flat look. "Ellie, the Reapings are only a week away! This could be the last time any of us see you alive! Do you expect me to be calm?"
"She's right," Ani interjects, and the rebuttal rising on Ellie's tongue instantly sinks back. "Eliana, you've got to look at it from our perspective." For all that Ellie enjoys the other girl's company, Aniketh's use of her full name grates on her nerves.
"From where I'm seeing it, it looks to be like you're talking to the next Victor of District Nine," she retorts. "And that's assuming that I'm the one who gets Reaped."
Ani angles her head, mouth quirking at the corners. "I don't doubt that, Eliana, but I don't want you to remember us by our worries and dismal outlooks on life."
"My outlook on life is pretty dismal right the fuck now," Sanda counters, flinging her arm towards Ellie. "She could be dead in the next month, and all you've said is oh, let's not be all worried or anything!"
"To be fair," Ani protests, "I have also said that she should try and see it from where we're standing, and that we'd miss her terribly if she were to leave us, so we are simply expressing our concerns!"
A frown creases Ellie's forehead. "She is right here, thank you very much. And, like I said, you guys are just assuming my name is going to be called next week. The odds might not be in my favor, but it's not as if I'm frothing at the mouth for a chance to get run through with a spear. Besides, there are people with worse odds than me!"
Ani ducks her head, dark hair sliding over her brow. "Sorry, Eliana."
"What if you were in my situation," Ellie presses. "You very well could be, if you were just a couple years older."
"That would put you where I am right now, though, wouldn't it?" Ani asks, laughter shining in her dark eyes as she meets Ellie's gaze. "So we're back to my original point. Just imagine a life without Eliana Morris!" she declares dramatically, placing a hand to her forehead and mocking a faint. "It would be horrible!"
"Stop that," Sanda protests half-heartedly, but even she's smiling. "A life without Ellie really would be terrible!"
How so? Ellie wonders briefly. How would losing her affect them on a base level? Sure, it probably would hurt them a bit, but surely it's nothing they couldn't recover from?
That's the thing- everyone talks about death like some fatality and something that is terrible and horrible and can never be undone. And she gets parts of that, she really does. But it's simply the way of life. All living things must die, just some have bigger impacts on their surroundings. It's like a stone thrown into a still pond- depending on the size of the stone, the ripples vary in intensity. She wonders how much of a splash my stone would cause when thrown. And that sparks another thought- darker and a whole lot more real than her occasional death metaphor. So she can't help but wonder: how soon will her stone be thrown?
Instead of voicing her thoughts, Ellie instead directs her attention towards the girl who'd just spoken. The eyes never lie. Sanda's eyes are the colour of sweet chocolate. The chocolate that melts at the slightest bit of the heat from love, or happiness. But that chocolate can also grow hard from the cold, harsh, reality that is apparent in the world. Heartbreak, or the depression that she hides from all those around her so well.
So maybe the eyes do say something about a person- but they also leave so much out. They ignore Sanda's brilliant mind, they ignore her bravery. They ignore the way Sanda refuses to ask more than two questions about a certain subject before putting away the rest of her curiosity until she and Ellie are alone- only then will she allow herself to demand for the answers she's so desperately wanted.
"-lie?"
Ellie jolts as she catches the tail end of Ani's question. She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind of suede and chocolate thoughts. "Sorry," she apologizes, vaguely waving a hand as she turns her attention back towards the other girls. "I was in my head."
Sanda raises her shoulder in a one-armed shrug. "We all get stuck in our brains sometimes. No biggie."
Ellie just nods at this. "What were you saying, Ani?"
Pulling her eyes away from where she was tracking a water droplet down the side of the fountain wall, Ani shoots Ellie a wry smile. "I was asking you why you're thinking that it's you who's going to be chosen for the Hunger Games this year."
Ellie shrugs. Rests her elbows on the stone behind her, tilting her head back to stare at the clear blue sky above. Fluffy white clouds chase each other across the vast expanse- propelled by the slight puffs of wind exhaled across the sky. "Just got around to really thinking about it, I guess. Even though my family's not that big, there's still three other mouths to feed, and while we're not the worst off, there are still times when there's not enough food to go around. My name's in that bowl several times now- more so than others." She raises her shoulder again, and pulls from the optimistic well of brightness inside of her. "Hopefully I won't get chosen though. The odds might not be in my favor, but they could certainly be worse off."
A/N: Second set of intros done, and I do have to say, I feel like I've been blessed with an extraordinary cast of kiddos for this SYOT- I had great fun writing all of these intros!
For this group of kids, I have SakuraDreamerz to thank for Shimmer, Alecxias for Sam, and contemporarydancer2 for Eliana! Thank you so much for trusting me with your darlings! I'll do my best to treat them well, right up until we hit the Arena. Then however… well, all bets are off. OwO. I have many plans for these tributes- and I'm very excited to put those plans into motion!
I may or may not have been listening to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack while writing this chapter. I have no regrets, and I will not apologize.
Leave your thoughts in the review box down below if you find that you can spare a few moments of your time for an author!
The next chapter, Burning Under the Spotlight, the third set of intros, will be out on May 3rd!
Thank you so much for reading!
-Rune