The Victory Tour:

Emerson gently patted his daughter on the back as she hesitantly stood on the porch. "Hey, don't worry. You'll do perfectly fine."
"I know," Elise sighed. She hadn't even left her district yet and already she was not looking forward to her tour.

It felt like a haunting reminder to the districts of what had happened in her Games, and to her, a lost opportunity to put the past behind her. It was a mockery of sorts, a big fat middle finger to her and all of the districts. The Capitol wasn't going to let Elise move on. Her Victor status came with too many responsibilities that she didn't care about. Throw on top of that the fact that she was now a mentor.

At least she had Foxy, when he wasn't too busy placing cryptic phone calls and destroying random bugs in his house. There were plenty of tricks he could teach her so that next year, they'd both be well prepared to get another District 1 kid out alive. Man, Elise didn't know what she'd do without his steady hand on her shoulder. His presence alone made her feel more prepared, ready to tackle something new. They both knew what it was like.

In the meantime, Elise kept herself busy. She didn't need to attend school anymore, but she decided to anyways. Mainly so she could be a part of theatre productions and see all her friends. They were all so nice and sweet; obviously there were questions, but that was inevitable. She wanted to be a kid again and they treated her like nothing had changed. The school theatre was receiving a notable amount of attention ever since people realized that's where they were most likely to find her. She loved the theatre, its sights, its smells, and its atmosphere. Elise was never going to give up her love for acting.

And she still had her father to support her. To tell her on cold, rainy nights, that everything was going to be okay.

"Will you be okay, Dad? I'll miss you the whole time."
"I'll be perfectly fine, sweetheart. You don't have to worry about me. You won't have to worry about anything because it'll be over before you know it."
"I hope so."

It was time to go. Elise boarded the train, then jumped to the nearest window. She just stared at her father, continuing to wave and mouth the words "I love you, Dad" before the train began to move. It pulled out of the station and across the tracks, ready to start its two week journey all over Panem.

Emerson Starbright watched his daughter disappear from the district for the second time in his life. He waved and waved until the train was long gone. Even then he didn't stop waving, until his arm was too sore to hold up any longer and he let it fall to his side. He missed her already.

At least she was guaranteed to come back home this time.

Her character was threatening to crack the whole Victory Tour, and it was amazing she managed to keep herself together for as long as she did.

Elise did her best to keep up her appearance, giving the impression that she was a well adjusted, Capitol-loving, sympathetic Victor. That this wasn't painful to her, that she could look the faces of the fallen in the eyes, and say those scripted lines that gave the impressions she was sorry about their deaths.

And she was.

The words felt too hollow though. They came from some Gamemaker assistant in the Capitol, not from her heart. Elise wasn't sure if there would be consequences for not sticking to the script, and she didn't want to mess around and find out. So she read off her cue cards, doing her best to sell the lines. She was good at that...right?

12 and 11 were both tough. She couldn't look the giant portraits in the eye. She couldn't face the children she had killed. They were all children, weren't they? Elise hadn't felt like a child in a long time. She was still a teenager, even if she felt like she was in her twenties. Maybe thirties. She was growing up, but it was all happening too fast. Especially since some of these tributes never got to grow up at all.

10, 9, 8...a little bit easier to swallow. By now, she was starting to get than hang of things. The atmosphere in 7 was especially tense and worrisome with the increased security, but her feelings of unease had cleared up in 6, and by 5 she was back on track. Districts 4, 3, 2, they all went smoothly with no problems. At that point, Elise was just happy to be pretty much done with the Victory Tour.

She couldn't keep this up any longer. What was the point anyways, other than the Capitol dragging out the misery and desolation? Why was it so hard to just let her live her life and give the mourning families their closure? Why pick at a healing wound?

She still had to the Capitol to get through. And she wasn't really looking forward to that.

That night, her stylist helped her into a sky blue ballgown. It felt like a costume Elise would've gotten into for a play, except much fancier. At least she could enjoy her outfit, even if the rest of tonight was probably going to be painful.

There were so many faces. So many important faces. The President, his wife, the Head Gamemaker, a couple of other politicians, even a few Victors...compared to them, Elise was practically a nobody. What on Earth was she doing here?

"This is terrifying," she whispered to Foxy while tugging on his maroon jacket. "What the heck am I supposed to say to these people?"
"Just smile and thank them; most just want to congratulate you." Foxy sounded tired, like he'd been through the motions way too many times before. "I trust you're not gonna say anything stupid that could end with both of us getting killed."

Elise sighed. "Of course not!"
"I know, I know. Hey, you've done this before and you're a natural actress. You'll be a star." Foxy gave her one last pat on the arm before he off to go shoot the shit with someone he must've recognized. Elise was now alone in a crowded room.

That didn't last very long before people starting coming to her. They shook her hand, they gushed, they squealed, they gave her strange looks that seemed to indicate that they had some bets going on and her victory ruined it. Elise wondered if some Capitolites knew there were bigger problems in the districts, bigger than just losing a bet.

Good thing she had been given a pair of elbow-length gloves to wear. All these handshakes felt dirty.

"Um, excuse me? Miss Starbright?"

Elise turned around. A boy her age was standing behind her, carrying a journal and a pen. "My name is Alexander Snow."
"Hello," Elise said politely, offering out her hand for a shake. Oh crap. What was the President's son doing talking to her? Was she in trouble?

"Can I do an interview with you? I want to write a story about the Hunger Games and I'm interviewing a Victor to see what their experience was like. All the other ones kinda shrugged me off though, and I guess..." Alexander shrugged. "You're really new, so you probably remember everything more clearly."

That's all the kid wanted from her? An interview? The tension in her shoulders instantly melted away. Yes, she could do that. And Elise found herself a bit flattered. This was the only person she had met tonight who wanted to listen, rather than talk her ear off. Someone who didn't pretend to feel sorry about her to feel better about themselves; somebody who actually wanted to know.

"Um, sure. I can do that for you."
Alexander beamed; it was hard to believe they were pretty much the same age because he looked and acted a bit younger than her. "Great! I know a good spot we can go. Follow me!"

Alexander lead her through the room, and then outside to a little garden. The night air was cold, but there were heaters scattered all about the grounds, to keep Elise from shivering. They sat down on a bench, across from each other, and Alexander opened up his notebook. He scribbled something down, then expectantly turned to Elise.

"Where would you like me to start?"
"Start from your Reaping. The beginning. What was it like for you, hearing your name get called?"

They must've been talking for hours.

Elise chose her words carefully and delicately, but at the same time, it was just so good to finally spill her guts like this. Alexander may not have understood, and he probably was never going to understand. He wasn't a tribute. But he was just so curious and questioning and it was oddly adorable. He asked her to spare no details. Not even the gory ones too gruesome for oblivious Capitolite ears. He needed to know everything.

She admired his perseverance a little. And secretly envied his slight innocence. What she wouldn't give to be a normal 16 year-old girl again.

Elise recounted as much as she possible could. The train ride to the Capitol. The first night in a bed that wasn't hers. Training. Making allies. Allies, not friends, although now she was starting to wish she let herself grow closer to the 2 tributes. Presenting herself to Panem and ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. Smiles, both fake and real. How twelve hours before the Games started, she was crying to herself in her sleep.

How it felt to rise into a floating arena. How it felt to watch the chaos of the first day slip around her. What it was like to see a dead body, know how they died and who killed them. Eating dried fruit for lunch with the killers. What she did each day to keep busy. The sense of loneliness once her allies were dead, and how she kept sane. How it felt to survive. How it felt to kill.

Emotions, all those emotions wrung out of her like an old towel. Fear. Anticipation. Adrenaline. Dread. Anger. Sadness. Feeling them all at once, sometimes feeling nothing at all. The hunger pains, the exhaustion, the knowing that there was nobody left to trust, that everybody wanted you dead. The possibility of giving up, the wishing to give up, and then just not doing it.

Moments she could forget where she was. Moments she could pretend nothing was out of the ordinary. Moments she thought she was going to die.

And that final moment in the arena, when she slit open Clair's throat and it dawned on her she was going to live.

Alexander must've filled nearly half of his notebook by the time they were finished. The noises of the crowded rooms had died down a little; people were starting to leave. Alexander just held up the notebook under her nose, as if it was an ancient treasure he had just discovered. For about a minute, he just sat there, eyes darting from Elise to the notebook and back to Elise. His mouth hung open.

"Woah...holy...holy crap! Thank you so much, Miss Starbright! It was awesome to hear all that from you."
"No problem." Elise smiled. "But...you don't have to call me Miss Starbright."
"Oh?"

Elise shrugged. "I don't like it. It's really formal-sounding and it's just not me. Call me Elise instead."
"Oh sure," Alexander nodded. "Anyways, thanks for this. I never thought I'd get an interview."

"You know that means you've got to send me a copy of the book when you're done, right? I need to be the first one to read it. And I want it autographed! 'To Elise Starbright, Victor of the 9th Hunger Games. From Alexander Snow.' Exactly like that."

Alexander giggled as he ripped an empty sheet out of his notebook, writing something else down it. He messily folded it up and then handed it to Elise. "Okay, okay, okay. I'll make sure all those demands are met. Oh, and here you go."

"This is...?"
"My pen name! So you know who to look for."

The second she had taken the paper from him, Foxy came running out and ushered her back inside. "Elise! What are you doing out here?"
"Nothing! We were just talking. What are you doing?"
"I wasn't doing...look...just come back inside! God, you must've been freezing."

She didn't feel cold anymore. She felt calm. Happy. And willing to face whichever Capitolite was next to pounce on her. Maybe this whole Victor thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

Thankfully, the room was much emptier and the guests still left didn't seem to have any interest in hounding the newest Victor. Foxy practically returned to normal the second they stepped inside and let go of her. Sitting down in the corner, Elise folded the paper and took a look at what Alexander had written down for her. He hadn't folded it correctly. She studied his handwriting, much cleaner and neater than the chicken scratch his interview notes were written in.

To Elise Starbright, Victor of the 9th Hunger Games.
From Alexander Snow.
AKA Elliot Jay Coin.

She was back in District 1 the next morning.

He never did send her the book.

Two years and three months later, the story of the 9th Hunger Games has finally come to an end. What a journey it has been.

I've been writing this story through some really crazy changes. I started it in 2019, was continuing it when I started a new chapter of my life, got stuck inside while a pandemic raged on, while I completed another SYOT in the meantime, while my mental health turned into a rollercoaster, while I dealt with my identity, and when I hit some truly low points. This story has seen me open my Discord server, make new friends, say goodbye to old friends, and all in-between. The whole time, TMH was a constant. A constant that has finally reached its thrilling conclusion.

But I am not currently planning to directly continue this verse.

Unfortunately, I just don't have the motivation to write another full SYOT anymore. It takes me longer and longer to complete a SYOT each time, and I have no desire to spending at least another two years of my life slogging through a large project with limited support. It doesn't feel fair to me to put myself through all this effort for something that nobody is interested in, that people are just going to submit to and drop. And I think it showed in writing TMH how badly I just wanted to get it over with because I wasn't enjoying myself anymore.

Writing a SYOT is an exhausting project that takes a lot of dedication. You have to manage the expectations of up to 24 people. 23 of them are going to be let down in the form of a dead tribute. Not everything goes the way you want it to, or the way readers want it to. It wrings a lot out of you and way too often I found myself struggling to just even write one sentence. And it's frustrating and tiring to feel that your work isn't reaping what you want it to, and that people don't care about your story for whatever reason.

Often I find myself asking whether I'm writing to please an absent audience, or if I'm writing because it makes me happy.

At the same time, I feel like I might be falling out of love with the SYOT community. Perhaps I've changed too much for it, perhaps it's changed too much and I haven't changed at all. I used to come online to FanFiction in order to escape reality and now, it's just a draining chore. It's crazy to think I've been on this site for four years, approaching five in July, and I have no idea as to how much longer I plan to stay. Anyways, this is just a lot of personal crap that doesn't really have a place in this note, so I'll just leave it at that.

Maybe someday, I'll come back to this verse and I'll pick up where I left off. I don't like half-assing my projects and this is no exception. I have so much love for the world I've built, the characters I've made and received, and I love to write this. There's so much story and subplot left that I want to tell the world, and perhaps at an unspecified point in time I will.

But for now, I have to say my goodbyes.

To end on something happy, I'd like to issue a thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, favourited, followed, and submitted. Because you made this work. You are the network that gives a SYOTs its wings and allowed me to make it this far. I truly mean it, this story would never have gone anywhere without any of you and the faith you put in me.

Special mentions go out to Platrium, AmericanPi, santiago . poncini20, SilverFlowerxRavenpaw, and LiveFreeOrDie. I can't thank you all enough for the support and encouragement you've provided to and me and TMH. I wish you nothing but luck and success for the future. I love you all.

Signing off for the last time on TMH. Stay safe, stay healthy, and take care of one another. The world may be cruel, but we don't have to be.

See you all again soon,

-Vr