(429 word.)
Billie fought hard when the Peacekeepers beat her poor, sweet Deirdre to death in the middle of the street. Fought and screamed and scratched and bit until they finally threw her to the ground and kicked her 'til she couldn't stand.
She lived, though. No bullet to the head, just a beating that left her limping for weeks and the memory of Deirdre twitching and gasping her last in the dirt beside her.
When Billie's name gets called at the reaping a few months later, she's not surprised. Can't even bring herself to pretend otherwise, to summon any greater despair out of the deep, black grief that's already consumed so much of her, as they pull her from the crowd and onto the stage.
She hasn't been much attached to her own life for some time anyway.
Her miserable daze lasts through the entire ceremony, through the Peacekeepers herding her away and onto the train, through most of the day of travel until one of the old victors corners her just inside the dining car and grabs her by the chin, startling some of that forgotten fighting instinct out of her for a brief moment. But his gloved fingers hold tight, keeping her still and tipping her head back until she's forced to look up at him.
She's seen a few clips from Daud's Games during the highlight replays over the years, watched him win with quick hands and silent feet and ruthlessly efficient use of the simple blade he'd taken from the Cornucopia. At the end of it all, he'd been dripping red, as much from his opponents as from the large, oozing wound covering nearly half his face. Not even Capitol medicine could remove every bit of that scar.
Some folks say he'd lost the eye as well and the Capitol had given him a new one, say it lets him see things no one else can see. Billie had always dismissed that as nonsense until now, with that piercing eye inches from her own, staring into her like it can see every secret she's ever had. Daud tilts her head to one side and then the other, looking her over.
"You go into that arena like you're already dead inside, and you'll never live long enough to make them pay," he warns her, his voice low and harsh. "Do what I say, kill and survive in there, and I'll give you something to live for at the other end."
The anger welling in her chest feels almost like relief.
She meets his unsettling stare and nods.