Hey guys,

I've really messed the beginning of this story up, even worse than the time I took a break in the middle of Ultraviolence. But I always knew I would return to this story, and write more SYOTs after this one.

I've been going through a lot recently, some things that I don't want to talk about, but mostly just things that are internal, nothing too extreme. To be frank my mental health hasn't been too good this past year, but I don't think that's too uncommon right now. I'm sure lots of you have experienced similar things since the beginning of the pandemic.

This is mostly a stream of consciousness so it might not make total sense. But I want everyone reading this to know that writing these stories have truly been a lifeline for me these past couple years, even before the pandemic. It's been less like a hobby and more like a passion for me. I've always loved writing and having hyperfixations like this keeps me sane. During my final year of college, I basically treated Ultraviolence like a fulltime job, writing for eight hours a day on top of my schoolwork and never regretting a second of it. I honestly can't believe how hard I worked on UV and how good it turned out. It's a bit cheesy to be so proud of a fanfiction but it's true.

I want Honeymoon to be just as good, so I've been putting off writing it until I feel like I'm in the right headspace. But one thing that I've discovered is that writing IS what puts me in a good headspace, because I love it so much.

I've also met so many wonderful people through this community. The SYOT Discord server is amazing and I highly recommend anyone who likes SYOT to join it. I would message Platrium if you're interested. I feel bad for disappearing from the community these past six months and I really don't want to do it again. No promises, but I'm going to try my best.

With all of that said… submissions are still open. LOL! It feels so weird that submissions would still be open after all this time, but because of my own disappearance there haven't been applications rolling in, so I don't have enough.

Honestly most of the slots are closed, but you can see on my profile which ones are open. If you're interested, message me and I'll send you the form. As for people who I've messaged about sending a tribute, please get them to me as soon as possible! If you aren't interested anymore, it's not a problem at all. Just let me know.

District One Reaping will be coming soon!

Leto Larston (18)- Victor of the 78th Hunger Games

I always expected Celia's house to be nearly bare, with only the absolute necessities needed for life, but I was sorely wrong. The walls of the Winterbourne manor are covered from floor to ceiling in books. Tapestries and maps hang between the shelves, illustrated in languages and landmasses that I've never seen before. It's entirely different from my own home, which is only sparsely decorated with a few photos and dried plants, despite having the same structure, from the arched doorways to the simple but elegant wooden paneling. As I wait in the living room, I gingerly reach out to touch a nearby book, gently tipping it off the shelf with my fingers. The title reads De bello Gallico in cursive font.

"The Gallic Wars, by Julius Caesar."

I turn as Celia enters the room holding a pot of tea and two cups. Her platinum-blonde hair is tied back in a high ponytail and she's wearing leggings and a tank top with minimal makeup. She takes a seat on a loveseat in the center of the room and crosses her legs pristinely. She sets the teapot on the coffee table beside her and pours some out into the two cups, silently offering one up.

"I've never heard of him," I say. I struggle to the chair across from her and take a seat, setting my cane carefully to lean against the table. She doesn't offer any help and I don't ask for it. Instead I accept the tea and take a small sip. Lavender.

Celia raises a perfectly manicured blonde eyebrow. "It doesn't surprise me. They don't teach much of history anymore. Even when my dad was in school, the teachers didn't know much."

I suddenly realize that all these books are encyclopedias, biographies, histories of the world. Especially accounts of war and war strategy. One entitled The Art of War lies on the coffee table with several bookmarks visible. Another lies open on a page depicting the armor and weapons of some kind of ancient soldier. "Where did you get all these books?" I ask in awe, staring around at all the shelves.

She shrugs, a twinkle in her eye. "A victor has their ways. You'll soon find out."

I don't push any further, still gazing around the room, but Celia seems to take my interest as permission to continue. "Most of these only exist in digital archives. Physical copies outside of the Capitol's national library are extremely rare. I had some of them commissioned for me in the Capitol. Same with some of these maps." She gestures broadly to the embroidered maps, many of which depict places that I've never heard of before.

I nod slowly, taking another sip of tear as I peer at Celia over the rim. I've never imagined Celia doing anything other than dancing or training at the Academy, but now that I'm here, it makes perfect sense. I don't think I've ever seen her with a genuine smile on her face.

"Why do you like this stuff?" I ask.

Her eyes drift away from the bookshelves back over to me. "You don't think history is important to our society today? I don't exactly blame you. Panem's education system certainly does not emphasize it enough. Still, war strategy and history remains one of the most useful subjects to learn."

"I don't see how learning large-scale army tactics can help a tribute in one-on-one combat."

"I'm not talking about the Hunger Games." She says the words like they're poison on her tongue. She snatches up a book from the table and opens it to a page filled with images of armor styles throughout history.

My mouth snaps shut as I stare down at the page. I've gotten so used to the persona that she projects to the Capitol and to our escorts and stylists that it's hard to predict how she will react to things when we're alone.

Celia sighs. "Let's move on to why I've summoned you here," she says with a wave of her hand. "It's not to talk about my library"

I look back up, dread overpowering any curiosity for the conversation that's about to come.

"The wedding. The rehearsal dinner–"

"That won't happen tomorrow," I interrupt loudly, not wanting to rehash last night's events.

The look in Celia's eye as she peers up at me over the book tells me she doesn't quite believe me. What she doesn't understand is that I was trying my best, even if it didn't seem like it. I've been trying to stick to the persona I've created for myself, but it's hard to do around Adrienne and my father, here in District Two in my own home. I can tell that Adrienne doesn't like it, and she even told me last night to try to 'have fun and be myself' before the rehearsal for our wedding. When it came time to give my wedding toast that Two's escort, Mimo, had prepared for me, I had stumbled over my words and could barely finish, finally sitting back down with a frown. There was just something so ironic about spending what was supposed to be the best night of my life reading a script.

"I shouldn't have to keep having this conversation with you," Celia says, sounding impatient. She snaps the book shut and places it primly on her folded legs. "The Reaping is less than a month away. This wedding will be your last major event as the newest crowned victor. Think long and hard about how you want to make your mark as a victor."

I nod. "I understand."

And I do, I really do, but I'm not sure if I can deal with Adrienne looking at me like I'm a stranger.

"Celia?"

The wooden door behind Celia cracks open and a male voice issues from the other side. She immediately sits up straighter at the sound and I mimic her.

"I'm with Larston, father," she says.

The door opens wider and a tall man steps out, dressed like he's due for a meeting with the mayor. His graying hair is slicked back and his cool blue eyes sweep over the two of us in turn before landing on my cane that rests against my chair. I feel myself begin to curl up in embarrassment, but he only gives a quiet, "Very well," before disappearing back behind the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Celia says, swiftly standing and setting the book back on the table. "And after that, at the Academy. We still have to choose the next volunteers for this year's Games."
Don't remind me. I try not to wince.

Celia shows me out the front door, and I can hear her father's quiet footsteps in the kitchen. She can hear them too, glancing over to the doorway. For the first time since I watched her Games live on the television, I can see faint hints of fear in her eyes.

Tag Nylon (14)- Victor of the 77th Hunger Games

I stare at myself in the mirror, my hands gripping either side of the sink for dear life. Others might say it's just a haircolor, but I know it's more than that. I haven't been so nervous for anything since my Victory Tour ended. What will the Capitol think? Or the other Sock Knights? What will my parents think? And most importantly, what will she think?

I shake my head, my wet hair shedding water droplets all over the messy bathroom. I'm being ridiculous, I know. I'll likely never see that girl again, and when she sees me on the television this Reaping, she'll be too worried about herself and her friend's lives to notice or care about my haircolor. A small laugh leaves my lips. I'll be on every gossip show and website for the next coming weeks after the Reaping, but the one person whose attention I'm trying to get won't even notice.

"Tag?"

Someone pounds on the bathroom door. I sigh. This is supposed to be my own private bathroom, but that doesn't stop my family from trying to barge in.

"What is it?" I ask, trying to disguise my annoyance.

"Sock Knight practice starts in five minutes." It's my brother's uneasy voice. He sounds nervous about how I might respond, and I can't say I blame him. I've been a bit of a dick to him and the other Sock Knights these past couple months. I just hope he doesn't think it's because he was the one who was Reaped, and ultimately sent me into the arena, because I still don't regret what I did. I never have, not even for a second.

I pull the door open and try to keep a neutral expression. Spool's eyes go wide with shock as he takes in my appearance. "Uh– I – uh, I'll see you there."

He quickly bounces away, down the hall and down the stairs, and I sigh. I know the storm that is coming, but somehow it makes me smile, knowing that I've done something on my own, without the Capitol's approval, without teams of people planning out my every move, controlling my life decisions. When I step back and stare at my reflection, the bright red hair on my head puts a huge grin on my face. Goodbye to the famous purple fringe from the Hunger Games. If I have to live as Tag Nylon for the rest of my life, then I get to decide who he is.

…

Everyone around the table stares at me. Luckily for them I'm accustomed to ignoring stares. I continue to sift through the pile of possible scripts for our next puppet show, I pretend not to notice all of their eyes on me.

"So, what are we going with for the show the week before the Reaping? I bet the Capitol wants something Hunger Games-related."

I can hear Spool's breath coming heavily, the way it does when his asthma is acting up. It's always worse this time of year, when the pollen is thick in the air.

"Spool, get your inhaler," I say with a sigh without looking up. My eyes scan over the title for a possible puppet show. The Tragedy of Marlowe and Faroud. It's a parody of Romeo and Juliet featuring the two idiot lovers from Four in last year's Games.

"Who's idea is this?" I ask, holding up the paper, finally looking up at my fellow Knights.

They all continue to stare.

Finally Baize slowly raises his hand. "I thought it would be fun to make fun of some Careers," he shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant.

I drop the sheaf of paper back onto the table and make sure to look each of them in the eyes. "Making fun of Careers isn't very rebellious, is it?" I ask

The air suddenly becomes stifling and heavy despite the spacious dining room. Across from where Hasan sits is a large replica of King Arthur's sword that we had commissioned from some arms designer in One. The Round Table itself was made for us as a victory gift from a furnisher here in Eight, though I made sure to return the favor with some of my riches. Sitting here in this gigantic mansion at our own Round Table, with me in the king's seat and the others as my loyal knights, sounds like a dream. It was everything we ever wanted when we were kids. But it seems like we've gotten lost in the fantasy of it all and forgotten the reason why we started the Sock Knights in the first place.

"I know you wanted to do something about Flux and Thimble, but mentioning them in public has been banned," Baize says, sounding uncomfortable, even nervous to speak about them here in the privacy of our own round table meeting. After what happened at the Victory Tour, any mention of Eight's most recent tributes by anyone other than CapitolTV has been strictly banned. I wanted to make a puppet show in which Flux wins the Games and puts Leto's head on a pike, but the other Knights had refused to entertain the idea of something so disruptive.

"Have we forgotten what happened last year?" I ask quietly. "The District came together to shame that loser from Two, and now we're too scared to make some puppets and dance around?"

"Have you forgotten what happened afterward?" Spool suddenly asks. "Flux's friend hasn't been seen in months."

I turn to look at him. It's been a long time since Spool has been brave enough to speak up in one of our meetings. He's always second-guessing himself, deferring to others' opinions.

"He chose to participate, just like us." I lean forward over the table, looking each of them in the eye. "This is why we formed the Sock Knights, right? To disrupt the District? To cause chaos? To show the Peacekeepers that this is our home, not their playground?"

"Nobody came to our old shows other than our friends," Baize says. "Now there's Capitol cameras at every single one. We have to be more careful."

As I open my mouth to respond, Hasan suddenly pipes up. "Other people were arrested after Leto's Victory Tour too."

I close my mouth and sigh, sitting back in my chair. The unspoken implication hangs in the air. Hasan's brother Hessian was arrested and murdered following my victory, and the other Knights still don't know why, not even his family. The switcheroo that Spool and I pulled off after our Reaping is a secret to everyone except us and our parents, and apparently the Gamemakers who had Hessian killed.

"We can't risk any more trouble," Spool says quietly. "We had our moment at the Victory Tour. Now let's show them how pathetic they are in ways that won't get us killed. Such as–" He taps on the script. "through this show."

I feel myself bristle for a moment before deflating back into my seat. "I just want to show them that they don't control us," I mumble.

"Is that why you dyed your hair like that?"
The words dig into me like a knife. Slowly nodding, I silently pick up the script. Three years ago, all of the Sock Knights would have jumped at the opportunity to show up the Peacekeepers at one of our shows. What happened?

We're not the same group we were three years ago. I'm not the same person I was three years ago. Nobody even knows my real name.

I sigh. "Let's get started on rehearsals then."

Augustus Braun (30)- Victor of the 67th Hunger Games

It's been a while since I've been to District Two. The last time was on Lavish's tour, which was almost ten years ago. She, Gloss, Cashmere, and I all came to celebrate One's fourth victory in seven years, and rub it in their faces. We thought that One's golden era was just beginning, when really it had just ended. I wish I could go back to those days.

My stylist has been styling my hair for nearly twenty minutes now. I resist the urge to push her away and instead try to dissociate, something that I've gotten quite good at over the years. After entertaining client after client and singing at party after bachelorette party, I couldn't care less about my appearance or about the luxurious wedding venue. Capiolites, victors, business owners from Two, Gamemakers, and Peacekeepers alike are mingling together under the blossoming magnolia trees. The scent of spring is in the air and pink and white flowers cover every inch of the park. Twinkling lights hidden deep in the leaves of the trees and bushes give the place a fantastical aura.

I should feel like I'm standing in the middle of one of the Capitol's fantasy movies, but I can see right through all the glitz and glamor. Underneath all the fairy lights are trees that were imported here from Seven and carefully planted by Capitol wedding designers. The flowers that are showered over the tables and ground are unnatural colors, probably grown in a lab somewhere and enhanced with synthetic scents. The gallant men and gorgeous women milling about the venue aren't dressed for the event; they're all trying to show up each other in a silent competition. It's just another Hunger Games, shit and blood coated in a veneer of silver and gold.

"You look simply dazzling, dear," my stylist says dreamily. She steps away and examines her handiwork with a glinting smile. "You're going to be the highlight of the wedding, I'm sure!"

"The brides will be the highlights," I say without skipping a beat.

An Avox approaches, waving for me to follow him, and I do so, leaving my stylist behind without a word. I nod and smile at each of the guests as I pass, ignoring them when they attempt to start a conversation. I push past Enobaria as she entertains a group of socialites with stories of how easy it is to eat meat with her finely sharpened teeth– "It's like I was meant to be a carnivore!"- and slink away from some Gamemakers who attempt to flag me over. I don't have the time or energy for this wedding. Hopefully Leto and her girl want to get this over with as quickly as I do, or we might be stuck here until tomorrow. I've heard of Capitol wedding celebrations that last for days.

The Avox leads me to my seat at the front of the venue, and I feel Hypnos' pendant swing against my chest as I sit. I'm somewhat glad that I'm forced to wear it all the time. At events like this, I have a silent excuse for not being in the best mood. People tend to respect my wishes to be left alone at romantic events like this.

"What's up Cavalier Career?"

Well, most people. Cato is sitting a few seats from mine, a charismatic grin on his face. He's wearing a loose-fitting blue velvet suit that is a total contrast to my classic black tuxedo. A few earrings dangle from his ear and his hair is slicked up in spikes.

I grunt in response.

"Hmm, interesting convo," he grunts.

He doesn't reek of alcohol for once, which is surprising. Perhaps his team managed to wrangle him into shape for this one event, or perhaps he really is turning everything around for himself. His kickboxing match in the Capitol last week had ended with him winning, of course, but I assumed it had been staged. Just like everything else to do with victors.

Cato leans in closer to me, apparently still not taking the hint that I don't want to be spoken to. "Got any liquor? They wouldn't let me take any inside."

Looks like my initial guess was right.

I roll my eyes and look away, and he huffs. As wedding guests mingle about, waiting for the ceremony to start, I wish that Gloss was here. Even Cashmere. Or Lavish, despite how scatterbrained she can be at times. I'm the only victor here that isn't from Two, and I feel like an outsider.

But the more I think about it, I'm actually glad that I'm alone. Gloss' presence would just be a reminder of what we can't have.

"I heard that you're singing later," Cato says. "As if we haven't all had enough of that."

Haven't we?
When Caesar Flickerman appears under the trellis at the head of the venue, everyone finally begins to settle down and find their seats. His hair is the same deep purple color it was during the 78th Hunger Games season, a grim reminder of what Leto had to go through to achieve this happy ending. I stare sourly at him as he waves his arms dramatically and grins. Why can't we escape him even in the Districts?

"My dears, the magic is about to begin! Please take your seats!"

As everyone shuffles around looking for their assigned seat, the victors all assemble beside me in the front row. Cato, Celia, Enobaria, Cassius, Lyme, Brutus, and finally me.

The music begins, and a hush falls over the crowd as the wedding officially begins.

I find myself spacing out for most of the ceremony itself. Leto walks down the aisle first with her father, dressed in a simple white suit with her long hair tied back in a low ponytail. It's somewhat reminiscent of the look she wore for her post-Games interview. She manages to walk down the aisle without the cane she had that day, but I can still see her struggle slightly, beginning to limp rather noticeably toward the end of the aisle, at which point her father leaves her with Caesar. The scar over Leto's face from the sphinx's claws hasn't fully faded either, and I wonder if she even cares, or if she thinks it makes her look tough.

I find myself zoning out as the rest of the wedding party makes their way down the aisle. They're all dressed extravagantly, way beyond anything that is normal for a District Two wedding, all blurring together. The bridesmaids are all young just like the brides, and seem intoxicated by the attention showered on them as they strut down the aisle in their Capitol couture. Leto, on the other hand, doesn't look like she feels any particular way about them. But I'll never forget the look on her face when her wife-to-be turns the corner and appears in her flowing princess gown. Her reddish brown hair spills down over her shoulders in waves like the icing on a poofy cupcake. It's over the top in the way that most Capitolite gowns are, but she pulls it off well, her shining smile drawing my attention even more than the sparkly silver tiara atop her head.

She hands off her bouquet of colorful spring flowers to the maid of honor as her father, the head of the Starlet family, gives her to Leto. Leto returns her glowing smile for a moment, until a bright camera flash startles her and she has to recollect herself. Adrienne grabs both her hands and nods to Caesar, who is dabbing away tears with a purple handkerchief. He tucks it away in his pocket with a flourish and the ceremony begins.

…

The wedding reception is as boring as the ceremony, but I still feel my intestines twisting as my time to perform edges closer and closer. Not that I'm nervous; I'm far past that. It's dread that fills me up instead. Dread for the expressions of all the Capitolites and socialites as they watch me sing with sorrowful eyes, dread for having to speak to Leto and Adrienne's happy marriage, and most of all, dread for Gloss to watch this performance. I know he's probably watching the live feed right now from his mansion in One. I'll be singing his song after all.

"Augustus?"

I look over to see Celia sitting down beside me at my table. Cameras flash in our direction, capturing photos of the two of us that I'm sure will be posted in the tabloids and gossip sites tomorrow. She has a drink in hand and her face is lit dimly by the disco lights above us. I grunt in acknowledgement and take a sip of my own drink, looking back at the dancefloor, where couples are dancing and talking together. Leto and Adrienne are sitting alone at their head table, absorbed in conversation. Their first dance couldn't go on very long due to Leto's knee injury, and they've been sitting together ever since.

"You happen to have a cigarette?" Celia asks.

I turn to stare at her incredulously. She returns my gaze without faltering. "Sure," I say, picking one out of my pocket and handing it to her. She gestures toward the door and I follow her outside. Cato is already waiting there, loudly telling a story to Brutus, who seems uninterested. No one else is sitting outside now that it's gotten dark, with only a few Avoxes milling around cleaning up empty cups and plates.

Brutus looks up as I step out. The look on his face is one of derision, and he shakes his head and breezes past me back inside. I know that some of the Twos don't appreciate the romance of the One victors, thinking it makes a mockery of the Hunger Games. They're known only for their fierceness, but most of us victors from One have something else notable about us, and many of them hate that.

Celia though, has always been easy to get along with. I sense she knows the game better than Brutus does. She leans against the brick wall and lights the cigarette with one of the candles sitting on the confetti-covered tables. She exhales smoke and gazes up at the stars that are now peeking out from behind the clouds.

"What the hell was all that?" Cato complains, looking at the door where Brutus abruptly entered. "Asshole."
"Just ignore him," Celia says.

"Don't let catch you with that," Cato huffs, kicking an empty can on the ground.

"He's not here," Celia says, breathing out more smoke. "He never gets along well with the Capitolites. They told him not to come."

I lean on the wall beside her, listening to the sounds of the party inside.

"When are you singing then?" Cato asks.

I glance up at him. "Won't be long now."

He harrumphs. "Lucky."

"Lucky?" I ask incredulously. "Feel free to take my place if you think it's an honor."

"Lucky you're actually good at your talent," Cato sneers, then his face falls into frown. "Same with Celia."

"You won your match," Celia says with a handwave.

"Yeah, a scripted one!"
"Doesn't matter," Celia says, flicking away her cigarette and pushing away from the wall. "It's all the same to them."

Leto Larston (19)- Victor of the 78th Hunger Games

Adrienne's grip on my hand is tight enough to cut off my circulation. She's staring at Augustus Braun, eyes shining with delight and maybe a few tears. Adrienne usually doesn't cry. She didn't cry when we said our vows and she didn't even shed a tear when she met me at the train station after my Games. That makes her emotional response now all the more sickening. The lyrics that Augustus sings are even more sickly sweet than the last time I heard them at the Capitol Ball.

Give me your love and humanity

And if ever I stray or betray you

Toss me out with no further ado

I entangle my hand from Adrienne's and wrap it instead around my champagne glass, downing the rest of it with a wince. She barely seems to notice, her glassy eyes fixed on Braun as he croons into the mic. The venue is completely silent, all transfixed by the performance. I glance over at the table closest to ours, where Adrienne's parents and my own are sitting in their tailored Capitolite clothes. My father sits closer to us, while my mother is sitting with her new husband, an arm wrapped around his possessively, gazing up at Braun with a pleased smirk on her face. I haven't said a single word to her yet, but I know she'll be on me like a fly on honey as soon as she gets a chance. In a few months she'll be sucking up to Dad, trying to convince him that she regretted leaving and that she still loves him, all to get a hold of my victor winnings and the Starlet fortune in one fell swoop. Even though her new husband is the owner of a huge masonry company, his riches can't compare to ours.

I know my mother. I remember her walking out on Dad and I in the middle of the night after deciding someone else could give her more. Her search for more will never stop.

My mother must feel my eyes on her, because she looks over, staring right at me in the dimly lit party hall, and I quickly look away. The song mercifully ends and the spell is broken. The crowd erupts into applause and Adrienne jumps up to clap and cheer, nearly tripping over her long gown in the process. I reluctantly stand and smile at Augustus as he turns to bow to us.

"Best of luck to the happy couple," he says into the mic.

Adrienne motions for him to come over, and the two of them embrace as if they've known each other for years. After watching him on television and listening to his albums for the past ten years, she probably feels like they're old friends.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur of glitter and disco lights. Dances with various victors, Capitol socialites, wealthy business owners, even Peacekeeper elites from Two's Peacekeeper Academy. I've only met a few of them, and even those I don't care for very much. I just want this night to be over so I can be alone with Adrienne.

Just as the night is finally drawing to a close, Caesar gives one final speech to wish us luck and happiness in our marriage. I feel cameras flashing as Adrienne and I are guided out of the venue by Peacekeepers, our hands gripped together tightly. She's grinning in delight and waving at our adoring crowd with an autographed album from Augustus in her hand, while I keep my eyes on the exit, just as someone pushes past our entourage. My heart sinks when I realize who it is.

"Leto, sweetheart," my mother croons, poisoned honey dripping from her words. "It was so good to see you again. I hope you'll give me a call after you return from your honeymoon."

The cameras have descended on us like vultures, and I'm keenly aware of the entire nation's eyes on me at this moment. "I… have a lot to think about," I end up saying. My tongue feels thick in my throat. Her eyes are earnest, but I can read her body language. I can see her hand reaching out to touch my hair and I recoil, tearing my eyes away and walking forward, ignoring the cameras and the Peacekeepers, pulling Adrienne along. Soon we'll be away from this all, at least for a little while.

A little while.

Bellona Presque (27)- Head Gamemaker

I sigh and push away from my desk. The screens lining every inch of the Gamemaking Center go dark for a moment before replaying the footage from the wedding from the beginning. I'm glad I'm no longer the one to comb the footage for any irregularities. Strange behavior from the victors, secret hand signals used by rebels, anything that wasn't scripted right here by our team.

When I was still a low-level Gamemaker, I watched enough footage of the 73rd Games that I could recite every single thing the victor said from her Reaping to her final appearance at her Victory Tour. She had been found dead in her mansion a week later. I'd had to edit the footage to try and take out anything that could insinuate she didn't want to be a victor or that she didn't want to live. After that, the former Head Gamemaker had mysteriously 'disappeared', and Seneca Crane was appointed to his position. Meanwhile, I was hard at work trying to spin the narrative. The official story is that she died of an illness that the family had wanted to keep fact, that work was part of the reason that I had been recommended for a fast track to being Head Gamemaker by Seneca. He'd seen something in me that I've always seen in myself.

Myrtle Harquin's suicide had helped my career in the end. All because she was too much of a weakling to live with the fact that she was a murderer.

I lift up a hand and stretch my fingers slowly. Why did Myrtle and so many others have so much trouble denying their true selves? Killing is just a part of human nature, after all. It's inevitable.

I haven't had any problems accepting what I did.

I lightly touch the screen in front of me, watching as a cam of last year's arena appears. A few hovercrafts fly past the vast landscapes, construction bots hard at work making every piece of the wildlife look perfect. The mutts have all been taken out, the arena turned from winter back to summer with the flick of a switch. Soon, the arena will open for vacation tours. And Leto Larston and Adrienne Starlet will be the attraction's first visitors. A surprise honeymoon location that they'll surely love.

I hear the unmistakable ding of a message reaching my tablet. I tear my eyes away from the arena on the screen to look at my message. I expect it to be a simple message from my underlings, each trying to suck up to me to get Marcelle's old position. As much as she hated it, being the Head of Sponsorships is one of the most lucrative positions in the Gamemaking Center.

My eyes scan the message and I feel my eyebrows rise slowly. It's not from one of my employees. It's from President Snow. A summons to his office.

I try to get my heartbeat under control. Every time I meet with Snow, I make a fool of myself. Here, I'm in charge. I'm the god who controls the Gamemakers, the tributes, the arenas, human nature itself. But in Snow's manor, I'm nothing but another servant, as disposable as the rest.

I stand and brush off my skin tight jade green dress, flattening out any wrinkles. I check my nail polish and then my jet black hair coiled on my head in intricate braids. I would have worn something more formal if I knew I would be meeting the most powerful man in the world.

…

The dark mahogany walls seem to be closing in on me as I walk down the narrow hallway toward my destination. The final office, the most important one in this manor. The one I usually visit only once a year.

I lightly rap my knuckles on the door, my heart in my throat, before I hear a soft, "Come in."

I open the door gently, as if disturbing the peaceful silence of this office is forbidden. On the other side is Coriolanius Snow, sitting behind his wide desk just like he always does at our meetings.

"Mr. President," I say with a nervous laugh. "I wasn't expecting to meet with you for another month or so."

"Miss Presque, do have a seat."
Flashbacks of Crane's predecessor come unbidden to my mind. After Myrtle was discovered in our house, he had been summoned by the President as well, never to be seen again. Has my time finally come?

I take a seat in the chair across from the desk, staring into his piercing blue eyes. I didn't think I would survive the fiasco with the Nylon twins. He gave me a second chance, and maybe I've failed that one too.

"We need to discuss Marcelle Agelasta's replacement," Snow says.

"I'm already handling it," I nearly choke on my tongue trying to speak.

"This new Head of Sponsorships can know nothing about what happened with Nylon and with Loukios. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course." I resist the urge to tell them that I'm not stupid. Of course I wouldn't tell anyone.

"Good." Snow leans forward and laces his fingers together on the desk. "Miss Presque, Marcelle Agelasta and Rowan Loukios were threats. They had to be eliminated. You did the right thing."

So he does know. I shift in my seat, swallowing tightly.

"Sir, I–"

"I told you to keep the situation under control, and you did. Next time, be a bit more fastidious in your planning. That is all. I'll meet you again before the Reapings, Miss Presque."

I open my mouth once before shutting it quickly, jumping out of my seat and heading toward the door. I look back over my shoulder, hardly able to believe that Snow would be commending me for once. Our eyes meet for a split second, and I hurry away, letting the door close behind me. All my worries about noise are gone.

As I walk back to the entrance, my heels leaving indentations on the carpet, I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. My shoulders loosen and I nod once at the Peacekeepers who guard the door on my way out. For the first time since Rowan came to me with evidence of the Nylon twin switch, I feel weightless. Burdenless.

After this honeymoon is over, I'll be able to get back into doing what I love. The Hunger Games.

Like I said, D1 Reaping coming soon! Thanks for reading! And leave a review if you want those sweet sponsor points!