Sylvia was still in Seven. In fact, she hadn't even left the bedroom of her house since winter. It wasn't by choice. Well, it wasn't her choice, at least.
After her Games, her family only grew more and more scared of her with each year that passed. They had seen what she was capable of. And if she wasn't properly reigned in, then only god knows what would happen.
But the way they tried to control her was a little too extreme.
Years and years later, historians would debate this very topic. Why hadn't the Morris family gotten proper treatment for Sylvia? Sure, there weren't any good psychiatrists in Seven, but there were in the Capitol. Hell, there was even a care home, with some of the best doctors in the country. And money was no longer an issue. They could afford it.
One historian named Peridot Chancer suggested that the reason could have something to do with the family simply panicking and doing the first thing they could think of doing. Or maybe they were ashamed of their daughter and didn't want any more attention to be brought to her. Or maybe this was their way of punishing her for all the trouble she had caused them. To be honest, Peridot wasn't really sure herself. There were many possibilities.
Whatever the reason, Sylvia entered her bedroom and never came back out.
The windows were boarded up. The door was replaced with a thicker, stronger one. There was no way out.
She had everything she needed in there. There was her bedroom with her bed, clothes, television and personal effects. She had an ensuite bathroom. Food was slipped in through a specially installed slot in the door. For other necessary items that were too big to fit, the door was opened and guarded carefully while the items were placed inside the room.
Otherwise, Sylvia was left completely alone. Alone with everything but her freedom.
She did not feel lonely, however. She had the Fire Spirit, after all. And of course, the usual faces and voices that would pop up out of nowhere. In the dim light that seeped through the boards and thick curtains on the windows, faces floated up and down the walls. Voices would talk to her, even if there wasn't a face to go with them.
Not all of them were friendly, though. Some screamed curses at her. Others simply cried and moaned in pain.
And there were several, that Sylvia was so sure worked for the Weatherman, that told her she was useless, pathetic, weak. Fire was useless. It would never stand up to the power of rain. She was stupid for thinking otherwise.
Sylvia yelled and threw her books, ornaments and whatever else she could at them. She could never hit them, however. They would simply slide away up the wall, laughing as they went.
Downstairs, everyone fell silent during these tirades.