prologue four
"I have love in me the likes of you can scarcely imagine. And rage, the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other."
- The Monster, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein
iv.
It begins like this: a woman standing near the punch bowl, stiff and unmoving like marble. Features sculpted by the hands of an artisan, smooth yet sharp. Beautiful but dangerous.
She wears a uniform crisp like fresh snow, adorned with a kaleidoscope of service medals and ribbons. Her arms are folded behind her back, strong biceps straining against rough fabric, the perfect picture of stoicism. Aurora's attention stays fixed on those arms. Herculean and powerful, much like the rest of her foreign face.
"Do you know her?" she asks one of her friends, eyes never straying away from the stranger. The celebration thrums on, not realizing that in this moment, here in Snow's mansion, lives will be forever changed.
Aurora's goals for her life are bare bones, a picture devoid of color, but as she assesses this new creature, her once-empty palette fills with pigment. The promise of vibrant brush strokes floods her veins. Like all the long-dead tragic figures she's studied, Aurora finds her muse.
It begins like this: Aurora smoothing the silk of her dress, downing a flute of champagne, walking over to the woman that holds the key to her future and offering a simple, "Hello."
x
The smell of rot permeates the air.
Even in the craggy valleys of District Two, the sun's rays scorch the earth. As the temperature steadily skyrockets, miasma tightens its grip across the land. For all her glory, the masonry district experiences the same stages of decomposition as the dirty coal rats in Twelve. In Panem, Death plays no favorites.
Blow flies zip back and forth looking for a warm, moist protein-rich source to lay their eggs. Beetles scuttle over dried flesh, looking for maggots to feed on. Rocks of all shapes and sizes are extracted from the earth, prisoners numb to the pile of broken cadavers nearby. Sweat drips down the mass of bodies still exerting themselves under such harsh conditions. Time is not wasted on the weak who can't keep up with the demands of their faceless overseers. Perched in watchtowers and patrolling the mines, an army of white armor makes sure to cull the feeble. Here, only the strong survive.
Although work mustn't stop, the mound of carcasses continue to emit a pungent odor of decay. A bouquet of toxic gasses such as foul-smelling methanethiol, hydrogen sulfide, ammonia, and pyruvic acid bloom in the center of the stone quarries. The bodies are stacked high day after day, serving as a reminder that anyone can suffer the same fate.
At first, the smell hurt her nose. Now, she welcomes it. The familiarity brings her a sense of comfort.
Nine years old and Valeria is already immune to the stench of bloat and rupture. Such is the way of life for a girl born into the pits of Hell. Such is the way of life for a girl damned for the sins of her parents. At night, she tries to remember their faces. Instead, all Valeria recalls are their screams of agony. When she was first brought to this place, her tears flowed freely. Now, Valeria knows crying is just a waste of time. A waste of valuable water.
As she carefully steps around the pile of bodies, fulfilling her task of collecting the sandals that are still usable, Valeria can't help but stare at their slightly decomposed faces. Frozen screams. Terrified eyes. Rotting flesh. Drying blood. She wonders if her parents were scared before they faced the firing squad. If they knew their rebel fantasies would doom their children.
She misses them. Misses the luxury of having two people that love you wholly. Unconditionally.
Matters little now, though. They chose idle fantasies over family.
She's been dealt a shitty hand, there's no way around it. Her family is broken, siblings lost in the shuffle of the aftermath. But there's no doubt in her mind; Valeria is going to claw her way out of this pit of misery and death.
Some in the work camp avoid their eyes whenever they pass the mound of deteriorating flesh and bone, but Valeria takes it all in. In a way, she finds it beautiful. After all, a dead body is an ecosystem of its own, in which different fauna thrive. A collection of moving parts work together to make something special happen.
Ex morte ad vitam.
From death to life.
x
It doesn't take long for salvation to come.
Valeria is chained to the Warden's mahogany desk when two figures appear in the doorway. Tall, strong, and imposing, there is no mistaking where they come from. It's only been a week since Valeria's first kill and the bloodhounds from the Ludus Magnus are here to collect their newest cadet. The Warden cackled when she said they were coming to save her from this place. Insolent girl, they are merely using you for their Dies Irae! You'll be sliced open by their trainees as soon as you arrive.
When the two individuals step further into the cluttered office, Valeria recognizes them immediately. Even out in the quarries, they tell tales of Two's legendary champions. Brutus Hammond, The Beast Slayer. With a square jaw and bulging muscles on full display, he looks cut from marble. To his right, Lyme Montgomery. The Commander. While she doesn't match her comrade in physicality, there is no mistaking who carries the authority between the pair. Valeria tries not to stare too long at this perfect woman. Their district's most recent Victors bring a chill into the space despite the crackling fireplace in the corner.
The Warden tries not to look intimidated by their new guests, lounging back in his worn leather chair. His pudgy hands rest on his potbelly, feigning confidence and power. From her position on the ground, Valeria can see his knees shaking underneath the large desk.
"Well, look what the mutt dragged in," the Warden sneers. "It's not every day that we receive such esteemed visitors."
"Mind your station, pig."
The Warden shakily laughs, already uncomfortable. Valeria smirks behind the curtain of hair hanging in front of her face. "Brutus, I'm sure Mr. Thorin didn't mean any disrespect. Isn't that right?" Lyme levels her gaze at the Warden, silently challenging him to say something else out of line. Everyone in the room knows what will happen if he lets loose another biting remark.
"Of course, of course!" the sweating man assures. "It was simply a joke between friends!"
Brutus grumbles obviously annoyed he won't get his fists bloodied today. Valeria finds herself saddened as well. She would love to see the Warden finally get pummeled. It would teach him a thing or two about who is really in charge of things here. For he is but a mere puppet in the grand scheme of things. A cog in the machine.
Lyme forges through the tension. "Good. Now, let's cut to the chase. We are here to collect the girl."
For the first time since this awkward meeting has begun, all eyes turn to Valeria. Refusing fragility, she turns her chin upward and locks eyes with her counterparts. Outfitted in their service uniforms, both Lyme and Brutus appraise the unwashed child. Their pristine coats are a stark contrast to the rags that adorn Valeria's body.
This is her first test. Valeria will not be dubbed soft.
After what feels like hours, Lyme offers a tiny nod. Brutus looks amused.
"Victor Montgomery, I understand you are intrigued by this wretched…thing, but I can assure you that she will only bring ruin to your program."
"I will be the judge of that."
And just like that, the conversation is over. Brutus and Lyme angle their bodies away from the obtuse man, ignoring his presence. The Warden knows better to argue, unless he wants to be thrown into the training pits of the Ludus Magnus himself. Lyme crouches down in front of Valeria, her blonde locks shift gracefully over her shoulders. She smells of petrichor. Valeria's sandpaper tongue cries out for relief.
"What is your name, child?"
After a week of slumber, her vocal chords croak out a single word. "Valeria."
"Do you understand why we are here, Valeria?"
She shakes her head. She's been waiting a lifetime for this moment. While collecting the shoes of the dead, Valeria often found herself staring up at the top of the quarries. Just beyond the jagged cliff tops, lay freedom. In moments of hunger or despair, she imagined climbing the granite walls of her prison. Each day counted as one rock hold higher than the last. Today, Valeria finally pulls herself over the ledge.
"So you know what lies ahead if you choose this path."
Valeria does not hesitate. "Yes."
Lyme considers her for a few more seconds, the hiss of the hearth and the Warden's labored breaths break up the silence. To Valeria, it's all white noise. This moment is eternal. Brutus steps to Lyme's side and offers something from his belt. When Lyme twists back to face Valeria, she sees an ornate knife in her right hand. Engravings of mountains and rivers sprawl across the metal. A majestic eagle spreads its wings on the pommel of the blade. In her left hand, Lyme holds an official-looking document.
Valeria does not wince when the silver cuts into her thumb. As the blood begins to trickle down her finger, she meets the gaze of Lyme. An understanding passes between them.
Mentor.
Prodigy.
The two continue to regard each other as Valeria presses her bloody fingerprint on the starch white of the contract Lyme extends. She knows there is no turning back. With this, she signs her life away. Valeria is bound once more. She will have to fight twice as hard the next few years. Most would be terrified. Nervous, even. Valeria only feels relief. If Stonegrave taught her anything, it's that survival requires sacrifice. Valeria Catalan is already five steps ahead of the competition, for she has already been forged in blood.
Sanguis pollicetur gloriam.
Blood promises glory.
x
Valeria makes it through training easily, one of the few that receive the mark of the Magnus Lupus. The inking session drags on, needle drilling into her skin relentlessly. Valeria grits her teeth and endures like she always does. When the tattoo machine finally sleeps, Lyme directs her to the mirror. Dark lines artfully carve the letters L and M on the inside of her wrist, laurels encircling the fresh ink.
Valeria locks eyes with her mentor in the glass and nods once.
This is the beginning of the end.
x
BOOM!
Blood swirls in hypnotic patterns, waves churning vital fluid angrily against jagged rocks. Tangled in a rudimentary net, a broken body lays smashed at the bottom of stormy cliffs.
Copper curls shine like a beacon above the sea, green eyes searching the clouds for the official announcement that another Games are complete.
As she watches the victory trumpets blast on screen, arm in a sling, Valeria finds disappointment in the conclusion of the past few weeks. Even if she hadn't broken her arm, Valeria is not naïve enough to think she wouldn't have died in the Games. With the Capitol clearly on his side, she would have met the same end as six other tributes, gored on the other end of Odair's trident.
Lyme sighs from her end of the couch. Valeria knows the older woman still holds some despair over the accident. Her mentor all but sprinted into the infirmary, a whirlwind of emotions, desperately assuring her prodigy that everything would be alright. Valeria has been trying to shove down whatever feelings have been lodged in her throat since then.
Grief fills her lungs, ugly and black and all-consuming. It will all be worth it. It has to.
Once her arm heals, Valeria is set to be shipped out to Eight of all places. Instead of a crown on her head, she'll travel the country with a gun in her hands and mission to cure Panem of disease. With the highest letter of recommendation and statistics to back her up, the recruiter down in Padria had no choice in admitting her to the Peacekeepers.
Lyme finds it honorable. Says it will open her eyes to the true nature of Panem.
It does.
x
Among the smokestacks and sorrow, Valeria sees the disdain for the Capitol first hand. Within the first month of her residence, there are four floggings and two public executions. Even the children are bold enough to hiss and throw dirt in her direction. The white of her uniform is forever stained, no matter how hard she scrubs.
Valeria will never be able to unsee the squalor of this place. Her fellow comrades claim that it could be worse; they could be stationed in Six. Or even Twelve, Snow forbid. The idea of a place worse than Eight makes Valeria sick to her stomach.
As she patrols Smogtown day after day, Valeria is horrified by the conditions. She wants to help these people, wrapped in handmade scarves and shawls. Order is necessary, but why cut off a vital limb? Why not nurse it back to health, mending bones? Valeria, conditioned to hate the other districts in training, feels sympathy for what the Capitol puts them through. Someone needs to bridge the widening gap between the two sides.
So, she jumps at the first opportunity to change stations. After three years in the textiles district, Valeria travels to Six. Two years later, Three becomes her new home. Promoted as the country's youngest Head Peacekeeper after the Seventy-Second Games conclude, District Eleven concludes her tour around Panem.
It's not a coincidence that Valeria chooses to dive headfirst into the hotbeds of dissent. She sees firsthand how Snow is choking his own people. Control is vital, yes, but the President is going about it the wrong way. He wants to keep the country separated, at odds. Valeria knows sooner or later, those fissures will lead to a complete fracture.
When the time comes, though, she will be ready.
x
The bright chandelier of the ballroom blinds Valeria.
Turquoise, viridian, amber; the whole spectrum shines amongst the waxed floors of the Presidential Palace. The grandeur of the place is a foreign concept to Valeria. The Justice Building in Eleven is the closest she's gotten to lavishness in the past year. Even then, the structure, bleak and overgrown with ivy, pales in comparison to anything in the Capitol.
Valeria knows she should be out there in the crowd, thanking her supporters and networking with the top brass. Instead, she hides near the punch bowl. Snow invited her here to celebrate and all Valeria wants to do is leave.
Shaking his gloved hand on stage, in front of hundreds of the party's attendees, is enough socializing for the night. Valeria puked in the bathroom after, shaking and gasping for breath, ashamed of the fake smile she wore while a man she despises announced her as General.
"Hello."
Valeria is caught off-guard by the soft greeting. She turns her head to the owner of the melodic voice, expecting a clash of color and gaudy makeup. A seraph clothed in fine silk welcomes her instead. Lovely, full lashes blink steadily, dusting the tops of round cheeks.
Valeria forgets how to think.
In battle, she would be in her grave already. All it takes is one second, one moment of panic, for the enemy to gain advantage. Valeria doesn't wish for this woman to be her enemy.
Undeterred by Valeria's silence, the woman continues. "I'm Aurora."
Dawn.
Morning light breaks upon Valeria's aphotic sky, awakening something new inside of her heart.
Clearing her throat, she responds, trying to hide her embarrassment. "Valeria. Valeria Catalan."
A small smile graces Aurora's lips, as if she just learned a secret.
"Well, Valeria, I hope it isn't foolish of me to ask, but I was wondering if you would like to dance with me?"
For the first time in her life, Valeria lets herself indulge. It feels like holding a shooting star, warmth and magic overtaking her body. It's hard to deny the genuine grin, full and broad, that overtakes her face.
"It would be an honor."
x
Letters arrive once a week throughout the next year.
As spring turns to summer and summer fades to fall and fall gives way to winter, Valeria looks forward to every Friday, when a plain vanilla envelope finds its way on to her desk.
In the Nut, where order is championed and hearts are frozen, Valeria finds reprieve in her office. With each word she reads, every heartfelt promise written in Aurora's elegant cursive, Valeria longs more and more for the day they can finally be together.
This is how they fall in love. This is how they plot. This is how the Snow regime dies.
x
"You think this is over?"
Valeria doesn't answer, just keeps her gun aimed at Snow's forehead. Blood coats the corner of his mouth, long face bruised and dirtied and broken. Panem is in flames and her dictator has been reduced to nothing more than a broken man. To think Valeria served under his name once; killed on his orders.
Screams and gunfire thunder outside, explosions tearing buildings and people apart in seconds. It's been decades since the Capitol has seen destruction to this degree. The predator has finally become the prey, fattened and lulled into a false sense of security after so many years on top of the food chain. History shows that even the most powerful apex predators die off eventually.
The fragile walls of the greenhouse shake and shatter, glass raining down occasionally, refracting tiny rainbows in the sunlight. Valeria pays it no mind. A few cuts won't stop her from glory. From revolution. From love.
Snow drops his head, wispy hair falling into his eyes. It seems time has finally caught up to him. After fifty years of deceit and murder and control, the President of Panem has met his match. On his knees, suit torn, he looks small and pathetic.
"If only you stopped after Everdeen. We could've done such amazing things together, Catalan," he says as if talking to a child, voice heavy with disappointment. A snake till the end.
"You can't talk your way out of this. Not this time. No more games."
"Then do it. Go ahead, kill me. Murder me like you did your mentor."
Valeria's jaw tightens at the mention of Lyme. It's only been a week since the Battle of Two, but the image of her siste— no. No. The cries of her mentor remain fresh in her mind.
"Fuck you," is all Valeria says.
"It's clear the sands of time have escaped through my hourglass," Snow replies lazily with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if he is bored of this moment. War rages on, the blood of Capitolites and Districtsmen flow through the streets, yet the President of Panem couldn't care less. "Yours will too one day. You think you can do better than me? Unify this country? It'll be your death sentence."
Valeria will be better. She promised. For the ghosts of her family. For those she met in the districts. For the person she cherishes the most, who has been with her every step of the way.
Behind her, graceful footsteps sound through the once-blooming rose garden of the Presidential Palace. As the second half of Valeria's soul tip toes over fallen debris, Snow's face contorts into an amused grin.
"Miss Elvey, how generous of you to join us. I was scared the soldiers outside finally had their way with you."
"Oh Coriolanus, you know I wouldn't miss this for the world," Aurora replies smoothly. "Plus, you know they'd do you in before me. I gave them the Capitol after all."
"Quite right, Miss Elvey. How clever you are. You must be very pleased with how things have gone for you. Father, murdered. Sister, missing."
Aurora shows no sign of a reaction. Trained in the art of politicking at a young age, her emotions are carefully locked behind gilded cages. Valeria knows that fact all too well.
In the later stages of their relationship, when they were able to steal a moment away together, whether it was in the Capitol or Two, Aurora slowly divulged the abuse she suffered in the Elvey manse. Even in the epicenter of Panem, perfection comes at a cost. Wrapped up in each other, sheets protecting post-coital bliss, they were able to share their pain and suffering. Hopes and dreams. It was their own secret rebellion.
Valeria, a child of dirt and gore, born with rocks in her mouth, still can't quite believe someone as golden as Aurora, who can have anyone, would choose her.
Her lover's ability to outmaneuver and influence has earned them this victory. Valeria might have ripped apart the Mockingjay, she might have the fancy title of General, but Aurora did the hard work. She won them allies and an army. Valeria simply led the charge.
"I hope it's all been worth it. Change is on the horizon and you'll barely be a stain on this page of history," Aurora responds breezily.
"Aurora, dear, you know better than I; no matter how much you dress them up, savages are still savages," the president pauses to let out a soft laugh, rose petals and ash mixing in the wind, greenery burning in the background. He laughs freely until hoarse coughs reverberate through the greenhouse and force him to bow over. Barely above a whisper, he adds:
"Shit is still shit."
Slim fingers slither their way into Valeria's own bloodied digits, delicate and free of violence. She feels grounded. Reassured.
Free.
The soft palm in her hand reminds Valeria of why she fought so hard to get here. Why she wants to change Panem and nurture her for the better.
Snow looks up again, front splattered with fresh ichor. "You poor, silly girl. Just wait until the knives are sharpened and they come your way. I hope you think about this day and remember what I told you."
Valeria answers by lifting the gun again, metal warm in her calloused hand.
"Good luck. You're going to need it."
Bang.
x
"Come back to bed, darling."
Valeria sighs as warm hands slide around her abdomen. Almost two decades later and even the slightest touch from her wife can bring her back from the edge. She's been doing that a lot lately; the only person that's been able to bring her some sort of comfort during this shitshow. Violence used to be her home; now, her home settles against her back, soft locks caressing exposed skin.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
She can't see Aurora's face, cheek pressing between her shoulder blades, but Valeria can feel her soft smile. "It's alright. I would rather be here with you."
Valeria knows she doesn't deserve this miracle of a woman, especially after everything she's put her through. Being the wife of the president is no easy task.
Guilt still sits in her stomach, an ever-present weight that won't go away. To this day, Valeria still believes Panem made a mistake choosing her as their next leader. A warrior she may be, yes, but the face of a country? Valeria still isn't as convinced. Aurora was more than gracious despite the snub, encouraging Valeria to accept the position in the chaotic aftermath. The districts support you, she had said. I support you.
Even as she carries out her duties, meeting with parliament or reviewing paperwork, Valeria can't help but feel like an impostor. Valeria wanted to rid Panem of Snow, not become his successor. She is made for war not politics.
Valeria wonders how things would've turned out if she denied the offer. Perhaps the country wouldn't be on the precipice of collapse.
"I love you," Valeria turns and cups her wife's face, softly kissing her lips. Moonlight highlights the whites of the other woman's eyes, an ethereal beauty no matter the time of day.
"What has you up this late, love?" Aurora asks after they break apart.
"Just thinking."
"Of?"
"Everything."
"How enlightening."
Valeria laughs. "Sorry, just a lot on my mind, especially after the past few months."
Aurora hums in understanding. Another death plastered all over the headlines this past week. Dolabella Carmichael, one of Valeria's staunchest opposers, found dead in her penthouse apartment. Not exactly a good look. She might not have had a ton of love for the woman, the Communications Minister's words about Valeria made their way into the new cycle often, but she didn't wish her dead. Appointing the woman to appease the old guard came with a bit of risk but she never imagined this is how it would turn out.
Aurora once told her that shaking up things so soon after the war would turn her allies in the Capitol against them. Maintaining balance is critical to their success. Or so they hope. Valeria has held on to that hope ever since she was sworn into office.
Any kind of success has seemed out of reach recently.
"Has Arrius made any headway with the investigation?" Aurora asks, the material of her oversized sweater tickling Valeria's nerve endings.
"Our last meeting was fruitful. He thinks the killer might be some kind of dissident. Someone from Eight or even Eleven. A rogue agent perhaps."
Aurora frowns, fair eyebrows pinched together. "Agent? But wouldn't you know if one of them deserted?"
"Yes, that's what I told him. No one is unaccounted for; I even sent the Special Forces to monitor the Serpent's Nest in One, but all of Raphaél's trainees had valid alibis. Honey hasn't heard anything from her sources either."
"A breakthrough will come soon. I'm sure of it," Aurora offers reassuringly, nimble hands languidly trailing the length of Valeria's exposed arms. "Until then, we keep up appearances and let Arrius follow any leads."
Nails tapping on the concrete balcony, Valeria turns her face to watch the sparkling buildings beyond the grounds of the mansion. If only little Valeria from Stonegrave could see her now. "You're right. I can't do anything now besides making sure we're safe."
A comfortable silence overtakes the space, the cool breeze offering a sense of balance. It seems the night is the only time when Valeria can breathe easier, when all of her responsibilities can be put on hold and she can just exist. She doesn't have to be the leader of a country during these late hours; instead, Valeria can just hold her wife. Nowadays, it's rare that they have a moment alone together.
"I've also been thinking about what Ophelia Sey said in our meeting the other day," Valeria's words shatter the serenity, the truth of why she's not in bed finally spoken out loud.
Aurora sighs. "Oh, Valeria, don't take what that woman said to heart. She has no idea the position you've been put in. Anyone else would have already lost the country; you're doing all that you can."
You wouldn't be facing this shit if you were president, Valeria thinks.
"I gave them a vote; how can she accuse me of not caring for the districts! I'm from Two for fuck's sake," frustration bubbles from the depths of her ribcage, rising to the surface after days of being stifled. Valeria is so tired of putting on a mask, emotionless and unbothered, forced to play the part of the unflinching leader.
Soft palms bring Valeria's head to rest on her wife's shoulder, the warm fabric of Aurora's sweater offering sanctuary. Valeria takes deep breaths, her own arms wrapped around the other woman's midsection as Aurora's nails run through her dark hair.
In the crook of Aurora's neck, Valeria reveals the worst part of her meeting with Ophelia, voice quiet with fear. "She threatened to support Locke when he announces his run for office once the Games conclude this year."
She can feel Aurora's body stiffen in shock as her words permeate the air. Valeria is set adrift, lost as Aurora untangles their limbs and takes a few steps back. "What? How dare she? Of all people, Ophelia knows that man doesn't deserve to be anywhere near the presidency!" Aurora exclaims. After a pause, she adds:
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Valeria's heart breaks after seeing her wife's features soften upon realizing the betrayal. "I'm sorry. I just — I don't know. At this point, I don't even know if I want to run for re-election. I barely won the last one."
Aurora's jaw tightens and eyes become steely once more upon hearing the defeat in Valeria's voice. "Don't say that. We worked so hard for this; sacrificed so much. No one knows what we went through to get Panem to this point."
"What do I have to show for my efforts? No sweeping reforms. Legislation has been lackluster. Reconstruction in Six is still slow moving. Rebel groups are popping up everywhere! I ruined this country. Snow was right," Valeria turns from her wife again, disappointment painted across her face. The last thing she wants to do is let Aurora down. The wind picks up, causing some of the cherry blossom trees to lose their petals, sweet aroma fluttering in the air.
"Listen to me right now. None of that is your fault. I told you we would have to make necessary sacrifices to keep this country afloat. To keep the peace."
"People still suffer, Aurora. Under my watch," Valeria grits out, gaze focused on the light pollution outside the Palace's gates. "The districts trusted me to take action."
"It's their own doing. They made those choices. Lockdowns and stricter shows of force are the only ways to keep Panem whole. It's for their own good. You know that, Valeria," Aurora says with a new kind of coldness. Her words are like an ice bath, shocking and intense. All of the fight leaves Valeria's body, hands aching from gripping the balcony for so long.
"You're right. I'm sorry, it's all the stress getting to me."
Aurora bridges the gap, hand turning Valeria to meet her eyes. Exhaustion plagues her face, dark circles pronounced against her milky skin. Shame blankets itself over Valeria, heavy and uncomfortable. "Then come back to bed. It's a big day and we have to be up in four hours. Don't forget you have to meet Tamora after the Reaping broadcast."
"Okay. I'll be just a minute," Valeria pledges, kissing Aurora one last time before she returns to the open doors of their bedroom. As her slim figure slides into the shadows, Valeria turns back to face the garden below, upper body resting on the stone balcony once again.
Tomorrow, twenty-two lives will be forever changed.
Valeria hates that she can feel the presidency slipping away. She isn't sure how things even got to this point; her first term was one of excitement and rebuilding. Now the districts barely tolerate her and the support she has in the city is waning. Something drastic has to be done to change the course of things, otherwise chaos will rule once again.
Valeria made an oath to protect Panem and put in the hard work to change things for the better. Aurora might try to shield her ego, but she hasn't been upholding her end of the bargain; not for a while, if she's being honest with herself. Especially as of late. In truth, Valeria has lost sight of why she even fought in the first place.
It pains her to admit, but Ophelia might be onto something. Valeria has been put through hell for this position; she refuses to let some far-wing pro-Snow asshole undo everything she's worked so hard for. Valeria won't let history repeat itself. There is still a chance to make things right.
This is how it begins: on a balcony overlooking the rose gardens, where evil was defeated, Valeria pulls out a mobile from the pocket of her sleep shorts and sends a quick message:
Ophelia, are you still willing to discuss ending the Games?
District One:
Yves Davian, 18 {Alice Kingsleighs}
Zariyah Khourey, 18 {Filler}
District Two:
Akiros Sanada, 18 {david12341 and CozenCraze}
Challenger Higanbana, 18 {FlawlessCatastrophe}
District Three:
Unnamed Male
Ezelle Lanpher, 15 {Filler}
District Four:
Rephaim Almazan, 17 {symphorophilia}
Nephilim Delacroix, 18 {Firedawn'd}
District Five:
Azar Mirza, 17 {Filler}
Nishant Anwar, 16 {geologyisms}
District Six:
Ezren Wicken, 17 {twistedservice}
Sonali Volker, 15 {Filler}
District Seven:
Odi Belsvik, 16 {District11-Olive}
Katrin Risberg, 13 {Filler}
District Eight:
Ramsey Fedorova, 18 {ladyqueerfoot}
Isadora Delaine, 16 {rising-balloons}
District Nine:
Eran Jezrak, 17 {Filler}
Unnamed Female
District Ten:
Vakel Kovacev, 18 {Filler}
Marlowe Chyning, 14 {goldie031}
District Eleven:
Sage Mataras, 17 {Filler}
Myora Asphodel, 18 {darthnell}
strugglinginthedark . blogspot . com
Screams.
I am pleased to announce the cast list for SITD. It's been a challenge to even get to this point, so I am extremely humbled and appreciative for all the support. Thank you to everyone that submitted! Choosing the final members of the cast wasn't easy, as every submission could've added a unique element to the story. However, I had to choose the characters that would create the most cohesive and compelling story.
Let me know what you think of our cast and new subplot characters! I'm eager to hear your theories and opinions.
Next up we have our first round of introductions! I hope to have those out soon xx
Until next time.