Sixty Seven

Part III

Reunion Show and Victory Banquet

The lights blaze down on me as I walk onto the stage. I've been here before, mere weeks ago, but it seems like a whole lifetime has passed. Everything's different now; I'm the only tribute left. It feels wrong, like I'm violating about fifty thousand rules just standing here, but the way the crowd is screaming and cheering my name below, I know what I'm doing is right. I just wish I wasn't alone.

Caesar beckons me over, a taloned hand extended. His scarlet mane and skin is sickeningly reminiscent of blood, and it makes my stomach churn. I teeter over on my tiptoes, booted feet tap-tap-tapping against the marble stage. My metal hand is hidden behind my back, feeling disconcertingly real as I clench it into an anxious fist. I don't know why I'm hiding it; it's not as if it's a secret. Everyone here and back home probably knows about it already. But something is holding me back from waving it openly, from flaunting my battle scar. It would feel wrong to do so; somehow, as if I were rubbing the deaths of all the other tributes in Panem's face.

I reach the couch Caesar is patting invitingly. I sit, swallowing heavily as I realise that the red of my skirt matches his skin exactly. Matches the colour of blood. Oh, God.

I register hazily that he's speaking to me, asking me something. I tune back into the present, trying to ignore the buzzing sound in my ears. I wonder where it came from.

"…and we all know how desperately you tried to save him, but you couldn't. Do you think you broke your promise?" Flickerman smiles at me, his teeth glistening in the heavy lighting. To me, his incisors seem almost pointed, like he's about to leap towards me, fangs outstretched, ready to bite…

I blink, and suddenly Caesar's smile…is just Caesar's smile. No fangs. No creepy movements. I shake my head slightly. Am I going mad?

"Uh…sorry?" I ask. "What was the question?" Caesar frowns, saying, "Royal, of course. Do you feel like you've broken your promise to him?"

Royal. I close my eyes for a moment, remembering the way his dark curls bounced as he laughed, his smiling eyes, his shocked expression as he hit the target in archery training…and his terrified face, frozen in death, as he crumpled to the ground with an axe in his back…

"No!" I whispered, wrenching my eyes open, the images dissipating as quickly as they came. I have the death wobbles in my legs, and I watch them for a long moment, shaking and jittering and having spasms against my will. I take a deep breath. "Yes," I say. "Yes, I broke my promise." I shift my head upwards, ignoring Caesar beside me, instead focusing on the crowd. "Yes, I promised him he'd be Victor! Yes, I watched him die! Yes, yes, yes!" I'm yelling now, breast heaving, tears threatening to flow. I blink them back. "God, yes," I murmur, chin falling back down to rest on my chest. "I failed him. I watched him die. He's dead. Oh, God."

There's a light pressure on my arm; Caesar's hand. I suppose it's meant to be comforting, but his fingernails are digging into my forearm flesh, making the gesture anything but. "It's over, Eulalie," he says kindly. "It's okay to cry now."

"No!" I shake off his arm and sniff deeply, suddenly angry. I don't know why. "I'm fine," I spit tersely. Caesar nods as if he understands perfectly. "Of course you are. Now, about this arm…?"

The interview seems to last forever. Caesar covers all the basics from the Games, and I find it easiest to just smile blankly and nod in agreement. It seems to keep everyone happy, and the last thing I want to do is actually think about the Games. I just want to put them out of my mind, at least for now.

Halfway through Caesar's dramatic description of my tripwire trap that decapitated Troian, I think inexplicably of Sienna. My metal hand moves slightly to cover my flesh-and-blood one, my index finger caressing the green and gold ring on my thumb. I don't know how I ended up with it, because I sure as hell don't believe in ghosts, or premonitions, or the dead coming back to haunt us. But still…there is no other explanation as to how I came to be holding the ring other than something exceedingly supernatural, and so now I'm not sure what I think…what I'm supposed to think. I glance down at the ring, reminded of Sienna. I just wish she was here, that I could see her again, talk to her, if only for a moment…

And, just like that, something in my peripheral vision catches my eye. I swivel slightly, and see a familiar mane of dark hair framing a pale face and snapping green eyes. Sienna. What?

She's watching me, and smiles as our gazes meet. She doesn't look like a ghost; in fact, she's shockingly substantial, just as if she never died. She raises her hand in a cheeky greeting, but when I blink to refocus…she's gone.

I've gone round the bend, I think, horrified. I blink several times, but Sienna doesn't reappear. I turn back towards Caesar and the crowd, but they haven't noticed anything amiss. He's still chattering away, and I nod blithely, my mind desperately ticking overtime. I don't understand this…

"…and now, the montage!" I tune back in just in time to see the big screens that were once black flickering to life. And then the show begins.

This year, it seems the Gamemakers have gone for a different angle other than romance or viciousness or just run-of-the-mill death; they've focused, instead, almost entirely on me. My daring promise to save Royal - I notice they've condensed my speech, making it less rebellious - and the fact that I failed him; my narrow scrapes with death, including when I fell from that fucking tree - I look away as the stick impales my arm onscreen, and I hear the crowd gasp in pity; my ruthless killings of other tributes - again I look away, bile rising in my throat; and my alliance with Sienna, ending with the dramatic finish of my horrified screams as I realised that she was dead. The film cuts off before the bit where I refused to board the hovercraft, and I wonder why. Are they afraid it's too much a show of defiance? That they don't want to give the Districts ideas?

The montage lasts three-and-a-half hours. I'm impressed at the way they managed to condense weeks of bloodthirsty fighting into 210 minutes, but then again, with the focus mainly on me, I suppose it wasn't that hard.

At the show's end, the crowd cheers, deafening me with their screams of joy. It's sick.

I look over my shoulder to where President Snow has appeared. His smile is wide, but to me it looks forced, and he has a firm grip on the shoulder of the little girl beside him who carries the crown. The crown… It's beautiful. Gold and silver entwined, it's more a tiara than anything else, like something a princess would wear. Little metallic leaves dot the wire circle, and small coloured gemstones practically drip off of it. Something like this would feed the entirety of District Three for a whole year.

Snow approaches me, lifting the crown off of its velvet cushion. I stand at a sign made from Caesar, and Snow leans forward to place the crown atop my head. It's the heaviest thing I've ever felt, weighing me down, and suddenly I feel an insane urge to rip it off and stomp on it, smashing the precious metal to smithereens. In fact, I'm about to reach up and do just that, when my gaze finds Dimitri's face in the audience. He's nicely spruced up, grey-flecked hair perfectly gelled, but the expression on his face is stiff, and he's shaking his head. He knows exactly what I want to do, and he's telling me no. I drop my hands to my side again, and the crowd roars.

I'm following the rules, I'm doing what's right, but to me, it all feels wrong.

The banquet is loud and joyful and full of Capitol citizens telling me how fantastic I was in the arena. I hate it. The food tastes bland in my mouth, like ashes and dust, and wherever I go, it seems like I see the other tributes everywhere. Troian from Two is by the punch bowl, pouring herself a glass. She flips me the bird, and then she's gone. Royal, dear, darling Royal is sitting by the door, playing a hand-clapping game with his murderer, Alistair from Seven. They turn simultaneously and stare at me, their eyes like flames. I back away and flee from the sight.

And Sienna. She's everywhere I look. Standing on the buffet table, performing an odd sort of jig (I'm sure that's my imagination). Shaking hands with previous Victors. Scarfing down hunks of meat straight from the bone. Creeping up behind me, tapping on my shoulder, but vanishing when I turn around to investigate. The whole thing is absolute torture. I just want the night to end. I just want to go home.

The night ends well past dawn. I stumble into my Capitol room, throwing off my dress and tossing the crown into the deepest, darkest depths of the wardrobe. I can just find enough energy to turn down the sheets before crawling into them and sinking into a deep sleep, tears drying against my cheeks with a prickle of pain.

Returning Home from the Capitol

I barely even register the journey home. I'm stuck in a daze of weirdness, unable to distinguish between dreams - well, nightmares - and reality. I'm still seeing Sienna. She's sitting by my bed when I wake, or hiding beneath the table when we're eating. Don't ask me why. It freaks me out, seeing dead people like this. It disturbs me, twists my brain around until I don't know which way is up or what way is right.

I think I'm going mad.

Anyway. The train is slowing down, now; I can feel the engines purring, ready to coast to a stop. The windows have become my new best friend: my hands are glued to their crystal clear glass, my eyes fixed on what lies beyond.

The District's fence comes into view, and I almost scream with excitement. I never thought I'd see that ugly, barbed wire again. I'm smiling, now, but then I remember Royal, his face as he laid dying, and my grin slides off my face. Who am I to deserve a homecoming, while his body lies decaying in the ground? The answer is no-one. I am nobody. I deserve nothing.

And yet the train keeps moving, slipping in through the gates, pulling up at the station. I can see a gathered crowd outside, and suddenly there's a sick feeling in my stomach. I walk slowly to the front doors, each step weighing a million tonnes, like a death march.

Then someone clears their throat beside me.

I turn, expecting Dimitri, or even Karin, bitch as she may be, to be there and give me some heartfelt advice. Instead, I find myself staring into the snapping eyes of Sienna.

Oh, fuck. Not again.

Her amused expression makes me realise I just said that out loud. It seems I still have the decency to blush. "Manners, Lillie," she grins at me. Her dark hair is tightly wound, pulled back against her scalp. My vision blurs for a moment, and I think I can see the bones of her skull shining through her skin. Then I blink, and Sienna is human again. Well, as near to human as one can be when dead, anyway.

The train grinds to a halt. I glance for a split second at the doors, which are vibrating, ready to open, and when I look back to Sienna, she's gone.

"Fuck," I repeat.

The doors slide ajar before me, and I'm greeted by hundreds of people, screaming my name. It's enough to make me want to swoon. I search the crowd for familiar faces; there's Polka, and Glenda, and Ameleia, and Ash. Ugh. I always hated him.

And there, smack bang in front of me, are the people I missed so much in the Capitol the pain made my heart tear almost in two. There's Dad, looking lost as ever when he's out of the house. Sean, my beautiful brother, is standing beside him, in his arms an orange fur ball with bow legs and a squashed face: Fatso. He's even rounder than when I left!

And then…and then…

Lucah.

His mere name makes my heart go into palpitations now. He looks the same as ever: that mop of rugged blonde curls; those delicious blue eyes; and his sturdy, strong arms, ready to wrap around me. I know I'm supposed to smile and wave, to please the crowd, but seeing Lucah there, right in front of me, is just too much. I stagger off the platform, stumbling, and then he is there, holding me, kissing my hair and my forehead and the tip of my nose and, finally, finally, my lips.

He tastes like machine oil and grease and melted chocolate. Like perfection.

I feel more than see or hear the cameras being snapped, photos being taken, but I couldn't care less. Because now my brother and my father have joined Lucah and my embrace, and I'm laughing like a madwoman, crazy in love, happy to be home at last.

Moving to Victor's Village

The Capitol is an asshole.

My family and I already live in Victor's Village. We've lived there since forever, and it's our home. But now we have to move: two houses down the road, into a new mansion with new furniture and new everything.

It sucks.

We're meant to be going today, but I can't bear to just yet. So I've skived off work for the morning. I just need some time to think.

Our bike shed is round the back of our old house. The stuff in there is dirty and rusted, but after a half hour of good, solid screwing in gears and realigning cogs, I've gotten my ride up to scratch. It's nothing flash, but it reminds me of the old days. Before the Games, before Sienna, before everything.

All right, I'll admit it. The clothes I'm wearing are way too fancy for anything other than a dinner party. But I kind of want to look nice for Lucah. I am going to meet him, after all, and even though he's never cared about my looks before - he always called me a skinny little boy - I can't shake the feeling of wanting to impress him, to get under his skin. I love him so goddamn much, and yet I can't help but want more.

I'm such a bitch.

The road outside Victor's Village is smooth and well-paved, one of the only roads in the District that's pretty nice to ride on. I hop onto my bike, arranging my skirt so it's comfortable to sit on, and then pedal off, not looking back. My hair streams out behind me, a river of gold. It was so much shorter before the Games, but weeks in the sunlight have allowed it to flourish, and now its uncomfortably long. I want to cut it, but Lucah tells me not to. He says it's beautiful, the most beautiful hair he's seen, and I won't deny that I like they way he wraps his fingers into it, pulling it almost painfully against my scalp as he kisses me like there's nothing to lose. And, I suppose their isn't. Except maybe our dignity, if someone spotted what we looked like. Or our innocence. But I don't want to throw that away, just yet. I need to take it slow. I don't think I'd be able to handle anything as intimate like that…one day; I'd love nothing more than to do it, but not just yet.

My basket bounces merrily against my chest as I ride. It's full of tulips that I picked from our garden. They're for Mariette, Lucah's mother. She's the kindest soul in the world, and always wanted a garden of her own, but the Cartwrights have never had much money. So I've decided to bring our old garden to her. It's the least I can do, the way I've been acting lately.

Because I have been weird. Sometimes I burst into tears for no reason, or scream suddenly during a pleasant conversation. I'm always on edge, and I never leave home without a dagger slid into my back pocket. I just don't feel safe anymore.

And on top of all that, I'm still seeing Sienna. She follows me around some days, asking the oddest questions and getting me to talk about my District. I think Lucah's noticed something's up; he's always looking at me, catching me off guard. And that's another reason why I'm visiting him instead of packing. I've decided it's time to tell him he's fallen in love with a psycho. I'm not looking forward to it.

I reach his house. It's a little cottage, one of many standing along the dirt track that is Rose Berry Road. The shutters are nailed shut after too many nights of gusty winds, and the paint peels off the walls in great clumps. The doorbell is broken, and the letterbox is askew.

It's my favourite place in the world.

I park my bike in the front yard, careful to not snag my candy-striped socks on the spokes of the wheel. I grab the basket of flowers and walk up the path, navigating my way through an abundance of muddy shoes and discarded gears and wires. Reaching the door, I knock three times, one slow tap followed by two quick ones. This way, Lucah'll know it's me at the door, and not one of the council members asking for the overdue water bill.

The door is wrenched open, and suddenly Lucah is there, all smiles and laughter in his bright, diamond-blue eyes. Before I can say a word, he steps outside and gives me a firm kiss, his lips parting mine and his hand resting against the small of my back. I smile into the kiss, and he pulls away as quickly as he came, grinning roguishly. I give him the finger, jokingly, but unfortunately Mariette comes to the door at that precise moment.

"Eulalie May," she scolds. "Not under this roof, thank you." I clear my throat, holding out the tulips as a peace offering. Her smile softens, and she takes them, nodding her thanks. "Off you go, then," she says. Lucah grins, kisses his mother goodbye, then follows me down the path.

When he sees my bike, his smile widens. "You fixed it, Yule?" His nickname for me is a double pun: Yule as in my name, Eulalie, and also as in my strange fetish for Christmas. I smile in return, nodding. "Well," he continues, "You all right with leaving it here, then? I want to take a walk."

We hold hands as we stroll down Rose Berry Road. "You look amazing today, Yule," he whispers. It's enough to make my cheeks flame red. He bumps my shoulder in amusement and lets the subject lie.

We head for his village park. It's a wide, open space, the only place for miles with a ground of lush, green grass. He takes me to his favourite spot - by the pond, hidden behind a great oak tree and a row of mulberry bushes - and we sit down together, so close our noses are almost touching.

It's time.

"Lucah," I begin. "I…I need to tell you something. He raises his eyebrows, but nods for me to continue. And so I tell him everything. Everything about Sienna and me in the Games, but especially about after. I tell him that I'm going mad.

He's silent for a long time after a finish, his fingers steeped together and resting beneath his chin. He finally looks up and meets my eyes. "I believe you," he says slowly. "I'll always believe you, Yule. We'll go mad together, eh?"

I stare, incredulous. He grins.

"Life's an awful, ugly place to not have a best friend, Eulalie. I understand. I'll always be here for you. And who knows? Maybe I'll get to meet Sienna one day, too."

I grab his hand in both my own. "You're my best friend, Lu. I love you, so goddamn much. Thank you."

Lucah's arms wrap around me, then, and I can feel him smiling into my hair. "I love you too," he murmurs, his voice husky and sweet. I pull back and capture his lips in a kiss, wanting to preserve this moment forever: a shadowed spot of grass by a pond, dappled sunlight pushing through the canopy above, and me and Lucah, entwined, happy and safe and absolutely and utterly insane. Together.

God, I love him, I think, and at that moment, the world is perfect.

Parcel Day

Sienna wakes me up on Parcel Day. My window is open, and a cool breeze blows through, but that's not what makes my eyes snap open. Sean's up and about, creaking the floorboards in the room next to me, but that's not what makes me stifle a scream.

What does wake me is a harsh slap across the cheek by a long-fingered hand that is very, very real.

I bolt up in bed to find her sitting on the edge of the mattress, eyebrow quirked in amusement. I groan. "Oh, come now, Lillie," she grins cheekily. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"No, it's not, Sienna. But you're seriously old. As in dead."

Sienna shrugs. "And how's that going to stop me, huh? Honestly, just use your brain, sometimes!"

I bite down my response at the irony of her statement. Brain equals logic. And ghosts certainly aren't logical. But it's as if Sienna can read my mind now, because she laughs, a high, throaty sound that I never heard when she was alive. I ignore her, pushing the sheets off my bare legs and jumping to the ground.

The outfit my stylists have laid out for me - because they're here visiting, ready to get me spruced up for the cameras today and on the Victory Tour - is an explosion of pink. Pastel cardigan with matching shoes, a pink and white patterned dress and a garland of roses for me to wear as a crown of sorts. I bite my lip. God, I hate pink. I wish they'd given me something a little more…well, me.

"Dream on," Sienna murmurs from behind me, and I realise that she knows what I'm thinking. I grab the clothes and shut myself in the en suite bathroom, breathing hard. I've seen Sienna - since her death, that is - too many times to count, but the visions still rattle me. She's supposed to be dead, and yet here I am, having a friendly (or, not so much) conversation with her! Has the world gone mad?

I pause in buttoning up my dress. Perhaps the world isn't crazy…but right now, I sure am.

Sienna's still there when I come back in, fully dressed. She holds out her arm for me to take, as if I need a chaperone, and I feel a sudden urge to burst into tears. One of my only friends is dead as a doornail - after I saw her shudder her last breaths, her chest heaving, her eyes turn glassy as they stared up at the stars they would never see again…no. No! I shake that image from my mind. I've succeeded in pushing the events of the games to the far corners of my memory, where I can't think about them, but sometimes bits and pieces escape and, more often than not, reduce me to a blubbering wreck. It sucks.

The day outside is fine and sunny, albeit slightly cool. Lucah's leaning against the fence, arms folded across his chest, staring into the distance with that blue-eyed brooding look I know so well. His gaze flicks to me when he hears my footsteps, however, and his face curls into a wide grin. It only takes me a second to realise that, even though he said he believes me about the whole ghost thing, Sienna isn't showing herself to him, and he can't see her.

The thought makes me feel strangely sad.

Lucah and I walk down the road, towards the town centre where I will personally present the food parcels to my District. I'm half and half about the situation: I'm over the moon that Three will finally have enough to eat, if only for a year, but no well in hell am I looking forward to announcing it.

Let's just say…public speaking isn't my strong point.

The minutes fly by, and I suddenly find myself standing in front of the Justice Building. I swallow awkwardly. The whole District has turned out, it seems - shit! - and are waiting for me to speak. Lucah's in the front row, standing next to Sean and obliviously beside Sienna. She winks at me. I feel a hollow emptiness within me, realising my father isn't here. I suppose it's no surprise, given his…delicate mental state, but still…I hoped he'd changed, but obviously, I'm wrong.

"Er, hi!" I say. My voice sounds sickly cheerful: not the right mood for the aftermath of the Games. I clear my throat and try again. "Hello, District Three. I'm Eulalie Valentine-Cook, and it's with great pleasure I announce today is Parcel Day!" A cheer resounds through the crowd. My palms are sticky with sweat. "Every family will receive enough food packages to last them the year…" I trail off, unsure how to end. I catch Dimitri's eye to my right, and he mouths something to me. I nod.

"Thank you all so much for your support…I couldn't have…have won without you. I hope you have a better year than the last."

I jump down from the podium immediately, scared out of my wits. The crowd claps, but I barely hear it. Instead, in my mind's eye all I see are the faces of the tributes who will never make it home, never be able to proudly present the food packages to their District…Royal, darling Royal…Tallulah from Six, who had her neck snapped in two…Ontario and Troian, who I both…who I both…

Murdered.

I'm a murderer.

I blink the images away, and plaster on a smile. It's better to put up a false front than have none at all, my mother used to say. I didn't understand it at the time, but now I do. I must stay strong, for my family and my District.

And so I smile, and wave to the crowd, and laugh at their jokes, but inside I am screaming, and the twenty-three deaths in the arena replay in my mind, over and over and over again. I will never be free.

On the Train for the Victory Tour

I stand by the window in a horrible imitation of half a year ago, when I stood in this exact same spot on the day of the Reaping. Both then and now, a horrible feeling has swollen in my gut. But before, standing here with Royal, I was positive I would never return home again. Now, all I can think about is this Victory Tour to be over, and for me to be in Lucah's arms once again.

The fences disappear from my vision. I slump back against the wall.

"Giving up so soon?"

I jump, turn, and see - surprise, surprise - Sienna standing there, a cheeky grin stretched tight across her features. I roll my eyes. "Whatever," I say. "You'd probably be pretty pissed too if you were alone, headed for the homes of people you killed. Oh, and if you were talking to a dead person. That always puts a damper on things."

Sienna shocks me, then, by stepping forward and taking my hand in hers. She interlocks our fingers and squeezes gently. "You're not alone," she murmurs, and even though she's probably a figment of my imagination, even though I've gone mad and entirely bonkers because I can see her, a warm feeling spreads across my chest and I squeeze her hand back.

"Together," I whisper, and she smiles.

Arriving in District 7

After facing the haunted looks of Twelve's citizens, the destroyed expressions of Eleven's people, the shattered lives of Eight's residents, I thought I was ready for anything.

But not this.

Never this.

I'm in Seven, now. The train's just pulled up, and for once, I wish I Sienna actually was here, hanging around like a ghost or whatever she is now. But she's not. Not this time. And I think I know why - this is her home, and she can't bear to face it, not even with me by her side.

I don't blame her.

The doors slide open silently. My hand is up at my mouth, and I'm biting my nails, ignoring the quelling glances both Floral and Karin are sending my way. I don't give a stuff what anyone thinks of me anymore. I just want this Victory Tour to be over, so I can go back home and see Lucah - and Sean, and Dad, and Fatso - again. Is that really so much to ask?

I'm lead over to the Justice Building. God, how I hate these places. And even though I'm a long way from home, the Justice Building here is an almost exact replica of Three's. It's presence gives me a disquieting feeling. I would rather do anything else than stand here, preparing to give a speech.

Ugh. I hate speeches.

The Peacekeepers lead me up to the podium. I'm facing a crowd, now, a mass of people who all know how much one of their tributes meant to me, and how much I hated the other. It's unnerving, all of them staring, and I blush, clearing my throat, fishing for something to say because everything I've rehearsed has suddenly disappeared from my mind.

"Uh, hi," I begin. "I guess you all know who I am...so, um, there's no real need for introductions." I take a deep breath. I can almost imagine Sienna by my side, breathing into my ear that it's all going to be fine. You can do this. I can do this.

"Sienna and Alistair were your tributes. And now they're gone. And I'm so sorry, for everything." I close my eyes, and suddenly it's easier to speak, to talk, to let it all out. "I'm sorry I killed your son, Mrs - and I'm sorry I let your daughter die, Mr Whishaw. I didn't want any of this."

I open my eyes, now, and see the Peacekeepers tightening their holds on their guns. I shouldn't be saying this. Oh God, what am I doing?

"But I'm glad I met them...because the Games change everyone, and not necessarily for the better. And I'm so sorry, but what's done is done, and I know - I hope - that we can just move on and...and be friends. Become friends. Because right now, I know we both need some."

All right. I've pushed it. The Peacekeepers are advancing quickly, so I step down from the podium to show them I won't be doing any more damage. They keep coming, however, their guns stiff across their chests.

I cast my gaze out over the crowd, and my eyes connect with someone else's - a boy's. He has dark hair and snapping eyes that remind me so much of Sienna I almost wonder if he's her brother - but then I see the absolutely heartbroken, devastated, grieving look on his face mingled with a love no brother would share with his sister, and I know that this is someone special.

This is Eli.

Before I can even think about what I'm doing, I jump down off the stage, pushing past the barriers to get to him. He's riveted on the spot, staring, wondering if I've gone mad. And I have, I guess. I'm certainly not thinking straight.

I reach him, and grab his arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Peacekeepers begin to raise their weapons, and I hear their warning shouts. I know this has to be quick.

I rip Sienna's ring off the chain around my neck where I've worn it the whole Tour, and I press it into Eli's hand, closing his fingers tightly around the jewellery. "It was hers," I whisper to him. "She loved you, Eli, and I mean it when I say I'm sorry."

I think he murmurs a thank you to me, but his words are lost in the uproar as a Peacekeeper grabs me and pulls me bodily from the crowd. I don't resist, instead letting myself be dragged along and back towards the train. I've done something here, something I will probably live to regret, but funnily enough, I'm happy with myself. Satisfied. Because I know that this was the right thing to do.

Arriving in District 2

By now, the Victory Tour is just getting old. I can't believe how utterly boring all this is - because, yeah, it's seriously sad that everyone died and all, but honestly, there are only so many tears I can take - and there are still two Districts to go, not to mention the Capitol and then a party at home before things can get back to normal.

Fuck.

The train is slowing once again, and I follow Floral to the front doors, absently picking at the hem on my skirt as we wait for them to open. And when they do, it is a very different scene to what I've witnessed before: the streets lined with grizzled, hardened warriors, their faces taut with dislike and loathing as they look at me. I'm caught by surprise for a single moment, but then I remember that this is District Two, and the majority of people here are Careers; in other words, they hate my guts.

Oh, and I also happen to have killed both their tributes. That would probably explain the death stares, wouldn't it?

"Good luck with this one," a voice behind me says, and I don't have to turn to know it's Sienna again. I nod in agreement, a smile halfway between a grimace of pain and a smirk of disbelief stealing across my lips.

"Thanks," I murmur back, before I'm ushered over to the stage set up before the Justice Building. This one is far grander than anything I've seen before, and I can't help but marvel.

This time, standing before the podium, I've actually remembered my speech cards. They're nestled in the palm of my hand, and I take a quick glance down at them before looking back up at the crowd who stare right back at me. Whoa. This is very disconcerting. I look back down at the cards again.

"Hello, District Two. You all know who I am…and I really wish I knew who you are. You seem like a great bunch of people." I chance a glance upwards; the crowd is unimpressed. I swallow. "The Hunger Games is a chance to bring together each and every District…now, I'm from Three and your 'neighbour', I suppose, but you're really all strangers to me…so I'll keep this brief. I'm so very sorry about Troian and Ontario. I'm sure they were...illuminating young adults, and I know you'll miss them. I'm sorry, and I promise things will…get better." Well, that's it, I guess. I look back over the crowd again, but there are no smiles of support or nods of understanding for me here. It's like talking to a giant stone cliff; hard, impossibly tall and imposing, and with no chance whatsoever of a reply.

I step down, already an unsettled feeling welling in my gut, thinking of the feast I'll have to have here tonight. If I'm not careful, I'll find my drinks spiked and pins in my food.

"Hey! Hey, Three!" A voice from the crowd draws my gaze once more. "Too bad we all know you don't keep you promises, huh?" The sound is coming from a bent old man; his face so squashed and gnarled and utterly familiar than I know he must be Ontario's grandfather. Or great-grandfather, by the looks of this guy. His mouth is twisted in what could be called a shadow of a smile. "What happened to that little boy you promised to bring home, eh? He's dead, isn't 'e? Dead! Just like you will be, you filthy little wretch-"

I clamp my hands over my ears and shut my eyes, taking deep steadying breaths and telling myself not to get mad. I sense more than hear or see a flurry of movement that tells me the guy has been detained by Peacekeepers. I risk a glance and find that he's gone from the crowd.

Taking a last look over them all, I swallow heavily. I can almost feel the hatred pouring towards me, a tangible thing that thickens the air and makes it hard to breathe. I turn away and make a run for the train, because I just can't trust myself to keep my cool for much longer.

President Snow's Party

"Remind me again why I have to do this?"

"Because you're the Victor, Lil, and it's your job."

"My job is to meet and greet? Seriously?"

"You know that if you don't, you'll be sorry."

"Sorrier than I am now, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Oh, great. Thanks a lot, Sienna. Such words of encouragement."

"Any time."

I shoot my ghostly stalker an angry glance, and then step into the room. It's already crowded with people, so I go unnoticed for a moment; only a moment, however, before Floral swoops down on me and carts me around to meet all her friends. I can't say it's an enjoyable experience, but I get a kick out of seeing all the different styles of Capitol fashion. The people here are truly mystifying to want to tattoo their breasts, or carve freaking patterns - with a bloody knife - into their skin. No way would I ever agree to that.

"Miss Valentine-Cook. What a pleasure."

I whirl around mid-introduction to a doddery old woman with pink dyed hair and red eyes to find myself face to face with President Snow. I curtsey. "President Snow. This is indeed an honour."

He smiles sharply at me, raking me over with his piercing eyes and making me want to go crawl in a hole and hide from the world. There's a strange feeling to the stare, also, an almost sexual-predator sense. I shudder, wishing Reyna had given me something a little sturdier than a flimsy rainbow gown without sleeves and only a necklace to cover up my bare neck. I feel exposed.

Snow finishes his examination and smiles at me, then brushes past to have a talk to Dimitri and the only surviving Victor from Twelve…what's his name…Hamish? No, Haymitch, I remember, wrinkling my nose in disgust as I take in his five o-clock shadow, rumpled suit and swaying limbs, no doubt courtesy of the alcohol I've heard he's so fond of.

I turn away and shiver again. My encounter with Snow has left me feeling…vulnerable, and I walk quickly over to an empty seat by a table. I drop into it, sighing with relief, and rub my tired eyes. I don't know where Sienna has gotten to - not that a figment of my imagination can really go anywhere - and I'm not in the mood to talk with anyone else, so I merely sit there, alone, exchanging pleasantries with passing guests but never inviting a conversation, until the night dwindles away and I'm allowed to leave. And God, is it a good feeling or what to walk out of those doors and into cool, comforting solitude?

I think yes. And I also think that it's time for a nap. I head towards my chambers, stumble into the bedroom and fall straight down onto the bed, not even bothering to change my clothes. I'm weary beyond anything else, and I can still feel Snow's prying eyes all over my body, so a snuggle under the sheets, wrapping the blanket firmly around my shoulders and soon fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Arriving in District 3/ Harvest Festival

Home. I arrived here an hour or so ago, and I'm still grinning. The preparations have been made for the Harvest Festival, and I've just slipped into my outfit: a floaty blue skirt and sleeveless pastel blouse. Combing out my hair, I realise how much it's grown again. I decide to chop it all off as soon as possible.

I make my way over to the hall where they will hold the feast. It's decadently arranged, and I smile at the thought of all those hungry little faces and hands seeing the utter elegance and sheer mass of the food here. It's enough to make even my small stomach rumble.

I bustle here and there, helping with preparations, and I'm just taking a time out when a pair of strong hands slips over my eyes and leaves me blind. I wriggle in their grip, laughing. "Hands off, Lucah!" He complies and I spin around to face him, so close our noses touch. He pecks me on the lips ad then draws back, spinning me around.

"You look amazing," he whispered, his eyes wide, and I blush. I'm sure he's just teasing.

"So do you," I grin.

"Well, you know. It's natural."

"I'm sure."

He laughs and looks me in the eye. "Thing's almost done here? Because there's a very large, very hungry crowd outside just waiting to come in."

"And I suppose you were sent to speed things along?"

"Actually," he murmurs, pulling me close, "I snuck in. Just wanted to see you before it becomes too busy to grab a moment alone." We kiss for a long moment, and it's the happiest I've ever felt, I think. I'm pretty sure Lucah thinks so too, because his smile is wider than I've seen it in a long, long time.

The celebrations kick off soon after, and they begin with a bang. Everyone's talking and chatting and laughing, and I'm being swapped around between people until I feel like a human Pass the Parcel. Eventually, I find myself with my family again; that is, with Sean and Dad and Fatso, who somehow managed to sneak a whole plate of sausages into his already bulging stomach. I roll my eyes at the great lug, then give my brother a quick embrace. "Having fun, Sean?" I ask, and he laughs, nodding like crazy before running off into the crowd after his friends. I smile after him, then take the vacant seat next to my father. We sit in silence for a while.

"I'm so…proud of you, Lillie," Dad whispers suddenly. I glance at him, shocked. Usually he ignores me, and everyone else around, too. His wrinkled face is lined even more so as he frowns with the effort of talking.

"Dad?" My voice trembles, hardly daring to hope…

He turns to me, his brow furrowed in thought, and my heart skips a beat, but then his eyes mist over and he seems to fold in on himself, once more lost and hopelessly confused. "Yvette?" he mumbles, staring at me, and I blink back tears. Yvette is my mother's name.

"No, Dad, it's your daughter, remember?"

A tear escapes his crinkled eyes and rolls down his cheek. "Yvette…" he repeats, and suddenly I can't bear it anymore. I stand and walk away, not bothering to turn back because I know exactly what he'll look like: hunched over, miserable, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Just like the good old days.

I escape outside for some fresh air. I was deluded to think that things would ever change just because I won the Games. No. District Three is still the same, as is the whole of Panem: tired, miserable and utterly sick of the Hunger Games that brings so much grief and despair. I wish suddenly that things could change, that we could live freely as a free people in a free land.

But I know I'm kidding myself, because the Games are never going to end. They're going to keep bringing hurt and pain and sadness to Panem because that's what the Capitol wants: a defeated country to govern easily.

And in that moment, I know that I hate them all, but especially President Snow. Thinking of his eyes and his smile and his creeping stare, I shiver, but I also harden my heart, because I know now, deep down, that I will do anything to defy him and bring happiness to all my friends and family, because they deserve so much better than what they're given.

And I will do anything to make that happen.

"And I'll be right by your side," a voice says, and I spin around to see Sienna sitting cross-legged by my side. Of course she's read my mind again. She smiles, takes my hand and squeezes it, and I know that in this war I'm about to wage on the Capitol, I won't be standing alone.

Author's Note: I was so guilty that I wrote three of these prompts in one sitting…so, so sorry for the wait, guys. But it's finally over! Except for one last little chapter I plan to add on as an epilogue, which will tell you exactly what happens to Eulalie, Lucah, Sean and co during the rebellion…dah dah dum! Please review and tell me what you think.