A/N: This is dedicated to Les random person who wanted a sketch of Portia. I love Portia and thought it was tragic there was only a few sentences on her and what happened to her in Mockinjay. I hope I did it justice.
I don't own the Hunger Games, its sequels, or its characters.
Portia Lewin
I met him in a white dress with large curved wings that shone like the sun. If my mother had taught me anything it was that life was like a ladder and everyone had to climb it, rung by rung, to reach the top. This was the next rung. The first thing Cinna did, the first time his agile fingers touched me, was to take off my wings. He said I didn't need it, lovelier without, actually.
It left me feeling naked and exposed. Yet, for some reason, it made perfect sense standing there before him in a simple knee-length dress. He wore black slacks and a grey button-up. He was naked too, but didn't seem to mind the curious stares. I decided that I didn't need to, either. And it felt like a beginning.
They let us choose what we wanted to wear for the broadcast. A final wish. We all knew it was so everyone would recognize us. I chose my white dress because it would show the blood stains well, a reminder forever of what they did to us and because Cinna had thought me lovely in it.
Life, as it turns out, is more of a circle. The beginning and end blur together until no one can be sure which is which. Really, it doesn't matter. The belief is enough. I smooth out the front of the dress that marks my beginning and end and walk out to the center of the stage, to meet Cinna again.