I couldn't sleep.
Pictures danced in my mind's eye – of Estella, of my father, of Issac. Of my dead mother, of President Snow. Of Emereld, of Kayton, of me. Of the other tributes. Of the pictures I drew. Of the terribly gory scenes of the Games that I knew must come.
The moon was high in the sky – casting its silver glow onto the room. The train sped past the crickets and fireflies. The engine was silent, making no competition for the cricket's mystical and lovely song.
Everything looked different in the moonlight – elegant and beautiful. Peaceful.
I got out of the plush, comfortable, and warm bed, walking up to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that open onto a balcony. For a moment, I watched the world fly past, the silver light seeming to cleanse everything. Then, in a single, flurid movement, I threw open the doors.
I nearly fell back from the force that the wind threw into me. I turned my head slightly to the side, hugging the silver and white nightgown closer at the sudden chill. Squinting up, I saw the bright light above me.
I was in the front of the train.
Why would they put me here? Was there a reason – or . . . was it simply . . . random?
But on that quiet, silver-bathed moonlight night, with the crickets chirping happily, I found that it didn't matter.
Ignoring the chill, I stepped out onto the balcony, my face straight forward and held high. Closing my eyes, I spread my arms, embracing the night. The wind ripped at my nightgown and hair, spreading its chill, the feeling, deep into me. My soul screamed, sang, begged with longing for the freedom that the wind held.
Some boring, unimportant part of me said, Oh, that's why the balcony's in the front. If I try to jump off, I'll be run over.
Why not jump off? Why not jump off and die now, free, and on my own terms? Why wait for the painful death in the arena?
My soul, the deepest part of me, was singing freely now. I am Lystra! it sang I am the Fay, who lives on in a new form! I am her! Victory is mine to grasp if I chose to reach for it . . .
Wait. The other part said. What are you saying?
I shall strike a blow harder than any other on the Capitol, even though it shall kill me. And then I will come back. I shall look different. I shall cast the final death blow, to finish what I began.
My eyes twitched behind my eyelids, and my face broke into a grin that I was sure made me look crazy.
My emotions – all thoughts of family, friends, and the other tributes – were gone. I felt powerful – I was powerful. I could literally feel the power radiating off of me in waves. I was invincible – Lystra the defender of all justice. Lystra the powerful. Lystra the Queen – queen of all there was to command, if I only accepted the crown . . .
I was proud, courageous, and beautiful in a way that would absolutely terrify you.
I was one once more. It was right – to be complete again . . . whole . . . one . . .
Perhaps it was those long moments on the balcony that gave me the strength to go on in the next few weeks.