Make Me Over

Cautiously, I step into the main chamber. Main chamber? Of course, there would be a main chamber. The President has been alerted of my visitation, no doubt. The guards escorting me grip my arms with a steel vice, not daring to let me go. At one point, the guard on my left clamped so hard that I let out a yelp.

"Be silent!" he ordered.

I shot him a look of utter dislike. We marched on, the mahogany edifice looming nearer. I was so over feeling any sort of emotion at this point. I just wanted to get this whole business out of the way. I would simply confront Snow with my knowledge of the essay and demand an explanation. When we reached the door, the guards stopped.

"Well, what now?" I prompted loudly.

"Be silent!" they repeated.

I shuffled my feet together and faced the doorway. No matter the occasion, I wanted to look my best. I took the opportunity to straighten out my outfit. Suddenly, the doors burst open in a gesture of an oncoming wind. I was literally thrown inside the room, falling onto the royal carpeting that lined the main chamber.

"Miss Trinket, I presume?"

I carefully lifted myself off the carpet, my hands burning from the friction. Standing about ten feet away was the President. His back was turned to me, his sleek, dark hair stood back in a diplomatic way. His hands were intertwined behind his back.

"Yes," I spoke confidently.

He turned a quarter of the way around, not quite facing me. I rose to my feet from the crouching position that I had been in, and placed my hands at my sides. The room remained silent, except for his slight breathing. I suddenly experienced a second of nervousness. Everything, my whole teenage years, had lead up to this moment.

"Please, have a seat," he gestured toward a lacy seat placed near an innocent fireplace.

I crossed to the chair, never taking my eyes off the President. Something about him, I did not quite trust. Could it be his eyes? His smell? What is it about him that sets my very soul on edge? He left his place by the window and approached grandly.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" his lips curled into a smile.

An involuntary shudder went through my spine.

"I am here to discuss the very real persecution of my family for alleged treason against the Capitol," I stated blatantly.

He remained still throughout my statement, an odd addition to a suspicious scene.

"Oh?" his head tilted toward the side, "I thought perhaps you would have other services to offer."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, not quite sure of his insinuations.

"You see, we here in the Capitol know everything. Everything about everyone. What they are doing, and who they are accompanied by, at every moment of every day," he continued, "As such, I happen to know that you prefer the company of one Seneca Crane."

I remained silent for a moment, caught off guard.

"I am curious, Miss Trinket. Where is your suitor tonight? He does not strike me as one to abandon those that he fancies," the President sat down across from me.

He wore a grand suit, complete with a petticoat and a monocle peeking out of his pocket. A cane lay by the side of the fireplace. To lighten the air, I imagined him rising and performing a musical number. However, my fantasy seemed absurd, even for this situation.

"I asked him not to come," I decided to say.

"Funny. He is a contestant for the upcoming promotion for Head Gamemaker, is he not?" Snow inquired, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," I answered.

"Or maybe," continued Snow, "He has decided to pursue a more worthwhile position to secure finances for his sister. She is with child, after all. How difficult for your brother."

"How did you know that?" I sputtered, infuriated.

"My dear, I have already explained that I know everything. There is no use hiding from me. I, the immaculate ruler of all the districts. Ignorance is for the peasants."

"Do not hurt them," I threatened only to receive a laugh.

My heart beat wildly. Never had I imagined the President in such an all-knowing sense.

"Oh, rest assured that they will be safe. What has brought you to my home at such a late hour?" he asked.

"I have already told you," I hissed through clenched teeth, "You have been hijacking my parents and threatening my family. I will not stand for it."

This last line I spoke almost at a yell. My hands had formed fists.

"Can I offer you a drink?" he reached over for a decanter beside the fireplace.

I watched with infuriation as he poured two glasses with a cherry red liquid. No, not cherry red. Blood red. He handed me a glass. I sniffed the cup curiously. He seemed to sense my suspicion, so he answered by taking a convincing swig.

"It will not bite, I swear," he grinned.

Carefully, I raised the glass to my lips. When the liquid touched them, I instantly felt warmer. I took in the sustenance, eyeing the President. He looked at me with a smirk on his lips.

"You know, you are quite beautiful," he hissed.

I nearly spat the drink back. I stammered around for a napkin, trying with desperation to clean up the spilled droplets that had landed on my pants. He handed me a cloth, and I wiped the contaminates away.

"You are distracting me," I accused.

"Perhaps. You have made no declarations thus far," he pointed out.

"Oh, right," I grinned sheepishly, "I demand to see the essay my father wrote."

"It rests on the table. I assumed you would want to have a good look, so I pulled it out. I believe that you will be interested to know that a letter prompted it. Can you imagine?" Snow sneered.

My head swam. Things began to get foggy. Snow almost appeared to have three arms. I stumbled to my feet and crossed the main chamber, reaching blindly for something solid. The essay lay face up on a desk across the room. I grabbed it securely.

The pages shifted uncomfortably in my arms. Words turned into worms, squiggling to dash off the pages in frantic movements. I dropped pages in mass, finding it nearly impossible to hold on. What is happening?

"What you are experiencing right now is a rare poison coursing through your veins. I happen to be immune to its effects," Snow spoke from behind me.

I tried to spin toward his voice, but my movements turned lethargic. The room appeared to slant. Gripping onto the desk, I found that things became clearer. Snow was moving toward me. He walked stealthily, like a cat on the prowl.

"What is this?" I murmured.

"Admit it. You knew about the treason. You read your father's essay. You read the aforementioned letter. Only then will I provide the antidote. Surely, you will perish without it. Just imagine what irrefutable damage that will do to your family. Poor Seneca Crane might even kill himself," Snow was by my side.

"I do not know what you are talking about," I honestly answered.

"Do not play a fool with me, Effie," coaxed Snow, "You were accepted into Games school, were you not?"

"Yes," I responded, closing my eyes to prevent the room from inverting.

I could feel Snow close in on me. His powerful arms reached out and grabbed me, holding me steady. I was powerless.

"So beautiful," he caressed, inhaling the scent of my hair.

"Let me go," I almost begged.

"Doubtful. Admit it. Say it. Only then will you be free."

I reached a roadblock. My head swam, while nausea climbed into my throat. I was sure to be sick without the antidote. In my haze, I realized that Snow would have to slip. He would reveal crucial information. I just needed to play along.

"I admit it. I am guilty of treason. I knew all about my father's essay," I whispered aloud.

I felt his hands tighten. He pulled me against him, the smell of him overpowering. I wanted to be sick.

"What else do you know?" he hissed in my ear.

"I know that there was a letter. I know that my father wanted to disband the Hunger Games. I know that Seneca loves me very much and will kill you if anything bad happens to me," I spoke as if in a trance.

"Doubtful," he repeated, "Seneca will not do anything. You are all mine."

His lips touched my neck, freezing the spot where they landed. Deep red flashes played in my eyes. The President is kissing me.

"You want that antidote, do you not?" he purred.

"Of course," I hummed, melting into his arms.

I had to play along, you see. I needed to. If Seneca got hurt on my behalf, I could never forgive myself.

"Then you will need to do a few things for me. That will not be a problem will it?" he asked, smoothing my hair.

Again, he kissed me. This time, he hit a sensitive spot on my neck. I suppressed a noise that had been threatening to expel. My heart screamed one thing and my brain screamed another. At that moment, I wanted to die. The poison almost seemed like a gift, if not for the threat against my family.

"No. Anything you want," I cooed.

"Firstly, prove to me your loyalty. Accept your invitation to Games School."

All I could do was nod. His spun me toward him, his face looming into focus. His dark eyes permeated my soul. I lost feeling in my legs.

"Secondly, I forbid you to wed that hideous Seneca Crane. He will only infiltrate your innocent mind with horrid thoughts. No engagements. No marriage. If you really love him, let him go," Snow ordered, staring into me.

I was hypnotized. No! I love Seneca. I would give him up immediately. No! He is my one true love. I would never see him again. He is the uncle of my niece or nephew. I will cut all contact with him.

"Thirdly, you will forget about all of this essay business. Your father is confused, and who really could blame him. That letter. It brainwashed him, you see. Not my Tracker Jacker venom. That awful letter got him. Give up your foolish misconceptions about the essay."

Everything I know is a lie. Games School. No Seneca. No wild ideas of rebellion. This is going to become my life. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the new and improved Effie Trinket.

"Is that understood?" Snow waited with baited breath.

My eyes flashed around sporadically. I could not hold on. The poison was pulling me under. The final moments came and went. I was going to die without the antidote. Snow had pulled a crystal vial out of his pocket. He tauntingly held it in front of my eyes.

"Yes."

His lips met mine full on. The kiss was overpowering. My knees buckled and I fell into him, convinced that I was dead. Surely, I was dead. Snow's last words to me seemed like something from another world.

"Forget about ideas of rebellion. Forget about Seneca Crane. You will never see him again. Forget about your family. They will only drag you down into persecution. And most of all, forget about that letter. That incestuous letter written by that traitor. That traitor, Haymitch Abernathy."