Razor Trees Break The Fall

Nightmares tormented her that night.

She tossed and turned, half-waking to expect the wooden beams of her house in District 7, only to be taunted when a pristine ceiling of white stared back. A cool sweat covered her brow. From time to time she would see faces of her loved ones in the nightmares, but more often than not she was lost in the dark. No matter how loud she screamed for help, she was alone. In those dark recesses of her mind, words and face muddled into strange monstrosities, shadowy reflections of herself.

"Help!" She murmured, struggling with the satin sheets.

But no help came.

At daybreak she finally woke with a startle, as if something pulled her back from the terror she gasped.

The sun was just over the horizon. Daybreak burned her eyes.

Dawn was always different in the Capitol. It was more surreal, like some poignant magic.

As she curled on the floor near the window and gaze at the cityscape she wondered how long it would take to get used to this sunrise. Her eyes glanced over the overflowing golds and pinks.

If not a lifetime, she thought, then an eternity.

Everything in the loft was foreign to her. Constantly she had to remind herself that this was her new home. Never mind getting used the place, the real struggle was knowing where things were.

Pandora had barely found a drinking glass before a robotic crackle sounded from the foyer of her loft.

Her mouth moved away from the glass. Her eyes widened.

"Miss Sullivan?"

She wandered into the marble entrance, narrowing her eyes at a screen near the door. The closer she approached, the clearer the figure in the monitor became. It was Yuri, the man from the crystal desk downstairs.

"Miss Sullivan, are you there?"

The touch screen gave her some trouble, but after a few long seconds she figured it out, "Y—Yes. Hello?"

"Good morning, Miss Sullivan!"

He looked and sounded far too excited.

"Yes, thank you…um…what is it?"

"Oh, yes! Well there's a car waiting down here for you."

"A car?" She whispered into the microphone.

In the screen she could see Yuri peering towards the windows and nodding, "Well, yes. A very nice car, in fact. The driver's saying you have an appointment."

She drew back in astonishment.

Her finger hesitated before she pressed the screen once more, "Appointment?"

"I don't know the details, Miss Sullivan, but yes."

"Al—Alright. I'll be down."

Doubtfully she backed away from the screen, watching it go black before she quickened her pace through the loft, into her bedroom. She twitched her eyes around, peering down at what she was wearing with anxiety for a moment.

"There must be a closet somewhere…" she whispered, searching around the room only to find walls and the entry to the bathroom.

Her brow furrowed uneasily. She gnawed on her nails.

Pandora was just coming back through the hall to the bath when she saw it. Two thinly long doors protrude from a patch of wall, they resembled the doors of a wardrobe. She grasped the handles and pulled.

Instantly her feet stumbled back in shock.

Pandora was expecting to see a small cupboard with a few dresses and outfits but before her was a cavernous gallery of fabrics, shoes and jewelry.

Her fingers grazed over several outfits before she pulled something on and made for the door. Luckily she was watching where she was going the night before or Pandora would have been completely lost in the glass maze.

The lift descended the floors so quickly that she had to hold onto the side rail.

"Where's the car?" She asked shyly, brushing strands of hair behind her ears as she approached the front desk.

Yuri was waiting, wearing the same outfit and clownish grin from the night before.

"Just outside," he eagerly answered.

She tried to smile back but it was hard.

"May I say!"

Her steps paused, she peered to him.

"It is an honor to have the newest Victor living in our building."

"Of course—thank you."

Just as Yuri said, a car was waiting for her at the curb.

She had barely gotten into the vehicle before it started moving. Apparently whatever appointment she had was urgent.

"Sir?" She inquired, leaning forward as she spoke.

The driver glanced at her with bewilderment. He wasn't used to being called sir.

"Where are we going? What I mean is—My appointment, who is it with?"

"Why, the President, of course."

She felt ice fill her veins.

"Of course," she repeated uncertainly.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

Her lips were dry. Her heart was beating so fast and hard against her ribcage that she thought it might explode.

When the car finally did stop she wanted to dig her fingers into the seats, to never leave, but that wasn't an option.

Bile rose in her throat as Pandora ascended the largest set of marble steps she had ever seen. The building resting at the top was colossal. By her estimate it was more than fifteen floors and growing. Along the middle was a red silk banner that elegantly billowed in the wind. Threaded on its face, in gold, was the emblem of Panem.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, pushing through the doors.

A mess of people were swarming.

While some were greeting her by name, others simply nodded.

She felt lost and confused.

Her eyes stressfully glanced around. She had no idea where she was going or why she was here, all she knew was that in a few short minutes she would have to speak to President Snow. Pandora would once again stare into the snake eyes of the man she loathed most, the man she shook hands with a year ago to save herself and her family.

"Miss Sullivan?"

She whipped around in surprise.

Standing in front of Pandora was a woman with long blonde hair, wearing a gilded dress. The woman looked rather young, with tattoos of gold decorating her body.

"Yes?" Pandora replied.

"Hello, I'm Elia, I'm with the President. If you'd follow me, please."

They walked past the main desk, past the normal elevators. Several doors were opened and closed before Pandora and the woman were completely alone.

"Did you enjoy your first night in your home?"

"It was…new."

"I can imagine," they had reached an elevator, Elia pressed the button before continuing, "I'm sure you'll feel at home in no time."

Pandora clenched her jaw, "Yes. I'm sure."

The doors glided together.

They were in the lift for what felt like a split second before it stopped.

"Here we are," Elia sang, smiling as the doors opened onto a small enclave. "Titus—hello—" She greeted the man at the bureau before pulling Pandora, by the arm.

"Just wait right here, please," she sweetly ordered.

Pandora watched Elia snatch the phone from Titus and press a single number. She gave Pandora a charming wink and laugh as she waited for the ringtone.

"Hello, sir—yes—yes, sir, I have her right here—okay, yes—Alright."

Her gold nails drummed on the desk.

"He's ready for you."

Another ball formed in Pandora's throat.

"Just past those doors, right here."

Her eyes moved to where Elia was pointing. Sleek white doors waited.

"Those doors?" Pandora asked.

The woman stared at her in annoyance, "Yes, dear. Those doors."

All Pandora's instincts were telling her to run. She was fast, maybe she could get away before she was caught. Her teeth racked her bottom lip. She was glaring at the doors now, hating how white and sharp they appeared.

The first step she took was the hardest, the others came more naturally.

She had just reached the doors when they abruptly slid open.

In surprise she jumped back, instantly hearing Titus and Elia chuckle underneath their breaths.

One more step.

Then two.

She felt her whole body shake upon entering the dimness of the room, sensing the doors behind her close with a swoosh.

Her eyes hesitantly rose to a narrow path.

She was in a hall, but it felt more like a tunnel. Faint light illuminated rich crimson wallpaper and sleek black floors.

In front of her light split in thin rays. Her eyes squinted. Her feet kept a timid pace.

With every move she made the light grew bright, but it wasn't until she reached the end of the corridor that she stopped.

It had more of the appearance of a library than an office. What must have been thousands of books filled shelves and cabinets.

Her eyes kept moving, moving slowly, observantly.

There was a desk with a small clock, the pendulum ticked and tocked. Windows lined one wall, the Capitol looked like a scenic painting beyond their glass panes. The floor was still black, but lavish carpets disguised most of it. To the far right of her vision she could see a fireplace, and something else…a shadow.

"You're late."

The voice was clear, a raspy voice with a smooth finish. It didn't startle her as she thought it would.

"I wasn't aware we had an appointment."

Her eyes glimmered with disdain, her body tensed.

He was standing near the fire, probing at the logs with an iron poker. A second passed before he turned his snake eyes toward her and cleared his throat.

"Now, let me look at you," the words seemed to drip from his teeth like venom.

Before she could take a step back he had his hands on her shoulders. His eyes scanned her face like a painter does his art.

"Just as beautiful as I remember…" he whispered, grinning broadly, "Has it really been a year, my dear Miss Sullivan?"

She wanted to squirm away but couldn't find the nerve.

"And it barely feels like yesterday, doesn't it?"

She swallowed the dryness in her throat, it felt like shards of glass. "Yes, it does."

His hands carefully dropped. A whiff of the sickly sweet scent that seemed to linger on every hair of his body suffocated her when he turned back to the fire. She grimaced in nausea.

"Please—" he tapped the top of one of the seats, "Sit."

Inside Pandora felt distress. Though her face remained cold, her brain felt like it was hemorrhaging. Soon was here. For a year she had thought of this exact moment, she had thought of what she was going to say. And now—sitting in the lion's den, she was speechless and cowardly.

"Tell me, dear, how was the train ride?"

Her eyes solemnly lifted just as she had taken a seat, "Fine."

"Well, I hope you were treated well…only the best for our Pandora Sullivan."

It felt condescending, she quickly looked towards the fire, unsure of how to respond.

"I was informed of the attack in District 2."

Her back straightened.

"I'm glad to see you're still in one piece. It's a pity when a citizen of Panem makes such a terrible mistake."

"You saw me when I was here for the Victory Tour."

"Did I? I can't recall."

Her eyes narrowed, he was playing games.

"Why am I here?"

He took a sip of his coffee and stared, "Cutting right to the chase then? No more pleasantries?"

"Excuse me for saying, sir, but there's nothing pleasant about talking to you."

Snow lowered his coffee cup slightly, to Pandora's surprise he was smiling still, "There's the bite. And what a bite it is—Oh! Oh, of course I saw you at the Victory Ball. Yes, you were dancing with the young Pedersen, Adric is his name, isn't it?"

Her fingers clawed the fabric of the chair. His words were like needles.

"Why am I here?"

He sighed deeply, leaning forward to pluck two sugar cubes from a refined plate. His fingers slyly stirred the hot liquid after he dropped them in, "You seem so intent on getting out of here, you should get used it—after all you will be here for a while."

Her teeth grinded together. Snow wasn't talking about their appointment at all. He was talking about something much bigger. Pandora's life was in his hands and he was squeezing it like a ripe fruit.

"Isn't it obvious?" He finally added, "You're here to discuss your future with Panem."

"Future?"

"But of course," a scathing laugh murmured from him, "The plans we have for you."

"We?"

"Caradoc informed you that you weren't awarded a talent yet?"

She shifted in her seat. Her eyes widely stared at Snow with sudden panic, "I didn't realize it was an award."

"For you—it always is, my dear."

Her finger spread across her lap, she was trying to restrain the urge to bash his face in.

"So?" Her eyebrow arched.

"At first Caradoc wanted to go for singing, I wasn't too fond of that…I mean after all, what a common vocation to get into. No I said, she's far too unique for that I said."

"How kind."

The sarcasm spurred a glimpse of a grin to form on his swollen lips, "Then I got to thinking, what is it Panem needs now more then ever?"

He paused dramatically, slanting forward as if he were divulging the biggest secret to her. "A model," he whispered.

Her brow creased.

"Such a face would have gone to waste in District 7 but not here. No."

"I hardly think I'm qualified—"

"Well that's just it, isn't it? You are, you've already been a spokes person once, and you can again—this time without the obvious pressures."

"And how exactly is a model important for Panem?"

"To have a young lady from one of the outlying Districts, a Victor of our Hunger Games, eternalized through photographs and film, through speeches and press junkets, it will lessen the growing political tension."

Her breathing shortened.

"All throughout the Capitol they will see the girl from District 7 who supports and welcomes the Games, welcomes the Capitol and all of its affairs."

"No."

"No?"

"I—I can't—I can't do that. I have to mentor, the next Games are in a month."

Snow drummed his fingers on his coffee cup, the steam rose in thin waves. "You will have no part in mentoring the Games, Miss Sullivan. Considered yourself evolved."

"What?"

"I believe another Victor will be coming in—I'm not so good with names you understand—Joan—Joanne—"

"Johanna Mason."

"Ah! Yes," For a brief second a flash of contempt read in his eyes, "That's the one."

"She's a recluse, she'll decline."

"I have my ways, we all have our ways."

Pandora parted her lips, unable to hide the growing concern, "Yes, I'm sure you do."

He swirled the metal spoon in his coffee cup, it scrapped against the china, piercing Pandora's ears.

She glanced between the cup and Snow's face, without realizing it she nervously started tapping her foot on the ground.

"Is that it?"

"Hmm?"

"Are we done, then?" it came out more as a shout than a question. Now her fingers began to drum.

He lowered his cup to the table, adjusting the rose on his lapel. President Snow did this often, it was a subconscious tick Pandora had picked up on when she had first met him.

"Not quite…" his hands moved to a white folder that had been strategically laid out. Pandora could hear the file crinkle as he pushed it towards her, "I'd like you to look at that for me."

Cautiously she glanced between the folder and Snow.

He nodded after a frozen moment, beckoning her to obey.

Without looking away from him she leaned forward and snatched it. The paper was thick and heavy, it made a dull scrapping sound as she gently opened it.

There were a few seconds of ignorance before she realized what she was staring at. When recognition set in, she let the contents drop from her hands in shock.

"What?—How did you get these?"

Her eyes twitched nervously from Snow's face to the scattered photographs. They were images from her time in District 4 during the Victory Tour. They were pictures of Finnick Odair and her on the beach.

"Miss Sullivan, you look pale as a ghost."

Suddenly she was on her feet, "What is this?"

"Photographs."

"What are you doing? Why are you showing me these?!"

"Sit down."

"No!"

"When I tell you to sit you sit!" The command was so guttural and severe that she collapsed back into the chair without another word.

Her eyes unblinking gazed at the various snapshots.

"You didn't think I'd just let you wander around Panem without surveillance, did you?"

She had to steady herself. Her shaking hand moved to her face, "I thought that's what Caradoc was for."

"How sharp of you, Pandora, and here I thought you weren't catching on."

"It was a little hard not to."

"You didn't feel close to him? After all he was your stylist."

"I don't feel close to any Capitol pestilence," she growled with fury.

"Well, well—look at you, all heated. All this over some boy, but then of course he's not just some boy, is he? You know that. He's more like a Hunger Games legend, very popular with the ladies as well. Must be those big green soulful eyes of his."

"I have no interest in Finnick Odair."

"Don't misunderstand me, Pandora, I take no offense to a friendship between two champions. Actually, I quite enjoy it."

Her hands clasped the armrests, she lowered her chin and narrowed her eyes, "Maybe you shouldn't. For all you know we were planning an uprising in those pictures."

When he shifted towards her she felt every cell in her body tremble with fear.

He ever so gently placed his hand on her knee, keeping his eyes on hers, "You would never do that."

"How do you know? Maybe I'm my father's daughter."

His grip on her knee tightened, "Because you're a smart girl, you have the foresight to understand the consequences of such a heinous crime. You see, Pandora, all these revolutionaries, they're just lost souls—they blame the government for their own misfortunes and they would sacrifice their family just to kill a few soldiers and politicians, who have families of their own. But not you, no—because you're smart."

She felt her cheeks flush in anger, she want to shove his hand away but she was frozen. He didn't let go of her knee until a second had passed, even then she felt his grip still on her.

"One day you'll see things my way."

Her eyes were filled with rage and equal horror.

"I'm a patient man," He continued, "I can wait for that day to come…my candidate."

Her lips parted.

"Don't look so shocked, you and I both know that's where your real worth lies."

"And what exactly does that worth entail? What does candidate mean?"

The pendulum swayed back and forth.

"Time will reveal all things, I'm sure of that. Biscuit?"

She fluttered her eyes, silently shaking her head. He was so cavalier. She felt faint and sick. If this had been anyone else she would have taken his life right there, or at least tried to. All the nightmares she had been tortured with, all the loss was caused by the man in front of her, the man that had been appointed as leader of Panem. Panem, she clenched her jaw, the name left a bitter taste at the tip of her tongue.

"He's in town you know."

"What—" she was still lost, "Who?"

Snow returned to his coffee, smiling quietly as he sipped on it, "Finnick Odair, of course. Just arrived this morning. I assume you want to see him."

Her eyes twitched around the office, although she tried to speak nothing came out. Her head was filled with haze and confusion.

"As it happens he's here for a fragrance campaign Caradoc and several other Capitol designers have put together. Something to inspire the masses, to ring in the coming Games, as you said they are only a month away."

"As it happens?"

He smiled, "A mere coincidence. Of course you're part of the new campaign too."

She hatefully glared at him. "Of course," she quipped.

"I've already told Elia to inform your driver where to take you."

"And if I refuse?"

A laugh so sweet and sharp bellowed from him, "Pandora, I'm no tyrant. Do as you wish, but you should be careful. You know better than anyone how it is out there, in the wrong hands the Capitol can eat you alive."

Her hands were trembling. She was truly horrified.

"Do you remember that last night you were in the arena, it was just after you had lost that boy, that friend of yours…"

Her nostrils were flaring, suddenly the sting of tears was singing her nose.

"Marius, was it? Yes, I remember how scared you were. I thought, what a waste of serum…she won't make it past the finale, but then came the fight...that fight between you and the Tribute from District 1 will gone down in history. I have to admit I was—" an evil smile appeared on his face, "I was proud."

Her breaths were shallow, her eyes watery.

"A part of you wants to be wild, free, but you're young, Pandora. You don't understand…Freedom comes at a cost."

She had to look away, afraid that if she stared any longer at Snow she would turn into stone.

"I didn't realize you were such a dedicated fan, watching my every move," she finally quipped, "If I had I would have given you my autograph," a single tear fell down her cheek. With courage and a blaze in her eyes she, once more, looked at Snow.

He had his fingers clasped together in his lap. His eyes faintly sparkled.

"I often wonder what happens to little girls who lose their fathers so young, don't you?"

Her heart violently pumped hatred throughout her body.

"It must be so hard—so terribly hard."

She narrowed her eyes. It was overflowing now, the despise Pandora was feeling flew past her lips before she could stop herself: "I hate you."

She could hear herself breathing, feel the rage coursing through her body.

Instead of responding immediately, Snow simply stared.

After some time he shrewdly rested to the side of the chair with a sigh. The fire's light menacingly cascaded across his face. She could see his smile pulling at his swollen lips.

"What a bite," he laughed in cruel amusement like the devil, "What a bite, indeed."