Day Three, Night

Hadley Allard, District 7, 16

I was looking into the flames when I heard it. The cannon's fire spread through the air and soared into the sky, before ceasing to be. Just like the person who inspired it, it was now nothing.

"Someone died..." I told Mirane, matter of factly.

"About time," she said. She held a knife in one hand. It had impaled a tin of beans, which she was turning over a lit fire in order to give the food some warmth. In front of us were also a pile of berries, which we ate very sparingly.

We weren't in any old courtyard - we were in the entrance courtyard. It was a vast space, situated between two beautiful wings of the Palace. We were surrounded by fountains, by beautiful statues of women and angels, by an assortment of brightly coloured flowers; it was nice. The Palace walls were made of pure marble, and wide windows gave us a glimpse into the many rooms of both wings. They looked comfortable and warm, but I enjoyed sitting outside, beside an old pillar that was crumbling and possessed by ivy, eating sweet berries.

"It's sad, though," I said. "Maybe it was a fight, or a mutt. Or something bad. It all could have happened just five minutes away..." I sighed. "It's not good that this happened."

"We're alive, that person isn't," Mirane said, looking at the tin of beans. "That's all that matters."

"I guess," I frowned. "You don't think it was...?"

Darius had left only a moment ago. He was cooking with us, but claimed that he needed to find a toilet. While Mirane insisted he peed behind one of the columns, Darius didn't really seem fond of that prospect, and left inside the building. Mirane gave him her gun though, for protection. I was sure he was okay. And he only left ten minutes ago. Still... anything bad could happen...

"Probably not," Mirane said, casually. "There's a slim chance, and I just know in my gut he's okay. He's still taking forever to piss, though."

"I'm worried..." I muttered nervously.

"Oh, don't be," Mirane smiled, using her spare hand to take a berry. She bit into it, savouring its sweetness. "He's probably just doing something stupid. Maybe he's just going on a date with Rosie Palms."

"A...?" I paused, catching on. "Ew, Mirane. Darius wouldn't do that!"

"Not in front of us," Mirane laughed wildly. There was something I liked about her laugh - it was very liberated. I got the vibe that underneath the coldness and indifference she showed, there was a part of Mirane that was wild and fun loving. "Maybe if he finds himself a nice spot where he is slightly out of view of the camera... I mean, we got reaped like ten days ago now? Must be very sexually frustrating. Wouldn't want to do it on live TV, but if you get desperate it does become a bit of a sticky situation."

"No, Mirane, don't be disgusting!" I flicked a berry at her. She shielded her face, squealing with laughter. "Just because you have a crush on Darius doesn't mean I have to hear about your fantasies!"

Mirane suddenly became very serious. "What? I do not have a crush on Darius!"

I smirked, pretending to cough into my hand. Mirane grew a little irritated, slapping my wrist.

"No way!" She denied. "Darius is not my type!"

"You have a type?"

"Everyone has a type!" Mirane said. "Do you not have a type?"

"As long as they're nice," I shrugged. "I've never dated, anyway. I like my own company a lot."

Mirane smirked, it was very mischievous. "That's another way of saying you have no standards. You're a nice guy Hadley, I'd advise you to not go for second best," she shrugged, picking up another berry and watching the light shine off it. "I've dated quite a lot, here and there. It's allowed me to think about what I like in a guy, you know? I'll flirt with almost anybody, especially if it'll make them willing to help me," she added, smirking. "But with who I date? That's something else."

"Give me your checklist then, Queen Mirane."

"First thing is first - well shaven and good teeth," she said, smiling. "Bit of stubble doesn't hurt if you can pull it off, but not many men can. I also like tattoos. Not the weird facial ones the Capitol like, I've seen a few Capitol models and they have them along their arms or something. It's really hot," she popped the berry into her mouth, speaking after she swallowed it. "I like a masculine man. One with muscles. Strong, and tall," her eyes roamed my short frame. "No offence, of course. They have to be dark. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair. I like that. And there has to be something in them... a... spark. I like men who look silent, but mysterious. They literally come in and unexpectedly sweep me off my feet. Full of passion, great in bed," I frowned, and Mirane laughed at my reaction. "I'm not joking! But they have to be spontaneous too. There is nothing better than being surprised, you know?"

There was a silence. The only thing I could hear was the flames crackling.

"Okay," I finally said. "That doesn't sound like Darius."

"Yeah..." Mirane said. "Not really."

I don't know why, but it suddenly became really silent. Mirane seemed to go deep in thought for a second. I focused my attention on the flames; on the light they emitted, on how they danced, shook and grew. My anxiety for Darius' welfare grew more with each passing second. I glanced at the large bars that surrounded the entrance courtyard - they had to be at least fifty feet high. They were towering steel bars, surrounding the Palace like a wall and ending with nasty looking spikes. The gate was painted gold and black, looking especially threatening. Behind it I could see a stone pathway that led into a picturesque forest, but it was hazy through the shimmering, purple forcefield. That must have been the edge of the arena.

It was kind of sad, when I thought about it. I'd never be able to explore that forest. None of us would.

Eventually, Mirane stood up while I reflected on the words she spoke about ten minutes ago. "I better find Darius, he's probably got himself in some kind of pickle," she chuckled, holding the dagger out to me. It was still stabbed through the tin of beans. "These only need cooking for about another minute and they're good to go, just wait on us, okay?"

"Okay," I smiled, taking it. Holding the ruby-encrusted hilt of the dagger still gave me chills. I watched Mirane turn to leave, her purple dress shimmying around her long legs as she strutted away.

"Mirane?" I said. She turned to face me.

"Hm?"

"You know how you said you liked surprised?" I felt myself smile weakly. "If Darius ever... swept you off your feet... wouldn't that be a surprise? Would that still be a surprise you'd like?"

She paused, thinking for a second. Eventually, she smiled.

"Yes," she said bluntly, before storming towards the mansion's entrance hall.

Honora Flloyd, District 4, 18

My dad held my hand tight as we approached the mansion's gravelly driveway. On either side of us were two intimidating bodyguards who wore shades. It was nice to have a dad who was rich and powerful, a dad who could protect you with a click of his fingers.

"Are you excited for Liane's birthday?" He asked.

"No," I squeaked. I'd never spoken to girls my age. In the training centre, I'd made a few friends who were all guys, but they kept to themselves. In school, I barely spoke to anybody. I was so shy.

My dad knelt down, his eyes staring directly into mine. "Well, you're the strongest girl in the training centre," he told me with a smile. "So they'll already know just how cool you are. And not only that, but your dad is one of the most respected men in District One." He removed a tightly wrapped present, pushing it to my chest. "And if that won't convince them, this ring will. Nine carat gold."

I forced myself to smile, taking the gift and holding it close. "Well... If you promise they'll like me..."

"I promise," he kissed my forehead. "Now daddy has to go to work," it was the first time I'd been left with anyone who wasn't my sister. "Tell me how it went, okay? I'll always be here for you." He stood up, marching back towards his car as I heard the large mansion doors open. I stared after him longingly. I'd never been able to do anything without my dad. I'd never had to meet strangers without him in the room, exerting his dominant presence and making me feel like I was worth something. I glanced at the present in my hands and sighed.

A short woman with her hair in rollers stormed up to me. She was still in a ruby dressing gown and she smelled lightly of flour. She must have been baking a cake. She smiled warmly at me and I hugged her. I was already taller than her, which was kind of awkward.

"You're Honora!" She stood on her tip-toes and kissed both cheeks. "You're a big beauty, aren't you?"

"I..." I smiled lightly. "I dunno."

"Come on in," she led me in.

My dad, being a businessman, wanted me to make friends with the Trugs. Mr. Trug was predicted to be District One's next Mayor, and his daughter's friends all had powerful connections too, which meant that I owed it to my dad to make these connections for him. I always thought my family were lucky and privileged, but walking around the Trugs' vast mansion made me suddenly feel poor. Large portraits dominated the walls, and the largest one of all, in the upstairs corridor, was one of their dainty, pretty daughter.

"Liane," Mrs. Trug called into Liane's bedroom as she opened in. "Your friend Honora is here."

Probably in a rush, she slammed the door behind us. I flinched a little. Liane's bedroom was really big, with a bed fit for a Queen. Loud pop music was playing sexual lyrics. Liane and three other girls were playing with dolls and eating from an assortment of sugary treats. I suddenly felt even more insecure; my dress was brown and ugly. Beyond nice suits, my dad didn't have much fashion sense. And all the girls, despite being a little older than me, were so tiny. I was so tall and bulky and my features weren't features that belonged to a supermodel...

"I can't believe Astrid Evans didn't come," Liane said, her voice high pitched and nasally. She poured tea into a small china cup, looking at the other girls. "I'll tell my daddy to tax her daddy when he becomes Mayor."

"What are taxes?" A girl with curly, red hair inquired.

"Things powerful people do to annoy people, they take people's money and spend it on champagne," Liane sniggered, blackmailing her contemporaries: "If you don't attend my midsummer tea party, I will tell my daddy to tax your daddies until they have no money at all."

The girls gasped.

"Well, Astrid is uglier than we are anyway," a girl with blonde hair said. "You're not missing out."

"I'm a teenager now. I'm thirteen. Everyone should come to my party!"

"Hello," I said meekly. The girls didn't turn to face me until I spoke again: "Liane, I got you a present..."

"Ooh," she scanned my body, not looking impressed. "Come here, Honora. I want to see what you got me."

Feeling a little accepted and happy, I skipped over to the four girls. Clumsily sitting down, I pushed my present out in front of them with a wide smile. Astrid's manicured fingernail tore away the ribbon. She looked really excited, which was great. She opened the present with wide blue eyes, taking the ring out. She observed it for a second, suddenly looking not happy at all.

"How many carats is this?" She said, her tone laced with accusation.

"N-Nine..."

She threw the ring away, and it rolled across the floor. Oh god, it was ugly. But it couldn't be that ugly, could it? The girl with curly red hair looked at the abandoned ring hopefully, but Liane was snarling.

"My daddy got me a ring which was ten carats! I wanted better than that!" She snarled.

"Why was she invited anyway?" The blonde haired snob said viciously. "Nobody likes her! She's like a big, fat, ugly giant. And she always trains by herself in the training centre. She's a reject, Liane."

"Is that so?" Liane sneered, standing at. I tried to stand up, too, hopefully to intimidate her. At eleven years old, I was already taller than most men, so I definitely had the height advantage over a pipsqueak like Liane. Before I could move, Liane's heeled foot slammed into my chest and sent me to the floor, digging into my flesh. I cried out in pain as Liane laughed. "Did nobody tell this girl that I am destined to be victor of the Hunger Games?"

"Well she knows now!"

"Show her what will happen to her if she entered the Games," she instructed the other girls. "Only pretty people become victors. Ugly girls just rot and die."

"I'm sorry!" I pleaded. Eventually, I ended up crying out: "Dad! Dad!"

"He isn't here," Liane taunted, tuttering. I felt blood pour as Liane's heel dug into the flesh of my chest. Suddenly, breathing became very difficult. "Come on girls, strangle her. Show her what would happen if she entered the Games."

"Please!" I sobbed.

"Maybe I shouldn'-" the red hair girl looked scared herself.

"Strangle her!" Liane demanded. "I will be the future victor, and I want to make sure no ugly victors come out of the Capitol alive. It's my duty."

I already found it hard to breathe, but when six hands found their way around my throat, squeezing it, I felt all oxygen seep out of me. I didn't even have the strength to sob. Desperation coursed through my blood as I felt sickness and darkness embrace me. I squirmed, but it wasn't enough. I wanted my dad. But he wasn't here to help me now. Knowing I could only rely on myself, I summoned all of my strength.

I kicked and thrashed desperately, exerting all the energy I had. The effect was instant; all four girls screeched as they flew across the room, rolling across the floor and knocking toys and china out of their way. Sickness had still spread through me. I curled up, desperately trying to suck in every inch of oxygen I could while the pretty girls lay on the floor and groaned.

I then stood, towering over them.

"You're all just bitches!" I hissed, watching their reactions. One of their eyes widened. I pointed a finger at Liane, feeling tears stream out of my eyes. "And you, you're just a bully! You're never going to win the Hunger Games. There are great victors out there," I immediately thought of my ancestors who had won before. "But you're just a little, nasty piece of work! I will become the ultimate victor!" I screeched at all of them. "And you won't be able to turn a single corner in the street without hearing my name. I will be talking on your radios. My face will be the model of all your favourite clothes. I will do everything you wish you could do and much more!"

I didn't feel as confident as my words. And still feeling deflated, feeling as if I knew what people were like that little bit more - knowing people were not nice - I ran out of the room, struggling to breathe and feeling my wet tears soak my cheeks.

I woke up, pulling myself out of the bath while I desperately breathed air. My hand caressed the wetness of my cheeks. I remembered the feeling of not being able to breathe. I briefly glanced at the faded scar on my chest. My physical self had felt all of that before, and it seemed as if the pain had briefly returned. While bubbles floated around me, I splashed warm water over my face and tried to purge myself of the bad memories. I'd been weak in the past before. I couldn't ever let that happen again.

I realised what had woken me: There was another knock on the door.

"Honora, are you okay?" Pullox. Bless.

"Yeah, I'm cool," I said. "Come in."

"But you're not decent."

"Just come in," I said exasperatedly. I had no reason to be ashamed for my body and my natural self.

The lock was twisted. Pullox stepped into the room, slowly closing it behind him. His hair was still tinted red, and his clothes still looked damp and stained crimson. My body and breasts were hidden under suds anyway, but seeing the slight look of embarrassment across his face was pretty priceless. I held in a laugh as he stood there awkwardly.

"Looks like a waste of water to me," Pullox said. Anyone would've made that comment disapproving, but Pullox sounded so... matter-of-fact.

"We have enough water to last us weeks," I remembered the collection of goodies we looted from the kitchen where we killed the Twelve boy. I pinched a cheese between my fingers, popping it into my mouth. Yum. "The only people dependent on the Palace's water supply are the rats. We'll be doing ourselves a favour if we take what they need. And I do enjoy a good bath, complete with snacks and candles," I pointed at the treats I had left at the side, flickering wax candles beside them.

"Hm," Pullox pinched some chocolate, taking a bite into it. "You do enjoy calling the District kids rats."

"Because they are," I shrugged. "While we're in a competition, they're nothing more than pests I have to eliminate in order to enjoy peace and prosperity."

"I see..." He was looking anywhere but in my direction. "So are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm wonderful," I smirked. He must have been able to tell I had been drowning in an unpleasant memory not so long ago.

"You killed a boy... brutally... It's a lot for a person."

I stood up, almost spontaneously. My towering form made Pullox seem so minuscule. His gaze turned away from me more obviously, embarrassed at my bareness and nakedness. The bubbles slid off my body, revealing it in all its glory as I looked down at Pullox proudly, releasing a loud gale of laughter.

"Maybe weak people," I said, snatching a towel and wrapping it tightly around myself. I ruffled Pullox's hair, stepping out of the bath and extinguishing the candles by pinching the flames beneath my fingers. "But me and you Pullox... We've always been different, haven't we?" Before I left the room, I turned to him with a mischievous smirk. "And if I were you, I'd get myself a bath. I don't think having very cold wine poured on you would be nice, no?"

Smirking, I left the room.

Alexandria Tarsus, District 1, 15

Sponsor packages didn't seem to fly from the sky - they just seemed to appear out of nowhere. One minute, Nate and I walked past a cabinet. When we paused and glanced behind us, the glittering silver parcel was clearly visible. I didn't know how the Gamemakers did things like that, but Capitolian technology always did wonders. I mean, only the Gamemakers could craft a beautiful, big Palace, with all its rooms and details, in six months or less.

"Yours or mine?" Nate asked, moving to the parcel.

"You tell me," I said, following him out of curiosity.

Nate picked up the sponsor gift. I immediately knew it was from him; it was tagged. And the message on it was incredibly vague. However, it seemed to have an immediate effect on my ally. His skin considerably paled, and I knew he was attempting to control his facial expression. I think he was trying not to look devastated, which was weird, because Iopian had given him like ten knives, which was pretty useful. Still, what did the one word printed onto the tag mean?

"What does Ionian mean?" I asked. "By sorry. Very vague."

"I..." Nate sat down on a random chaise-longue. "It honestly means nothing."

"What does he have to be sorry about?" I asked, still curious. I felt myself treading into dark waters, but that one word obviously had some kind of visible effect on my ally.

"Nothing!" Nate hissed, a little angry.

I wasn't detained until the stress was obviously having a visible effect on him. Nate clutched onto his heart desperately, suddenly breathing heavily. Knowing that I was straining his heart, I got onto my knees and made sure my eyes met his. Holding out some of our water, I knew Nate would grab it and take a few desperate and grateful swigs. It was a few painful minutes of nursing him, but eventually his breathing evened out again. He relaxed on the chaise-longue, his eyes staring into the void for a good few minutes. I could tell that he was still thinking, and I knew his thoughts were centred on that sponsor message he had, but I was way too scared to ask.

"Are you okay?" I asked shyly. "Need anymore water?"

"No," he sighed. "No more water."

"Oh, okay," I smiled unsurely. There was a tense silence. Nate looked out of the window, visibly upset. He always seemed like a really stoic guy, so suddenly seeing him fight back tears was kind of humbling. Even worse, it reminded me that the dude was human. I was hoping that didn't happen, considering I didn't want to die and that meant I'd have to see him die... And I was scared that I would see him as this person with real feelings and motivations. "I'm really sorry," I sighed. "I should learn to keep my nose out of things. I just don't want any secrets," I told him seriously. "Because, it's not what you know that gets you killed in the arena, it's what you don't know. But I didn't want to interfere or make you upset... I'm really sorry."

I wasn't used to upsetting people. I lived my life as a people pleaser. If people around me were hurt, for whatever reason, I'd always feel personally responsible. I worked effortlessly to make sure that my family were proud of me. And even then I felt like a failure. I was no tough Career, and for that very reason my father and my brother had always been disappointed in me. I hoped Nate didn't feel the same way. I was done with disappointing people. I was done with disappointing myself. I hoped I could resolve that if I ever got the chance to go home.

Even so, maybe I was just done revolving my feelings around others. People's expectations would stop me from doing the thing I love: dancing. Sadly, whilst a parents' expectation only ended in disappointment if you rebelled, the Capitol's led to death if you defied expectations. I sat down, realising in horror that whether I survived or not my life was now fixated around the Hunger Games.

"You don't have to be sorry for anything," Nate said, eventually. He smiled at me as he wiped a lone tear away. For the first time, he felt genuine. There was no facade. "I'm just having a rough time."

"Tell me about it," I sighed, my thought process almost returning to prior depressing thoughts. "We just need to find the library, then we'll be okay. Now we have knives, we have the chance to do that."

"Yeah," Nate said; I wasn't sure if he was just acquiescing or if he was agreeing with me. He stood up, counting the knives. "So, ten knives. We take five each?"

"Nah," I smiled. "There's a bunch of them because they're designed for throwing," I pointed at them, remembering what the trainer told me back in the training centre, almost a week ago now. "Which I never really learnt to do, properly. I mean I can do it, but you're better. They're still sharp, pointy and graceful, though. I can protect myself with two, one for each hand, in a close combat scenario." Nate smile, handing me two over. "Not that I'm perfect! But, you know."

"You got an eight in training," Nate said. I smiled warmly. It was a little sweet that he remembered. "You're pretty good."

We started walking again, turning the corridor into a room which seemed extremely modern - the previous decor had always appeared to be from historic periods we read about: baroque, romantic, renaissance, but there was something modern about this corridor, like it came from the Capitol. Post-modern paintings and sculptures filled the room, along with twisted bookshelves and surreal paintings. The colour co-ordination was simple, but still oddly blank and contrasting; black and white. Something about this place made me feel ill at ease.

"It's cute you remembered," I smiled at Nate. He looked around the room carefully, too. Maybe he also noticed. "I don't even remember your training score."

"Wasn't anything special," he said, dismissively. "I didn't want to be noticed before the Games. The people with good training scores are the ones who have hordes of Careers after them now," he almost said 'like you', but had become better at censoring himself. I noticed his lips brake. "I don't know why I remembered your score. When I first saw you, I knew you'd be special... I knew you'd be competition."

"Honora, the Four girl, thinks I'm an easy victim," I sighed.

"Yeah? Well you're still alive, and others are already dead. You're doing great."

I smiled warmly at him. Reassuringly, he squeezed my hand. It was awkward, and he withdrew almost immediately.

"I am hiding something," he said to me. I glanced at him once. We turned out of the anachronistic corridor, into a traditional one once again: petal sketches dominated the skirting boards, complimenting the floral green wallpaper. There was a stairway that seemed to dive into a wide room beneath. I eyed him suspiciously as he approached the stairs. Before he descended, he glanced at me once. "But I'm not hiding something that will kill you. I'm not going to harm you, Lexie. I promise."

He went down the stairs and I sighed before following him. I wished that was true - Nate probably did too. In the Hunger Games, we all had to harm each other in some way or another, otherwise we were the ones who would lose.

These Games were more than killing. I knew the Gamemakers had upped their game; they wouldn't be happy until every single one of us were physically and emotionally crushed.

It was crush or be crushed.

Tear Nikuya, District 9, 16

"Come on!" I shouted at Willow, watching her be pulled down by the weight of her bags. "We have to get to him!"

Thank god Willow had an pretty good memory, and a knowledge of the Palace. We rushed out of the greenhouse, smashed our way through a fancy looking conservatory, and after a bit of stumbling around Willow seemed to know her way back to the kitchens. We were only ten minutes away. Eventually, after passing through a room filled with war memorials, we passed into a corridor that was all too familiar. The one Luke and I had passed through. However, it was different. It was destroyed. The corpses of doors and wood were sprinkled around the corridor uselessly.

Willow came behind me, slugging behind.

"What happened here?"

I looked around worriedly. Why would it be like this?

Willow was quick to reassure me, even though she looked terrified herself. "It's not a Career or something, this all happened when I was here," she explained. "I was walking along casually and doors and stuff started opening and closing by themselves. It didn't get better. They started slamming, there was noise and chaos," she was pale and visibly scared. Sweat was visible on her, and I noticed that she walked faster despite struggling with the weight of backpacks. "It got worse. The doors flew off their hinges. Everything was flying everywhere. I began to ran, and then suddenly these voices started running right behind me... They were calling me, taunting me, said I was going to be one of them, which I didn't understand..." She paused. "I got out."

"So Luke is okay?"

"Well..."

Willow looked unsure. She had the Hoven-Flower in hand; this was the cure that'd save Luke. But as we managed to find a way into the large palace, a cannon fired and filled the air. Luke said it'd be a day until he died; we'd got the flower in time, in theory he should still be alive. There were a large group of tributes out there, and Luke was supposed to be alive. Willow and I reassured ourselves he was okay. I pushed the thought of Luke dying away, but seeing those smashed up doors allowed doubt to fill my mind.

"Well?" I said, impatiently.

"These doors don't give us anything to worry about," Willow said. She was right - but that cannon did.

"I'm here Tear, I'm with you."

The voice carried itself in the wind. I froze. As did Willow, but she looked terrified. It was as if she had been through this before. Even my muscles stiffened; it felt almost instinctive, until I realised that there was a very specific reason the voice seemed intimidating. Because the voice I heard belonged to Luke. Except it wasn't quite Luke. Whatever it was, it was Luke's voice stripped of humanity. Where there used to be emotion, there was only a void. Still frozen, still scared, I looked around cautiously. Willow held her hatchet close to her chest, terrified.

"I'm here too, Tear. Do you remember me? It feels like we've been apart forever. But don't worry. Luke has joined me. You'll join me too."

This voice was unfamiliar to Will, one she hadn't heard before, though the evil that seeped its tone still terrified her. Everything about it leaked malice. I felt goosebumps crawl up me as I realised who that was. I heard that voice during training, during the interviews. It felt so familiar, except now it was so different. It was Liz's voice. I hadn't heard it since she died. The pain of her death flared back, but another potent emotion numbed it: worry. Why did I hear Luke, followed by Liz's voice? What did they mean when they talked about joining something?

No. No...

The heavy load of supplies I was carrying slipped to the floor. Will shouted something angrily, but I immediately sped to the end of the corridor; in retrospect, I shouldn't have left Willow there, where she was potentially in danger. But my mind was fixated on Luke. I rushed down the wooden stairway, getting into the bottom of it and rushing into that all familiar intersection. Small trickles of blood formed a trail in the floor. Luke was bleeding anyway, right? My heart felt as if it was beating in my throat as I removed a knife, preparing to fight as I followed the trail.

"Luke!" I cried loudly. There was no response. I kept shouting his name, always expecting the response that wasn't to come.

I froze when I saw the pantry; it was once bulging with food, enough to last a month - potentially even longer. The shelves were almost bare; there were only a few scraps of preserved meat, cheese, bread and other goods. Objectively, there was still a lot of food, but I knew from that moment on that all of it had been looted. That was enough to make doom fill my stomach, but the dread only rose within me as I looked around the dining room, finding nothing but a puddle of blood. I rushed through the kitchens, calling Luke's name. Despite knowing deep inside he was gone, I carried on, hoping.

I rushed into the corridor leading away from the kitchens. Outside the wide window, dark clouds obscured the new moon. I tried every door, but it was locked. Desperate, I forced myself to try every single door. Eventually, I found the only open one.

I felt tears melt through my eyes as I opened the door.

It was the familiar cellar where we had found Willow... only, it had lost its familiarity; like other rooms, it had been ransacked. The only familiar aspect of it were the stone walls and ceiling, as well as the barrels of beer that were still neatly placed. But the floor was red. A warm crimson wine had been spilt across it, but within the substance was an equal amount of a much more congealed substance. It was also darker. It was blood. Floating in the substances, like boats on a vast ocean, were tiny shards of green glass. They were from bottles of wine. I moved my gaze to another sign of the destruction; a shelf had been outright knocked over. In its path, a few shelves had tilted and sent half smashed wine bottles to the floor.

I turned, noting that the blood was splattered on the wall beside me. Placing my hand on the stair rail, I tried to stabilise myself. But all the sadness had caved into... nothing. I was perfectly stable, staring out at the cellar for minutes on end in horror.

"Tear... Where is-" Willow's voice was strained. The determined kid had somehow managed to carry all of our supplies. She froze when she saw the obliterated room. "Holy shit."

The anthem played loudly, patriotically expanding through the whole arena. Willow didn't even ask for permission to go. She rushed away, probably to see whose face was in the night sky. A part of me was already in denial, but I already knew.

Relaxing slightly, I sat on one of the stairs. I noticed that dry blood ran down it in dashes.

Willow returned.

"Tear..." Her voice cracked. I'd never seen her so vulnerable. "It was him."

I paused. And then I sighed. "I need a drink."

"We're surrounded by it," Willow said, looking at the mess on the floor with disgust.

"Yeah, we knew what happened to Luke when he trusted the alcohol the Gamemakers gave us," I said. "No way."

Willow laughed - it was bittersweet. She shook the Hoven Flower. "We have the cure."

It was genuine, but pained - I laughed too, loudly. In times like this, I guess you needed to laugh.

"I didn't know Luke for long, you know?" I confided. Willow looked at me, confused. What did she know? She was only young. When I was thirteen, I was naive and foolish. I was still young - I'd like to think I was still, to some degree, naive and foolish. But the Games were forcefully stripping that from me. "I only spoke to him for like two days, and I never knew if I liked him much. I never really got to discover him," Willow opened one of the backpacks, taking out chocolate. She offered me some - it was the last of our chocolate, but I needed it. "I knew Liz for longer. I spoke to her on the first day of training, she was my first ally, you heard her voice up there," I gestured. "I knew we'd get on from the start. She was smart, and competent, and sweet. We knew each other over the course of about four, maybe five days, and she felt like the sister I never had. When she died, it hurt me deep inside, in a way I've never been hurt before. But I knew getting home myself, seeing Rita, that was more important." I took a bite of chocolate, savouring the last vestiges of sweetness. "But I moved on."

"Must have been hard."

"Maybe..." I sighed. "I did it. I soldiered on, and I partnered up with Luke and I thought I knew it all. I thought I could distance myself from him, and I knew what loss felt like now. I could easily cope with him dying..." I wiped my tears with my sleeves as they began to fall. "But somehow, it felt worse. It hurt worse. I thought I was prepared for this shit." I sobbed slightly, covering my face. "I thought this would be at least a little bit easier... I'm just so glad Rita doesn't have to deal with it."

Willow put her hand on my shoulder. She looked uncomfortable; comforting wasn't her thing.

"He could have been something," I said, thinking about Luke's smarts. All that potential he had... every thought and memory that coursed through his brain... it amounted to nothing. He definitely could have been something. We all could have been.

"It won't get easier," Will told me, firmly. "I hated my mum. But her mum was one of the coolest people I knew. She'd always have food for me, she cooked amazingly... Come to think about it, she was great." She smiled. "She died when I was really small." I smirked at her anyway. She was still small. Feeling the burn of her glare, I listened to the rest of her story: "It was horrible for me. I cried and cried and cried. A year later, her husband, who I hated because he was always mean to my dad, died. I thought I was prepared for that - he was growing weak and old, he couldn't even work anymore! And he was just not nice. But it hurt even more, even though I hated him. In some ways, I'm still not over it."

"How do we get prepared?" I said.

"We never will," Willow sighed. "But... It's just life. The most painful part of life is... living it out. And each wound gets deeper, so it hurts more. But... you might not realise it, but you get stronger." She squeezed my hand. "I learned that it doesn't matter if you're a boy or a girl, if you're big or small, if your face is beautiful or if you look like a horse, if you really want to, you can be strong."

I smiled warmly at her, curling up on the stairs. It was strangely comforting, despite the solid wood.

"Thank you, kid..." I trailed off, and corrected myself. "Will."

I should've made sure somebody kept guard, we should've taken it in turns. But now wasn't the time for rational thinking. Willow and I eventually fell asleep, taking a stair each, curled up uncomfortably and hoping tomorrow would be better.

Hey, look at me, with 200,000 words! Thanks so much. You've all been brilliant reviewers. I've been so busy and can't respond to reviews, but every single one makes me smile :)

Anyway, this was the hardest chapter for me to write because I have writers block and bought a wonderful new computer (which means a new keyboard to adjust to), but it was my personal favourite. Tear's POV kind of felt like it came from my own heart.

Eulogy for Luke:

You were a great character, and killing you so early really does feel criminal. You were smart, strong, and despite sometimes doing things wrong, you were also one of the nicer tributes. I loved exploring how your father affected you, and it's really sad that you could have amounted to somebody good who did great things, but your dad (inadvertently) and the Capitol (very advertently) crushed all that into dust. I'll really miss you :( so yeah, thanks to Luke's submitter for submitting a brilliant tribute, hope you stick around and submit an equally compelling character next year :)

Oh, disclaimer: Obviously these characters are your own, but you know, I will take the liberty of editing their history slightly for storyline purposes!

Another disclaimer: Don't worry about Darius, he got lost and Mirane found him!

~Toxic

Capitol Commentator Question: Do you think Honora is an evil person? Do you think she's deserving of sympathy, or her emotions can be understood?

Interview Question: Look! My story has a cover. What do you think of it? I guess it's important to state here that I don't own the picture.