"Why do we blaze a trail when the well worn path

Seems safe and so inviting?

How, as we travel, can we

See the dismay and keep from fighting?"

Mirabelle McMaster, 39, District Two Mentor

The dawn will soon break on a new Reaping Day, and Mirabelle feels a helpless, inescapable tightening inside her—it's the feeling of knowing something terrible is coming. Yet no matter how miserable and sharp-edged this next month will be, Mirabelle knows exactly what to expect. Perhaps that's the torture of it—to know what's coming, to have gone through it time after time, and yet to still be locked in the jaws of repetition. To be desperately trapped in a place of unending corruption... it's the way Mirabelle's felt for so many years. Ever since she was taken away from her home outside of Panem, married off and deposited into an Arena where the worst was made manifest.

When Mirabelle escaped from that darkness, she had the fleeting, foolish hope that the worst of her life was over. That nothing could possibly be quite so awful.

In a way, Mirabelle had been right to think it. The same thing happens every year. Yet somehow, with every returning Games, the sharpest, most lethal edges remain. They won't be worn away by the scrape of time and familiarity. Mirabelle knows that now.

It's ironic, considering her new position as Mentor. Soon, she'll be forced to relive the Games again, even if from afar. And there'll be no reprieve from the pain. She can't help but think this will continue to happen, again and again, no matter what she tries. She is helpless to stop the pendulum's swing.

To extract herself from this cycle of hopelessness is almost impossible. The only thing that almost consoles her is the thought that changes are happening in Panem, slow and gradual and surreal. President Graymore has begun to reshape certain aspects of the country, things that Mirabelle had never imagined would change. He's started an initiative for improving the environment, appointing a Minister of Environmental Affairs, someone who can at least attempt the progress that Naya Illumina of Four, who placed fifth in the Sixteenth Games, had spent the last days of her life championing. He's altering his cabinet, selecting new members in the stead of those that he's dismissed. He's doing something, at least. It's an attempt—and Mirabelle can respect that.

She's never thought much of the young President, a boy who always seemed to be in shadow, but now it's as if the scars from the Sixteenth Games have renewed him—perhaps even refined him. It's too early to truly know, but Mirabelle is beginning to put her faith in the new President.

She just wishes he'd call off the Games. But that would be a ridiculous hope, especially since he was the one to televize them in the first place.

Patience. She has to have patience, even if it feels like an emotion she can't afford—not when history continues to repeat itself without any consequence. Even with the hope of improvement, the very first signs of change making themselves known, Mirabelle knows they're still trapped in the past. And to her, the future is steeped in familiar dismay. There's nothing she can do, in the grand scheme of things. Nothing to do but comfort the castoffs of Panem's elite, the ones left behind in the wreckage of previous Games.

How things have changed since the aftermath of that terrible war. There was so much deception and confusion running rampant in the hearts of the people. President Alabaster Graymore was a cold, decisive President, the kind that kept all his plans close to his chest. The first few Hunger Games were all about experimentation, testing which methods would cause the greatest tragedies for the people. Mirabelle knew nothing then, still young and confused and mourning her arranged marriage and the homeland she'd never again see. Linnet's Games were made up of only young children, from the ages of ten to sixteen. Mirabelle's were next, and they were full of the most essential to Panem and the Districts, between the ages of twenty and thirty. Nurses, businessmen and parents were snatched from the District, and Mirabelle was a valuable game piece who'd just been married to a very influential man. Naturally, she was taken.

Those were the old days, though. Mirabelle forces herself to let go of the gilded memories, the ghosts and the tears from her past life, that now feel almost antique. Almost like she'd dreamed them. She knows better than anyone that sometimes you can't wake up from the nightmares in your head. They're not simply things you can shake off. They're not easy to forget. She knows there are others who are cursed with undeniable horrors in their past—she's in a room with several of them now. They are haunted, waiting for the worst yet again—like bracing for a slap.

Not all of the Victors are here—in fact, a good portion of them live in their Districts, with their families. But then there are the ones whose old lives have been bent out of shape, so distorted by the Capitol's influence that the Victors can never again go back. These are the ones beside her right now—those that have decided to join her revolution. The Victors who have not been granted the Capitol's grace.

In an attempt at celebration and patriotism, the Sixteenth Games—and the first to be televize being replayed throughout Panem. To Mirabelle, it feels like a reminder, or perhaps a prophecy of what's to come. Just as the Districts have begun to heal from the previous year's mourning, their wounds are being reopened. There will be no solace for the people of Panem. No escape for the designated victims soon to be obliterated, and all because of a war long won, a grudge that can never be let go.

At times like this, Mirabelle wonders at the unpredictability of the President's actions. How can he be so intent on charity and growth, yet still promote the Games so publicly? Why does he continue to allow the traditions of a corrupt government, when he's made it so clear that he's fighting for change?

Mirabelle learned an important lesson long ago, when she was alone in a country she didn't know: there's no way to trust anything around her. Every time she thinks there's something to hold on to, the ground gives way beneath her. There's no use trying to make sense of the world when it is constantly betraying her. No use asking questions that nobody will answer.

Beside her are the other wayward Victors, silent and filled with sickened dread as the Master of Ceremonies, Mirabelle's ever-so-pompous husband, looks back on last year's Games, preparing to replay them. Viewing the Games is required for every citizen of Panem, but this particular group is convening to get reacquainted and discuss strategy for the upcoming Games. At least, that's what Mirabelle stated as the official purpose. Really, she invited the other Victors here so they wouldn't have to be alone in their grief. So that there'd be others there, to make the darkness a little less absolute.

Perhaps it's a futile exercise. Either way, they'll be forced to relive memories that already haunt their dreams and waking moments alike. But Mirabelle somehow hopes that the prospect of change will be something of a comfort. She still continues to hope that she can do something to make things right.

Nothing so grand as the uprising she'd dreamed of last year. No, Mirabelle knows better now. She knows that her husband is watching her like a hawk for any misstep. She knows he, and others like him, wouldn't hesitate to crush her like a bug and act as if ede never existed. In the Capitol's eyes, she's no longer needed. She'd hardly be missed.

It's harrowing to think of. But she knows it's true. She has to be realistic, despite how painful that reality can be.

There will be no more uprisings—not yet. For now, all they have is each other—and a hope, being slowly stoked and banked like coals in a hearth.

There will be a time to fight. There will be time to avenge all that they've lost.

But for now, they sit in solemn vigil as the Games begin, and the last few weeks of twenty-three children's lives are recorded and revisited. Every painstaking detail. Every last moment.

Perhaps this is better, in some ways, to have it televized for everyone to see. At least now, the dead Tributes are no longer nameless, invisible faces who will never be known or remembered. At least these children have the chance to leave something behind.

(At least now, children aren't being snatched from their homes with no chance of a memorial.)

But that doesn't make it worth it, not in the slightest. A miniscule legacy cannot replace a beautiful life, long and well-lived. A crime does not become more forgivable, even if it is there for the whole country to see.

They watch nine days of suffering, compiled and streamlined into the space of a few hours. Last year's Arena was a medieval village, beautiful and terrible. When they reach the moment when a plague strikes, Linnet Llamora—the District Nine Mentor—starts to cry. She doesn't stop weeping until her last Tribute is destroyed by the Arena's force field. Rima, the District Five mentor, wraps his arms around her, and they hold each other silently. Mirabelle feels a tug in the base of her stomach, painful and jarring, but she doesn't look away from the screens. She gives these Tributes their only remaining dignity: she sees them, and she doesn't flinch away from their final moments.

Blade Cassidy, the newest Victor, is across from her. His usually grim and unreadable face is filled with unfathomable sorrow. His closest ally, the boy from Twelve, speaks to ghosts in his head that nobody else can see, trapped in the visions of his own mind. When the screen shows him staring into nothing and mumbling to himself, Blade's knuckles go white as he clenches his fists. These are Alessio's most private moments, displayed for all the world to see. His struggle has now become a source of entertainment for the masses, and it's not right. It's not fair. To Blade, the display of these Games must feel like a betrayal of trust, another domino added to the teetering stack that's balanced on all of their shoulders.

Mirabelle blinks away tears—she hadn't known any of these Tributes, not really. But the rest of these Mentors did know them. They spent hours in their presence, hearing their voices and seeing their faces and watching them train. Beyond that, one of the Avoxes in this very room is Alessio's own sister. Mirabelle doesn't know the half of the grief the people in this room have faced, and as she watches them come apart again, she struggles for the right words to say. She cannot find a way to fix the holes the Games have made.

There are, of course, her Tributes. The young girl died in the Bloodbath, and Tremor... well, it's torture to watch his spiral, the deaths he caused in the Capitol's name. So ensnared was he in their spell, only to be burned down and subjected to shame by their very own machinations. Even if a small part of her hates Tremor for the pain he caused in his downfall, she knows that it's the Capitol who's truly to blame.

"They will pay for this," she murmurs, signing as she speaks. "But for now, we remember the ones who have been lost. We mourn for the lives that could have been so beautifully lived, had the Capitol not cut them short. And we hope that no one else will suffer the same fate."

There are tearful nods and the exchange of sorrowful glances. Mirabelle knows how empty her words are; they resound, dull and hollow, in her own chest.

But it's all she can do for them right now. Provide the hope of justice. The chance at healing.

Mirabelle wishes she could remember a time when she wasn't helpless. Wishes she didn't have to watch these events unfold over and over, knowing the outcome, yet entirely paralyzed as the inevitable came true.

Nothing ever changes.

But as Mirabelle watches the Games, she sees tender moments, beauty sprinkled in among the destruction. These Tributes have so much strength. They have a bravery, a resilience, that Mirabelle wishes she could replicate. There are some that have found peace in death—some whose lives were so horrible that the friendships and the beauty they found in the Games were somehow worth it.

It's inexplicable, this contradiction. The light and the darkness. The kindness and the valiance... and, in the end, the utter meaninglessness of it all.

But it can't be entirely for naught. Not when these warriors surround her, beaten down by their battle scars but still somehow standing. Avoxes stand guard at the door, but no matter how others might see them, Mirabelle knows them as her allies. Her first guard, and her first ally, is still here, occasionally signing to the others and no longer forced to follow others' orders. He's no longer nameless—Valerian, with his kind eyes and his brave spirit, as as much a part of the group as anyone else. The other Avoxes are just as strong, and she's in awe of the way they all keep fighting, despite it all.

Mirabelle longs to be a refuge for outcasts, for those that are broken but still so strong, and there are so many like that in this very room. They're a testament to hope. A beacon.

All of them have been through so much. Blade, still young, somehow escaped the agony of the Games, only to find more turmoil and pain waiting on the other side. Linnet, who'd grown so fond of her Tributes, was unable to do a thing as their hope and joy was snuffed out. The Avoxes, now a part of their little revolution, have been mutilated and disgraced by the Capitol. Mirabelle cannot stop thinking of Melinda Spades, the sister of Alessio, still mourning her brother and still unable to escape the Capitol's clutches, the way they'd callously made her an avox and forgotten about her, just like they have everyone else.

But they've all escaped, in a way. Here, they are rebelling simply by being together, by comforting each other. By speaking the truths inside them that refuse to be silenced.

It's something. The hope, the hurt that they've all survived. The bond that they share.

And the beginnings of change are seeping through the streets of Panem, slowly and surely as the sunrise. Perhaps it's foolish of Mirabelle, to still have hope. Others have been crushed by much lesser burdens than the ones she carries.

But in a sense, hope is its own resistance. And Mirabelle doesn't plan to stop resisting, even if it's only in the smallest increments. Even if she'll never stop these Games from coming, she knows that these meetings will at least mean something, if only to the Victors and Avoxes huddled in solemn memoriam. There is anger and pain and hope inside them, white-hot and blindingly bright. Between them, they could start an inferno.

But it's not time for the flames—perhaps it never will be. Maybe they'll never truly be strong enough to fight back.

But they're trying. They're staying with each other, through the grief, and plotting their revenge, quietly enough that the Capitol will never hear. Not until it's time—and when that time comes, the Capitol will be forced to listen. Their voices will be a roar unrivaled.

But if that time never comes... well, Mirabelle knows that she's given her crew something even more valuable than justice. She's given them strength. And one day, she hopes they'll find some kind of healing.

But for now, they hope and they hurt and they heal, in spite of the impending darkness.

...

Louder Than Words- Tick Tick Boom

HEY! This must be Mamma Mia, because here we go again! (That was a bad joke. Many apologies.) Anyway, I'm thrilled to be starting this new story! If you don't know me, hi! My name is Miri, I'm a theater kid who likes fantasy and writes sad things with occasional happy things too! I just finished my very first SYOT which was a blast and a half, and now I'm really excited to be opening again for the sequel! I've already been blown away by so much interest and support—in short, you are all the coolest. As an introverted young writer, your comments and enthusiasm truly mean so much! But if this is the first time you're stumbling upon my Verse, welcome! I'm opening submissions for this fic, which will close June 16th! I can't wait to see all of your creations!

As for the first prologue, I hope you enjoyed it! I'm planning to write a good few, but we'll see how many I'll squeeze in; I do know that they'll all be from just one perspective, like this one, so as not to be too overwhelming. I do have a few more Capitol characters I'd love to introduce, which will be familiar faces to some of you, but for the new readers I hope everything made sense! This was a longer POV than I usually do, so I hope it wasn't too info-dumpy! But truly I just am so excited to begin this journey with you all. Reach out to me if you have any questions or if you're interested in a slot. I hope your Monday is fabulous!

Miri