Bloodbath - June 15, 11:58

The Cornucopia

As the dawn of the bloodbath arrives, Marri Esters finds herself remarkably short on tears.

It doesn't feel real. Every night as she went to sleep, Marri half expected to wake up back home, in her own room. And even though she never did, she found solace in the few bright moments the Capitol allowed her.

(Marri isn't sure when she last felt so… content. She can't say she's happy, but if she can stave off the fear gnawing at her chest, she realizes the last week or so has proven to be a pleasant distraction from everything back home.)

(She misses her father. She's still afraid to join him.)

The morning passes in a blur. She wakes up, eats because she doesn't know when she will again, and heads out, stomach churning relentlessly. The hovercraft ride is only fun because Marri sees more of the world than she ever has before – more than she ever will again. The gentle sway reminds her of a boat on the water, and she's able to stave off the sensation of a tracker being inserted into the back of her left arm.

Her outfit for the Arena is… pretty. The forest green dress is simple but lovely, with a brown corset-style top and pink flowers sewn into the hem. Her shoes are plain brown flats, and she's wearing a newsboy cap on her head. Marri stares at herself in the mirror for a long time, smoothing her hands over the thick fabric of her skirt continuously. Marri is certain she'd never be able to afford something like this back home.

And then, before she knows it, Marri is standing on a platform, glass surrounding her. It's only then that she realizes how violently she's trembling.

She hopes Xander is close by. She hopes she can run away fast enough. She hopes she can survive another day, just one more day, and that every day after is easier than this one.

(It'll get easier, right?)

Her platform begins to rise. Marri stumbles, catching herself with her palms against the glass. She hurriedly straightens, cautious not to get herself in a position where she might fall when the glass retracts. She's seen it happen before, a tribute too eager or too stupid to remember they have to wait for the official start of the Games. So even though every instinct tells her to run, Marri forces herself to stay as still as possible.

The light from above isn't as blinding as she expects it to be. Marri squints upwards at the sun hidden behind clouds. A flash of relief runs through her as she realizes she'll at least get to see the sun again.

(Even if it's not real.)

Upon first glance, the Arena appears strangely comforting. The path to the Cornucopia is paved with grass, lush and green, the only vibrant color to be seen in her immediate vicinity. Marri looks to her left and sees a lake, the waters dull without the light of the sun to reflect back at her. The inky depths wink at her, luring her closer. Marri turns her head.

The rest of the Arena, however, makes her breath catch. Marri wonders how it took her so long to notice. She sees buildings towering all around; the closest buildings appear to be cracked and crumbling, overrun by ivy. An enclosed space such as that should be a refuge, but Marri doesn't think that will be the case. Something about them screams danger, makes Marri want to run the opposite direction.

The park is lovely, but it's not safe. Marri has seen enough Games to know this is where the Careers will camp out. No matter how much she wants to, she can't stay.

A voice rings out through the Arena, and Marri jumps. Her foot slides towards the edge of the platform, and she freezes. Her breaths are coming faster now.

"Welcome, one and all, to the 124th Hunger Games! And, as always, may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Her attention is drawn towards the Cornucopia again. There's a clock on top that's beginning to count down.

60… 59… 58…

Trembling, Marri looks around her, surveying the other tributes. She's caught between the boy from Eleven and the girl from One – the former looks right through her, as if she's not even there, and the latter smiles. Terrified, Marri smiles back.

48, 47, 46…

At least someone must be on her side – Xander is three people over from her. If Marri can only make it past the One girl, she can reach him and they can run.

Running is their only option, their only chance for survival.

(Marri is too afraid to die.)

36, 35, 34…

And then the fog rolls in.

She didn't notice it before. Maybe it was always there, lurking, waiting to swallow her whole. But one moment Marri is tracking the best route to Xander, and the next she can't see him at all. The only figures she can see are the people directly beside her. Their forms look all the more menacing when Marri can no longer make out their distinct features.

Her heart pounds in her chest. Marri sways where she stands, paralyzed. The sun is nothing but a faint pinprick above her head, and now she's lost in the dark, lost in the dark, lost in the dark, lost in the dark, lostinthedark-

24, 23, 22…

Her head spins. Marri's beginning to panic, which is the one thing she promised herself she wouldn't do. She can't die yet, not when she's barely gotten to live.

(If she has to die, she's glad it'll be over quick.)

12, 11, 10…

Marri sucks in a rattling breath. Steels her nerves. Prepares to run.

Even if there's nowhere to go, running is the only thing she can do. It's the only thing she's good at.

3, 2, 1…

(It's her only chance to save her own life.)

June 15, 11:59

The Cornucopia

God, how did Theo get so lucky?

The grin hasn't left his face since he launched next to that insufferable extra, Kodo. Maybe extra isn't the proper word – for better or worse, Kodo has stolen one of the featured roles for himself.

That means it's about time Theo put him in his place. The producers really knew what they were doing.

The fog is an unexpected twist, but Theo rises above it, like he does everything. It's disorientating, sure, and Theo's pretty bummed that his glamour shots will be scuffed from the terrible lighting, but Theo supposes he can't complain too much. Not when his producers have carefully planned so this moment in the spotlight can be everything for Theo.

(Not when he's worked his whole life for this.)

The timer counts down: 7, 6, 5…. Theo's grin turns almost manic.

It's a good day to be Pantheon Lexicus.

As the horn sounds, Theo launches himself off the platform, immediately gunning for one of the weapons he spotted on the ground several yards ahead. Everything closest to the perimeter is rather impractical – small knives, heavy longswords – nothing the average tribute would be able to use adequately.

Thankfully, due to years of training, Theo can wield almost anything he puts his hands on. And thanks to the ingenious efforts of his producers, they put one of his favorite weapons relatively close by – all to prevent him from losing track of Kodo.

The fog has done its job: in an effort to locate his little fiancee, Kodo has stumbled far closer to the Cornucopia than he likely intended. It helps that, while thick around the outskirts, the fog thins the closer you get to the Cornucopia, almost as if it's trying to lure tributes in. Kodo has fallen for such a simple trick; for once, he looks wholly out of his element, all boring beige clothes and mussed hair and bags under his eyes. If Theo squints, he swears he sees a bruise blooming on the other boy's jaw.

Theo shudders. He hopes his audience was spared from such an unappetizing scene.

Unaware of Theo's presence, Kodo scoops a backpack off the ground, clearly pleased with himself that he managed even a meager haul. Theo lets him revel in the moment, spinning his staff between his hands. Sure, he's showing off a little – who's gonna stop him?

"You put on a good show during pregames," Theo admits, watching as Kodo's eyes snap up to him, "but that all ends here. For your efforts, I'll make sure your death is something to be remembered."

"My dearest Cinnabon!" Kodo calls, eyes holding a hint of panic. "I could use a little help over here!"

Theo sneers at the clear product placement in the middle of his bloodbath. Does this kid have no class? Did his producers just pick him up off the side of the road? Is he really still trying to get sponsors right now?

"No brand name can save you here," Theo hisses, lifting the staff high above his head. He can already envision the thunderous applause back home when he cuts Kodo's head clear off his body.

Kodo's brows wrinkle in confusion. "Brand-?"

Kodo yelps and barely manages to dodge the first swing of Theo's weapon. Theo wishes this guy knew how to shut up. It would do him a world of good. Kodo takes away entirely too much attention from the main plot of the show.

The first few swings of Theo's weapon are a little sluggish, intentionally so. He wants to wear Kodo out, to show off and make the audience remember just how much Theo deserves to win it all. He adds a few flairs here and there, something flashy to remind the audience of his clear expertise. The weaponless Kodo is forced to scramble backwards, clearly out of his element.

Good. It's nice to see him on the run, out of things to say to save his own skin. Theo raises his staff above his head, ready to slice Kodo down in one clean motion.

His staff comes down in a slow, unrelenting arc, and Theo plays out the rest in his mind. He'll finally cut down the irritant that's been stealing his show since the day he arrived. The other tributes will have no choice but to look on in awe and wonder, amazed that they got to share the stage with the Pantheon Lexicus.

To die by his blade is an honor only few will be able to claim. Kodo Hotakim will only be the first, reduced to a mere statistic when the whole of Panem marvels over Theo's Games. The rest of the Games will be cleansed of his presence, and everyone else will be immensely grateful for it. Sure, this actor will be out of a role, but it's for the greater good!

But of course, Kodo has to ruin things somehow. He darts out of the way of Theo's slowly descending blade and dusts himself off, barely winded. A grin stretches across his face. "Wow. Fighting is a whole lot easier than I thought."

Theo gapes at the boy's audacity to ruin his moment – he's been practicing his technique for ages so the cameras can zoom in on every detail of his moves as they play out in slow motion.

"Hey!"

Something whizzes past Theo's head and bounces in the grass, glinting gold. Theo turns to face a very unhappy-looking Bonnie – all the better if he can take them both out at once. He doesn't want Bonnie's storyline of a grieving widow to attract too much attention.

"Lover girl to the rescue," Theo sneers. "Don't worry, I'll make it quick."

"Worry about yourself, shitface."

Before Theo can think of another quip, Bonnie raises her arm and Theo catches sight of something gold sailing through the air, and then-

"Fuck!"

The force of the object cuts a slit in his eyebrow, and blood flows freely into his left eye. Dazed, Theo staggers back a couple steps, trying desperately to reorient himself. He blinks in an attempt to clear his vision, but everything he sees is stained red. He has no choice but to wildly swing his staff, hoping to at least nick one of those damn Nines.

Desperation rises in his chest, and Theo tries to stave it off. There's no way Theo's story will end now, not like this, but surviving in this state is somehow worse. This was supposed to be his moment, and now the Nines have sufficiently humiliated him in front of Panem. They're going off script, they have to be. There's no way- there's no way Theo's producers would do this to him!

Theo uses the sleeve of his shirt to staunch the bleeding, but by the time he manages to clear his vision, the Nines have been swallowed by the fog.

His chest heaves. Theo spins around, trying to spot anyone, anything that can save this moment for him. His gaze falls to the ground, where that gold object mocks him. Theo snatches it up, and his breath catches.

The other one didn't fall too far away – Theo is able to scoop up the second brass knuckle without much difficulty. They fit snugly over his fingers, they feel like home, like comfort and everything Theo knows, everything he's trained for. His heart thrums in his chest, a strange mix of excitement and frustration overwhelming him.

There's a figure through the fog, and Theo hones in on it with nothing but red in his vision and buzzing in his ears. It's a boy with strawberry blond hair and black clothes, small and lost in the midst of the chaos.

Lark. His name is Lark.

He doesn't see the first hit coming. The boy staggers back, eyes wide, and freezes, like he can hardly comprehend what's happening. Theo lands the next blow, and then another, without Lark even getting the chance to put up his hands to shield himself. Too late, Lark tries to lash out in any way he can, but the next hit leaves him dazed, and the next knocks him to the ground. Lark screams, the sound shrill and piercing, and-

-and suddenly it's not Lark at all, it's someone else, someone who doesn't fight back, who barely cries out. Blood is slick against Theo's knuckles, which are bruised and split and aching but he doesn't stop. He can't let himself stop. Not now, when it's what everyone wants, what everyone's asking for.

Maybe this sort of ruination is all they wanted from him, anyway. It's all Theo's good for, putting on a show and destroying everything, even hims-

Blood soaks the cuffs of his sleeves by the time Theo realizes the boy has gone still, that there's no fight remaining. He tears himself away from the body, broken and bleeding. A smile stretches across his face – he's done something right, something the producers will be proud of, something that will shock audiences everywhere.

Theo blinks.

Lark. All of thirteen, shy and reserved but eager to introduce himself when Theo asked. Clearly not destined for stardom, but not everyone can be Pantheon Lexicus. A filler character in Theo's story will certainly give this boy something to be remembered by, even if it was short-lived. He can probably use this in his next role.

Except… well, all of this certainly looks real. The boy's hair is matted and stained red, and every inch of exposed skin is flushed, like it'll soon be mottled with bruises. Theo's own knuckles are mangled and torn, and they ache with something Theo's not sure how to shake.

Gingerly, Theo nudges the boy with his foot. Lark doesn't so much as twitch. Something bitter rises in Theo's throat. He looks around for the camera, realizing too late that he should still be smiling.

The show must go on, after all.

June 15, 12:02

The Cornucopia

Scarlet is here with her.

Guinevere's breaths come in sharp pants. The plan was always to get Akira and get out, but Akira had a last-minute change of heart. So now Guinevere is stumbling through a thick wall of fog, fear constricting her throat and leaving her unable to call out. She's horrified by the possibility of running into another tribute.

(The silver sword gleams above her head, a threat and a promise all at once. She misses when the color red was merely a reminder of her own name.)

Closer to the Cornucopia, the fog thins out. Guinevere realizes this all too late, and suddenly the golden horn is directly in front of her and metal clangs all around. Spinning around, Guinevere looks for Akira, but instead what catches her eye is Thessaly descending on Vivian from Ten. Her movements are downright entrancing – Guinevere finds she can't look away, even as Thessaly's astonishingly graceful cartwheel ends with a spray of blood.

It's nothing personal, Scarlet whispers to her. It's just how the game is played.

The screams of Vivian's District Partner seem to agree.

She shouldn't have come this far. Guinevere can't escape the sounds of death rasping around her, and she feels like her presence only amplifies the sensation. It creeps through the air like a sickness, a disease that threatens to rip the air out of Guinevere's lungs and the life out of her limbs. Death is something that has always felt a little too close to her, like all along it's been taking its time to claim her as its own.

("Please," Scarlet pleads, too softly for the cameras to pick up. "Please, you don't have to do this-")

Guinevere can barely tell which way she came from. Akira is still missing, and the longer Guinevere stays, the closer Scarlet gets. She doesn't want to die, not like this, not when home is still within reach and she misses the loving touch of her wife.

"Akira!" she calls, backing away from Thessaly. "Akira, where-"

Someone rams into her, hard. Guinevere twists and manages to catch herself with one arm, her breath knocked out of her. Frantically, her hand flies back, searching for something, and she manages to wrap her hand around the handle of a knife. The simple action feels like it takes ages, but she knows it's only moments before she leverages the knife at her attacker's throat.

Stunned, Svelte stares at her with wide eyes. His long hair has been braided back, but a few curls have already fallen out. He's got his own blade pointed at her face, and all Guinevere can think about is that final silver kiss Scarlet received.

Red already stains his knife. Scarlet lingers nearby, hand outstretched, ready to steal Guinevere away for good.

They're not friends, much less allies – Svelte has made that plenty clear. So it surprises Guinevere when he relents, swiftly pulling away. She manages to rather clumsily clamber to her feet, dusting off her long skirt. Distantly, she hears someone sobbing.

For a reason she can't name, Guinevere reaches out for Svelte, but he shrinks away like her touch is poison.

(Just like when Guinevere was a child and her very existence was a curse.)

"Good luck," she whispers, the only thing she can offer.

Svelte's jaw twitches. His gaze darts between Guinevere and something on the ground. She turns her head to see a body lying in a rapidly expanding pool of blood.

(The red on his knife makes sense now.)

"I'm sorry," Guinevere says.

His expression closes off entirely. Svelte takes a step back, as if he means to leave. Guinevere doesn't want to let him, not yet.

"You can still come with us."

Svelte pauses, perplexed. "I'm not your friend."

"You don't have to be."

"Gwenny!" Akira calls, loud enough to make both of them flinch. "Gwenny, I got the goods!"

Sure enough, Akira has a couple large bags thrown over their shoulders. Guinevere is surprised she can carry all of that. It occurs to her that the bloodbath is still happening around them.

She opens her mouth again, but nothing comes out. When she turns to look, Svelte is already gone, disappearing into the fog like he was never there at all.

"He didn't want to stay with us?" Akira asks, smile faltering.

"Not this time," Guinevere replies. She takes one of the bags from Akira and hefts it over her shoulder. "We need to go."

For once, Akira doesn't have anything to say in response. They grab Guinevere's wrist and begin leading her away, back into the thick expanse of fog. As it swallows them whole, Guinevere is all too aware of the still-warm blood beneath her feet and the corpses left behind.

(Death is the gentle caress of a lover, the almost-forgotten voice of a childhood friend, the ache of your first broken heart. Kind and cruel all at once, something Guinevere herself has gotten all too familiar with.

That doesn't mean she's ready to meet death herself.)

June 15, 12:03

The Cornucopia

Jasmine curses herself for getting turned around so quickly.

Granted, it's not entirely her fault. She can hardly see more than a few feet in front of her, and running off into the unknown vastness of the Arena feels like a particularly bad idea when she has nothing to her name besides the bland black clothes on her back. Maybe the more frustrating part about entering the Games is that no plan feels adequate, not anymore. Due to Tessa's rather helpful realization about Nolan, she's not exactly sure where they stand. Sure, they're still allies on paper, but…

(God, she's conflicted. Jasmine can't swear she's the greatest person alive, but at least her actions had reason – she was seeking the justice Sheridan never truly got. Can she say the same about Nolan?

Is she willing to find out?)

For her to make any sort of concrete decisions, Jasmine has to find Nolan first. This damn fog is disorientating enough that she's certain it's only luring her closer to the center, but she no longer remembers the direction she came from. At least this way she can pick up a few supplies, just in case she really does have to go at it alone.

A couple tarps linger around the outskirts, as well as empty bottles. Jasmine's eyes scan the area around her until they land on a dagger. Its jagged blade winks at her, like it knows something she doesn't, and she merely tries to stave off the mental image of Orson's corpse. Immediately, she snatches it up; surely she can wield a blade against one of these other tributes and achieve the same goal.

Jasmine's eyes light up as she spots a backpack several feet away. She sprints over to it, finally catching sight of that dreaded Cornucopia again, and finds herself face to face with another tribute.

Kassiani from Six wields a shortsword and a bitter smile. She opens her arms wide, as if egging Jasmine on. Retreat isn't much of an option – Jasmine didn't come here to be a coward.

At least the knife in her hand isn't entirely unfamiliar. Jasmine grips it tightly with two hands, so hard that she's certain she'll feel the imprint for hours to come. If her weapon ever leaves her hand, even for a moment, she's certain she's doomed.

Jasmine has done this before, in training. The knife is familiar enough in her hands that she knows she can follow through the simplest steps. But before she can finish preparing herself, she's taken completely by surprise as Kassiani launches herself at her. Jasmine screams and lashes out with her knife, managing to slice the other girl's ribs, but Kassiani barely seems to feel it.

Despair doesn't take long to kick in. She can't quite manage to get Kassiani off of her, and the other girl is determined to put her down without much more of a fight.

Jasmine morbidly wonders if this is what Sheridan felt, or even Orson, as they took their final breaths. She knows the end isn't here, not yet, but it's closing in like never before.

This time, when Jasmine lifts her knife, Kassiani intercepts with her own hand. Try as she might, Jasmine can't quite manage to nick her again, and Kassiani successfully manages to pin Jasmine's arm to the ground. Jasmine lashes out with her nails, catching the other girl across the face. Blood wells up from the deepest of the scratches, but all she succeeds in doing is pissing Kassiani off more.

"Stop- fighting-" Kassiani manages through heavy breaths. "I'm just giv-giving them what they want- a good show-"

She coughs, and a spray of blood splatters across Jasmine's face. Kassiani looks just as surprised as Jasmine herself. She carefully lifts a hand to her mouth, almost awed by her own blood-tinged lips, and then slumps forward.

Hurriedly, Jasmine shoves her off and then scrambles back, fully aware that there must be a new threat nearby. And she's right – there's Nolan, holding a sword that's slick with Kassiani's entrails.

"Fuck, Jasmine," Nolan pants. "I thought you were smart enough to get the hell out of here."

"I had it all under control," she sniffs. "Besides, what about you?"

"What about me? I'm not the one that was fighting a losing battle."

Her cheeks redden. "I wasn't losing yet."

"Key word yet."

"Well…" She sucks in a breath. "Thank you. For the help."

"Well," he echoes. "We're allies. That's sort of what I signed up for."

"Right, right," Jasmine mutters. "Still. I… appreciate it."

Nolan's evidently done with the conversation, and he shoves a bag into her arms. "Here. Take this."

Jasmine fumbles with the bag, barely keeping herself from dropping it. She catches movement out of the corner of her eye, and despite herself, Jasmine turns to watch.

Nerissa from Two stands tall, wielding something akin to a spear with a frightening amount of expertise. The Careers are certainly formidable opponents, with the precision and stamina to take out any of the other tributes in a fight. Jasmine hadn't quite realized how much the odds were stacked against her.

Luckily, Nerissa seems to be paying them no mind. Instead, her focus is trained on a young boy – Coyle, from Three. Jasmine knows it's coming before it happens - but she can't bring herself to look away regardless.

Coyle sees her too late. He screams, high and shrill, but Nerissa's face remains coldly impassive. With one swift movement, her blade whips through the air, a shining arc; with the next, it's fully embedded in Coyle's chest. Feebly, he tries to grasp at the shaft, as if pushing it away will save him from his fate.

Nerissa retracts her weapon, and Coyle crumples to the ground without even a cry. Blankly, she lifts her chin and looks in Jasmine's direction.

(She doesn't want to end up like Sheridan, not so soon.)

Nolan has already moved several feet away. Jasmine hurries to catch up to him, but then stalls.

He turns back to look at her, and cocks a brow expectantly. "Aren't you coming?"

And, well… Jasmine hesitates.

It's somewhat illogical of her, and she accepts that. Because of his assistance, he's more than proven himself to be both an asset and a threat. She was right to keep an eye on him.

That also means she's right to be wary of him.

"Let's get as far away from here as we can," Jasmine says, hoisting a bag over her shoulder. "I hope to be long gone by the time the Careers can see where they're headed."

"Agreed."

Nolan leads the way, and Jasmine follows close behind. Despite her newly found reservations, she can't afford to let him slip away so easily. She can't afford to give up on her plan.

She should keep her enemies close, after all.

June 15, 12:04

The Cornucopia

Unlike the rest of his allies, Callum does not immediately rush towards the Cornucopia.

The blanket of fog settles around him, thick enough to suffocate. Callum lingers at his platform for a few seconds too long, ensuring that he can still draw breath into his lungs. As he finally takes his first step, Callum can already hear screams echoing from the direction of the Cornucopia.

He's glad he can't see the carnage.

This far out, the items littering the ground are rather unhelpful. Callum still ends up grabbing a tiny knife, figuring that arming himself is better than wandering blind with nothing. The hilt is cold in his hand, a cruel reminder of what's to come.

Callum is strangely devoid of any sense of urgency. He's not eager to join the bloodbath, nor is he particularly worried about anyone finding him within the fog. The status of his allies will keep him relatively safe, as long as he can manage to avoid any other tributes.

Naturally, as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Callum runs straight into someone, knocking them both to the ground.

The other tribute yells and scrambles back – it takes Callum a moment to place his name. This is Xander, the kid from Five. Callum usually sees him hang around the girl from Seven, but she's nowhere to be seen right now. He briefly wracks his brain, trying to remember if he spotted her close by, but honestly, Callum wasn't paying much attention to the surrounding tributes before he couldn't see them at all. Maybe Marri is within feet of them, maybe she's trapped on the other side of the Cornucopia; there's a chance neither of them will ever know for sure.

Callum slowly clambers to his knees, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. He quickly realizes that Xander is only focused on the knife in his hand; in an effort to lower the other boy's guard, Callum drops the weapon.

"I don't want to hurt you," Callum insists, hoping his words are more genuine now that he doesn't have the means to do it.

It's strange to see someone so openly terrified of him. There's a reason Callum never exactly agreed with what Rhydian was training for. Isn't this the future that awaited him if he hadn't intervened?

(It's so easy to become a monster in these Games. The very act of winning means you place your life above everyone else's, and are doing whatever it takes to protect yourself. To kill or be killed… the further you go, the more your actions warp yourself into something unrecognizable.

Like it or not, monster is the only word for it.)

(Then again… did Callum already make a choice that solidified himself as one?)

Xander is still staring at him, wide-eyed, like Callum has grown a second head. He smiles shakily, hoping to make the boy relax. Callum doesn't want to kill anyone, not now.

"You can run," Callum insists. "Find your friend. I don't want to hurt you."

It's like Xander can't hear him at all. He's barely moved an inch, gaze still fixed on Callum.

No – behind Callum.

He doesn't get the chance to turn. Something pinches the back of his neck; a chill races down Callum's spine, and every muscle in his body goes limp. He slumps forward, and Xander backs out of the way. Callum can now hear the boy's ragged, fearful breaths.

The knife lingers just out of reach. No matter how hard he strains, Callum can't get his fingers to do more than twitch in response.

A pair of black flats step into view. Callum's eyes slowly trail upwards, straining to see who's there. There's a white skirt, three crisp buttons at her waist, embroidered with pale lavender flowers that climb up to the button-down top. Her sleeves are short, and she's wearing delicate lace gloves. Her dark hair has been elegantly put back. She looks like a lady ripped straight out of a storybook.

"Saccharine?" Callum gasps. "What're you-"

She crouches down and gently picks up the fallen knife. Humming, she twirls it in her fingers curiously, then tosses it out of Callum's reach. Her usually pleasant expression is entirely gone from her face.

"We never got around to chatting, did we?" Saccharine tilts her head. "It appears you and Zephyr are good friends."

"Chatting?" Callum tries again to at least sit up, but his body won't listen. He swears Saccharine's lips begin to curl in amusement.

"I have no business with you," Saccharine says to Xander. She never stops making eye contact with Callum. "You can leave now. If you make a move towards us, I'll gut you before you can hope to lay a finger on me."

It doesn't take any further convincing. Xander is gone with nothing more than a single frightened look back at Callum.

The skirt of Saccharine's dress barely brushes the ground. She delicately crosses her wrists and rests them on her knees. It finally occurs to Callum how much she managed to fade into the background during training – and he has to wonder if that was entirely intentional.

Sometimes the worst monsters are hiding in plain sight.

"I remember Rhydian," Saccharine says slowly. "Ever so diligent. He worked hard for everything he had. And then you… you stole that away from him. Because you thought you knew better."

His head spins. "I-"

"For her first time, Alila's pretty good at giving advice. You really shouldn't have told anyone your little secret. Zephyr might've understood, but the others… well, they might see Rhydian's side of things."

Callum freezes. "How did you…?"

"You took his place because you wanted to save him, but did you ever consider that might kill him anyway? It's all because of your selfish decision. And now you're standing in a spot you don't deserve, and everything he worked for will amount to nothing. He is nothing. And you… you're just a boy who made an incredibly foolish decision and is now in over his head."

"I know I don't deserve this-"

"Ah, but you do. Don't you? These are the Games you signed up for. This is the fate you tried to save Rhydian from; now you're here in his place, and he is none the better. You tried to save him from misery, and yet that's exactly what you sentenced him to.

"Don't you want to see the truth of these Games?" She lifts her chin, looks to the fog surrounding them and the tributes that lay within. "The truth is that all of you deserve to become collateral in this meaningless cycle of violence." Callum opens his mouth, unsure of how to respond, but Saccharine keeps going, eyes snapping back to burn into his.

"You chose this. Nothing can save you. Your very existence is a poison to the one you called a friend, and you can't even begin to cope with the thought that no matter how hard you tried, he's still gone from you. Does it hurt to see what you did? Or are you secretly glad you'll never discover the extent of the ruin you caused?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Callum breathes.

Saccharine giggles and then smiles, and the sight is just as sweet as her name. "Aren't you going to say you're sorry?"

He's regained enough strength to crawl, frantically pulling himself away from her with everything he has. "Please," he whispers. "I'm- I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I'd take it back if I could, but I can't."

Saccharine looms closer, closer – something wet drips onto Callum's pants. The scent of violets wafts over him. "If she was here, maybe she'd believe you," Saccharine whispers. "But I think you're only saying it in an attempt to save your own skin."

"No!" Callum's voice begins to rise, and he wonders if screaming will do him any good. Would anyone be able to find him?

(Would anyone bother to look?)

"I'm sorry!" he pleads to anyone that will listen. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Be still for me," she croons, still as sweet as can be. "I'm told this doesn't hurt much. You'll just feel a slight pinch…"

By the time Callum has it in him to scream, it's already far too late. His cries blend into those of the dying, and all he does is join them. Saccharine's promise holds true – it's quick and moderately painless, though she's sure he deserves to suffer more. It sickens her to see someone like him traipse around in a spot that belongs to another.

Besides, this way keeps her hands clean.

Saccharine steps back from Callum's body and surveys it – the minimal blood couldn't possibly point to her, as her crisp white outfit is still perfectly spotless.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Stunned, Saccharine lifts a hand to her face, and the white lace comes away bloody. She flexes her fingers, strangely captivated by the sight.

The last time she got a nosebleed…

Saccharine picks up the discarded knife and plants it squarely in Callum's back, masking the pinpricks she left behind. She wipes her needles off in the grass until they're polished and shining once again. She stands and straightens her spine, lifting her chin to the sky. From here, she has to disappear, then be spotted by someone that can vouch for her positioning during the bloodbath. Someone that won't ask too many questions.

(And all the while, blood flows freely from her nose, a reminder of all she's lost. She'll never gain it back. She can never even hope to try.)

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Saccharine grits her teeth. Tries to smooth out her features. For once, she's not convinced it works.

Unbeknownst to her, a butterfly settles in her hair, flutters its wings. The park is lovely this time of year, some might say, and when the fog lifts, the sun will shine on carnage and beauty alike.

Nothing can hide forever.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

24. vivian 10f, killed by thessaly akaste

23. thyme 11f, killed by svelte rasa

22. lark 12m, killed by pantheon lexicus

21. kass 6f, killed by nolan okorie

20. coyle 3m, killed by nerissa kitharion

19. callum cadogan, killed saccharine esculenta
i'm sorry!

kills:
thessaly: 1
svelte: 1
theo: 1
nolan: 1
nerissa: 1
saccharine: 1

so yeah, you're right. i do have enough audacity to bloodbath a pov character. shoutout to nell for basically outlining my foreshadowing for it but not putting all the pieces together. i appreciate that! i hope you're pleased with yourself.

also sorry mae i know you just got caught up. for what it's worth i adore this delusional little fucker and this kickstarts the arc i've had in mind since i first started thinking about tfm games. i love everything callum brought to my fic and the parallels i got to play with - honestly, i wouldn't change a thing. i'm only sad he's gone so soon, but... well... when there's 18 characters, i don't have much wiggle room. the plot demands what the plot demands. and this... will have quite a bit of fallout, as you can imagine.

welp! i'm off on a cruise. happy new year, everyone! and happy shai kingston day. hope you enjoy another d1m joining your death ranks :D

~de laney is out