24. 151D6F
Vita Mowbray knew she was going to die, but she didn't intend to die easily.
Her mentor wasn't exactly pleased with her mindset. "Cut the attitude, kid, or it will kill you faster than any Career."
"My mom spent my whole life paranoid that this would happen," Vita retorted, "and now it has! What do you want me toβ" She cut herself off, suddenly struggling to suck in air. Jill Mackinac set down her half-empty glass of scotch, patting Vita roughly on the back. The impact sent a round of hiccups rattling her frame.
Embarrassed, Vita pawed angrily at her tears. She hated this, the fear. Her mother may have shown her how to hold a knife, hands shaky around the handle, when the paranoia turned into something semi-productive, but the fear still sat beneath her skin like an itch. No, a parasite, slowly eating her alive.
The worst she could do was succumb. The best she could do was try.
So Vita nodded, more resolute with each dip of her chin. She squared her shoulders, and this time, Jill's mouth twisted into a rough smile. She downed the rest of her scotch; the heavyset woman hardly seemed to be affected by any amount of alcohol these past few days. "You think my odds were good?" the Victor said with a gentle scoff. "Nobody's are, not even that Career princess. But here I am, and here you are." She jabbed a finger into Vita's chest. "Someone has to beat the odds. Why not you?"
Why not her?
Vita strode into the third day of training with that thought in mind. She might be alone in this allβno way in hell was she going to risk pairing up with her thug of a district partnerβbut when Vita got her hands on a bo staff, that itch of fear felt more than manageable. The Careers and their princess watched her like hungry wolves, but Vita had already lost herself in her sparring match. The trainer's staff glanced off hers, spinning and clacking in a pattern that left Vita feeling almost elated. Even more so when she ended the match with her staff at their throat.
Chin high, Vita walked into her private session with one goal in mind, and walked out with a score of six.
Her odds were low, but she'd made peace with that since her name was called. One slip up, one little panic attack couldn't ruin her experience, because whatever her mentor said, she knew she didn't have much time left.
So she made it count. She ate every last bit of chocolate cake and cooked lamb on her plate, studied every last sparkle on her stylist's made-up face, every last sequin on her interview dress. And when she rose up into the arena, face still wet with red paint, Vita set her sights on that wicked-looking bo staff right in front of the Cornucopia, and she made her decision.
It was the last one she'd ever make.
π½πππ: π
πππ πΌππ ππππ’
πΈπ³: π·π»π·π³πΌπ΅
π³πππππππ: πΌ
π°ππ: π·π»
ππππππππ πππππ: πΌ
πΏππππππππ: πΈπΊππ
πΏπππ πΌπππππ π½ππππ: ππππππ πππππ’ πππππ πππ π ππππππππ πππππππ. πΏππππππ ππππππ π ππππ'ππ ππππππ. πΈ ππππππ π π πππππ π πππ ππππ ππππππππ πππ ππππ π’πππ, ππππππ.