𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐔𝐃𝐆𝐄
Dove froze in place, her lips parted, blood dripping down with every cough. She was terrified, the result of her deal slowly sinking in. The power that President Snow held over her was remarkable. He could end her life at any minute. And what she could never admit to anybody but herself, despite being wary of it, if she had known what the vial's content would do to her, she wouldn't have changed her mind. To Dove, it had never been aboutifshe could eventually die at the Capitol's hands, butwhen. She had to admit there was some irony to it. Despite her efforts to prove her worth, she only confirmed what her family had believed all along: her life's value was based on its usefulness, or rather lack thereof.
The hours until morning felt hazy. There was a lot of movement, a fair deal of light dancing through the air, and noises crossing from one end of Victor's Village to the other. Mags had gone rampant with worry, but no medicine seemed to work. At some point, the eldest victor couple were involved, and soon the search for help was carried to town.
From the few doctors that would accept the offer of visiting an Ogilvy, not one refrained from drooling at the promised high payment upon arriving at Mags' house. They were quick to reveal their true colours as well. Scammers such as them should have known that what one could sell to the desperate people in their district could never be advertised in the same way to the child and sibling of victors. They were chased out of the house before they could prescribe any herbal tea or a medicine that had no correlation with the symptoms, and were never heard of again after that, not even around town.
Without any other options, Theo and Mags concluded that they needed to use incitement to ensure Dove received proper medical treatment. As Rhett recruited through threats as a last resort, Angel convinced her little sister to being bedridden. The lack of bickering was in itself a sign of just how badly Dove truly was. Angel would have expected any kind of stubbornness, even just a slight complaint would have sufficed, but not one word had been spoken.
Dove lay in bed, resembling a corpse far more than a living person. Hours went by, and her condition became unbearable to look at. Her complexion was ashen, her lips dry, and her breathing erratic. It was obvious to everyone in the room that whatever had Dove in such a critical state could push her towards death's doorstep any day.
News of 'The Hider's' daughter's illness circulated in the town before dinner. Rhett explained it when he got back. He had ventured all around town, encountered countless rumours, and resisted the temptation to getting into fights with the rumour spreaders. No doubt two could play that game, though. Less than an hour had gone by when a decent-looking doctor appeared, claiming that he 'harboured no ill sentiment' for their patients. Rhett had to refrain from laughing at their face. They were abandoning their frail morals for a month-worth of a victor's payment and the promise to give their children a preference over other tributes in case of their reaping.
Nevertheless, it was for nothing. The doctor arrived at Victor's Village, the first not to be drooling for the money—a pathetic good sign in itself—and began the check-up right away. Expectations had grown to uncontrollable levels. Because of protection measures, nobody had been allowed inside the room unless the doctor or the patient so desired, and Dove had asked everyone to leave the room, so they had to comply. Hardly an hour went by in the stillness of the freezing evening air, letting their desires and hopes build up to where any bad news would crumble every piece of their souls.
The doctor left the room with a sombre look on their face. They had their eyes on the floor, as if counting the stripes in the planks of wood, or mulling over how to deliver the worse news possible. Angel had no such patience and demanded to have a full report of her little sister's condition, which the doctor gave in a paused manner. About a dozen points had been noted down in their notebook, but none truly explained the bleeding. Dove was not entirely healthy, had probably not been for months or perhaps even years, but her sudden deterioration couldn't have been explained even then, and without any records, it was impossible to have an accurate idea.
Then the dreaded question came along. "Will she get better?"
No doubt the answer ought to be infinitely worse. Dove would not live to see the new year. Mags argued there had to be something to be done, a medicine that could help, and the doctor simply nodded. The medicine they had prescribed would help keep Dove alive for that long. Without it, there would be no telling when her organs would fail. It could be the following week in the same way it could happen at the break of dawn.
That became Angel's breaking point. Her world collapsed in the same way it had once been created. She slumped on the sofa and cried into Theo's arms. Meanwhile, Mags and Rhett continued their pointless argument with the doctor over expensive or experimental medicines. The idea was shut down quick enough. There was nothing to help someone whose disease had no rational explanation. Angered, both chased the doctor out and remained by the door for enough time to let their rampant thoughts sink in.
Dove, little Dove, dead and gone by new year. Mags had photos of her and the children all throughout the house. They had been her support when all that mattered to her had been lost, and instead of keeping up appearances to become that same support for Dove, she had wasted her time arguing with a stranger. Mags recomposed herself and breathed in and out calmly. That didn't mean it hurt less, but that she had to hide the tears better—her dear Pearl would have wanted that.
Sobs wouldn't be contained behind closed doors, no matter how much Dove begged for it. She hadn't heard every bit of the conversation with the doctor, but she got the gist of it from Angel's desperate cries. There were few things that would drive her perfect older sister to such a state, and she highly doubted President Snow would have killed Melo during the Victor's Tour without a reason. He used her older brother—no clue how—and had sealed a deal with her, driving him into a corner. Melo couldn't be killed thanks to his victor status, but even then, if he died and she followed after, Angel would be left behind. And then, who would he threaten their mother with if he killed Angel? Who would be left behind? And, in fact, wouldn't that mean that she needn't survive the Hunger Games for her sister to be safe, then?
Thankfully, such thoughts escaped her mind with Mags' presence. The elder victor sat at the armchair by the right-hand side of the bed, and they chatted, the other's sobs and cries hardly muffled behind the closed door. Mags attempted to carry out a conversation, but, with her speech impediment and thick accent that few people truly had in Four, Dove couldn't keep up for long. They opted for a light chatter than resulted in nothing other than a fraudulent peacefulness, where no matter their efforts, not everything could be ignored.
"I'm alright with this," said Dove, her smile weak yet carrying the immense weight of her inconsistent emotions. "It would have happened eventually... I guess that's why you all protected me this much. You knew this would happen."
Mags got up from the armchair to sit beside Dove's shivering body. She wiped off the cold sweat with part of the sheet before pulling it away and throwing it in the basket for laundry, then tucked Dove in what appeared to be a brand new sheet that had a few sea flowers and pearls embroidered at the sides. Mags remained nearby through the night, attending to Dove's every wish, even if she denied the help at all.
It wasn't until well into the morning that Angel managed to pull herself together along with Rhett. Theo arguably had done it hours ago, but couldn't abandon either to their own thoughts. If there was something most victors knew, it would be loss. Yet Angel was no victor, much less was that a standard hate-inducing loss scenario. Neither Melo nor Librae had stepped out of line, much less in a way that would lead Dove to be targeted of all people. If anything, attacking Angel would have been the rational thing to do. They would never dare to tell either of the sisters that, though.
There was not another chance to indulge in meaningless thoughts throughout the following two days. Dove would refuse to eat after throwing up her meal, and her body had grown noticeably weaker. She wouldn't move, she wouldn't talk. It was a miracle she kept breathing at all. The medicine had been strictly given without a single mistake, leaving everyone baffled at the rapid deterioration of Dove's state. On the third day, they had a breather. Dove could eat Rhett's special 'not-so-fishy' soups and some colour returned to her face. Yet on the break of dawn of the fourth day, it all became for nothing as she threw it up along with a faint trail of blood.
Dinner was meaningless to even mention in Dove's presence. Her eyes weren't the only void part of her. It had been hours since the suspicion of her mind numbness had been proven. Angel could say whatever she wanted, cried as much as her eyes allowed her, but Dove wouldn't react. She simply stared at the ceiling, her eyes long since becoming the ghost of their once beautiful green colour. However, they did react to one thing at that time. Sparkly fabric and bright strands of fake hair flocked around her, and when her mind regained enough senses to believe she had gone mad, the person to the right introduced themselves. Cassius Plinth, Capitol licensed doctor, claiming to be her saviour.
Any other day Dove would have arched her eyebrows and questioned the individual, but there was no way to do so in her state. Instead, she watched closely Dr Plinth's every move. They were rather peculiar for a Capitol person. Though they wore standard in-Capitol-fashion clothes and enjoyed letting their bright pink wig flow behind their back when they walked, their skin had been saved from the Capitol's excessive desires. They weren't pale like her, but they were nothing similar to Rhett or Ron either. Both victors were much darker of skin. If she had to compare, it would be similar to Angel's, though slightly darker, like an oak tree.
There was nobody left in the room by sunset. It was only Dove and Dr Plinth, who seemed all too keen to ask questions and disregard not getting any answers. "You were poisoned, am I correct?"
To counter the growing desire in her to curse away at the doctor, Dove merely nodded, her first acknowledgement of Dr Plinth's existence in hours of 'check-up'. Their questions ceased after that, and the doctor preferred to chat away while sorting whatever vials they had brought with them in a soft purple briefcase. It took them no more than five minutes to take out that contained a liquid all too similar to the one she had drunk hardly four days ago. At her inaudible gasp, the doctor turned around with a smile and assured no harm would come to her from then on, which Dove had a hard time believing.
"Now, the antidote is not effective immediately." Dr Plinth strode over to the bed with a small container in his hand, which she eyed suspiciously. "I guess you're old enough to know that. No medicine is effective immediately. You might get worse for days before you get better, but I promise you won't die. I'll make sure of it."
Dove chugged down the pill that had been forced past her lips with the help of a glass of water. "Why—why are you here?"
Dr Plinth's smile widened. "You could say I was asked to help by someone whom nobody can say no to."
The doubtful look in Dove's eyes likely became too apparent, enough to entertain the Capitol person into staring at them. There were no words uttered, no chatter beyond what the silent storm in Dr Plinth's eyes reflected. For a split second, Dove watched the sea waves crashing ever so frantically and horrendously in a stormy day; the chaos, the madness, and the anger. Truly, Dr Cassius Plinth was no ordinary Capitol person.
Hardly an hour later, Dove gulped down a couple spoons of Rhett's special soup with no hunger but no desire to spit it back out. It wasn't an apparent change, but that didn't mean it wasn't significant. Angel enjoyed the sight of it by eating supper by her sister's side in the bed, both extremely careful not to spill anything despite Mags assuring it would be fine even if they did. Rhett and Theo joined after being talked into it, yet preferred to use the desk to leave their plates rather than using the portable tables, as most were unstable and they would have a hard time to control over their own if Dove lost her strength and accidentally knocked hers off her lap.
Panem's anthem infiltrated their light chatter not much later. They had left the television on for the Victor's Tour special program, the victor's interview in the Capitol, the mark of Melo's last day of Tour. Their usual annoyance, Caesar Flickerman, hosted the program. He introduced Melo as 'the man whom needed no presentations' and encouraged the crowd to scream even louder than they already were.
Melo walked onto the stage wearing sparkly inclined clothing, but nothing that would resemble Dr Plinth or the general Hunger Games' audience that was broadcasted back to Four during the Tribute Parade each year. His shirt was unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest, his trousers tight and colourful, similar to the glittery pieces that made his hair glow under the intense light.
Desirable, Dove told to herself, that was what desirable meant. President Snow was selling a product to the Capitol—an attractive young man that couldn't, nor would, ever deny their advances. It worked, no doubt about that. Much like Finnick during his own interviews the past year, people went as far as fainting at the sight of the perfect and glowing 'man', as Caesar had put it himself, in front of them.
"That's not like him," mumbled Angel. "He's—he looks like a Capitol person."
There was nothing to be said to such a statement, and Caesar wouldn't allow them any time to do so either, as he begun the interview in a way that he had never before. "Melo, I'm afraid not all will be good news tonight. We're delighted that you're here with us in the Capitol, but there's something you might haven't had the chance to hear about yet." Caesar reached out to grab Melo's hand, which he was reluctantly allowed to do. "It's about your younger sister. That poor little thing. News got here yesterday of how ill she became days after you left."
Melo's eyes widened at their full capacity, the horror slithering up to his throat like a snake. "She's ill?"
"Unfortunately so," said Caesar, nodding sadly, only to cheer up the next moment. "The good news is, our best prepared and capable doctors are on the case. And from what I've last heard, she's been given a temporary medicine that has greatly improved her condition. Isn't that a relief, folks?"
The Capitol crowd cheered beyond their lung capacity. It was a bizarre experience for Dove. She watched them cry, cheer, laugh, all for her. The title of victor was a long way away from her, if she ever got it at all, yet the people nearly treated her as such. She was no 'victor's family' to them, but nearly a victor on her own. They wanted to know more about her, watch her struggle, lose, win, fail again. And perhaps some desired her too. The deranged Capitol mind could never be trusted. It was too frail, too easy to control. One delivering the right words at the precise time could get the entire audience rioting on the streets, even if it wasn't of any importance.
"I'm truly glad, Caesar," said Melo, his hands deeply intertwined together, ignoring the host's now lost hand aimlessly still in midair. "Not only for the doctors, of course. All of your good wishes, your pain and delight for my sister... I'm sure it will give her the strength she needs to overcome this. So, if it's not too much to ask, have her in your thoughts. That's the only way she'll regain her strength and get well sooner than ever."
"I'm sure it will be just as you say," replied Caesar, his laugh echoing through the stage to reach the crowd, who carried on with it.
The light tone latched onto the interview from that moment on. Caesar continued as it would have been the usual any other year, and Melo timed his flirty or comedic responses accordingly to the crowd's mood. By the end of it, every shot they were given of the crowd through the television incremented in dozens of blushing or flustered people. While in the ignorance of it, the situation could be nothing other than comedic and often ridiculous, but when the dreadful word infiltrated her mind, Dove could feel her stomach twisting, and her appetite dissipating like mist.
She missed Four's beach greatly. Everything seemed way more simple there. The waves ate up her fears and the wind took her worries away; they were swift to give it back every so often, but even then, with Finnick, she appeared to forget everything far more often than she let herself be eaten up by her exhaustive mind. Perhaps she hadn't the beach alone to thank. Her nonsensical discussions with Finnick were of great help to distract herself, and his smile was enough to brighten her entire day. It was an odd feeling whenever she watched him smile, far more when she was the reason for him doing so—everything was worth it then, as if she could put up with anything just to see it once more, just one more time.
Then, as if a wave had brought the thought into existence, Dove couldn't help but think. I want to see Finnick.