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Her trembling fingers lost their grip on the axe, causing it to plummet to the ground with a resounding thud, which echoed throughout the training facilities of Dove's school. As she reached down to pick it up, her trainer swiftly snatched it away, declaring that she had already done her fair share for the day. Dove could not deny her skills had become worse than ever. She couldn't carry a sword a quarter of the way to a mannequin, failed to lift the tip of a trident over her ankle, and, to top it off, missed all twenty-four shots with either knives or a bow and arrow β which was her personal agony.
Headed to the sidelines, where her bag rested alone and surprisingly undisturbed, Dove fixed her sight on the enormous list at the entrance's side. The names of every person attending training flared with dubious glory under the easily readable 'Can You Be Our Next Victor?' that had most students bloodthirsty to attain its first place.
Rumour had it that no District Four victor outside of 'The Hidden' had scored lower than first place. It was an unfounded one, too, since Finnick had never been in the first place. She was sure. However, his name had been listed with an asterisk that said,'estimated to be placed first in two years',which would have meant he was expected to take over Melo's place at sixteen. Unfortunately, with Finnick volunteering the same year, no one got to see the first-place winner being toppled.
With Melo gone from the competition, away to the promised riches of the victor's dream, students placed bets on who would take his place. Some people said Edric Dawson, who was in his last year and had been in the top five ever since three years ago, others pointed to the two-year runner-up, Angelique Ogilvy. It would be fair to say that Dove was not surprised to see her sister's name in first place, while the famous Edric Dawson had to put up with being the runner-up.
"Your mother must be proud." Someone scoffed, hatred buried deep in their voice as they bumped past her. "Useless kid."
Dove regained her footing, preventing herself from falling, but the distant laughter still reached her ears. She was already familiar with the unfortunate nickname. Her fellow students had bestowed many upon her, the most prominent of which was 'Ogilvy siblings' shame'. Less flattering labels accompanied such comments, including 'useless' and 'disgrace'.
A quick peek at the list of names showed why. At her age, Melo and Angel were competing against one another to be in the first place, while she ranked lower than one hundred and fifty, with a score that was below the overall average for her age group. One could say that she was on the verge of becoming the least promising tribute that District Four had ever had the misfortune of seeing in its history.
Amid the freezing midday breeze, Dove shivered involuntarily. Despite the discomfort, she preferred it to the blatant gossip that constantly swirled around her on the training grounds. She instinctively hugged her coat tighter and pulled her hood over her head. The full force of winter's horrors gripped District Four, leading to a dire shortage of food.
Regardless of the supposed abundant gifts from the Capitol, many in her district were forced to resort to Tesserae to survive. People who were once wealthy found themselves turning to the black market out of desperation. They reluctantly sold their possessions and cherished heirlooms in order to support themselves or their loved ones. Meanwhile, some of those who were already familiar with the back alley marketplace resorted to theft as a means of survival.
The tall metallic doors opened silently as Dove slipped past, her presence going completely unnoticed. Although she hid her hair to avoid unnecessary attention, people knew better than to pry at others in that area, especially since off-duty Peacekeepers would occasionally appear.
It took Dove a while to locate what she was searching for. At the opposite end of the entrance, near what seemed to be a back-alley emergency exit, a middle-aged woman stood behind a display of wooden heads with wigs. There weren't many, yet the quality certainly made up for it. Most were in similar shades of blonde and light brown, likely from the woman's own hair or her family's.
Dove approached, careful not to raise trouble, yet the woman's attention was solely on the cradle beside her, where a giggling newborn rocked to sleep. "They're beautiful."
"Beauty is an overlooked strength." The woman glanced up at her with a weak smile. "Svitlana Holub at your service, Miss Ogilvy. How may I help you?"
"Is it that obvious?" Dove asked, pulling her hood closer to her face.
"I happen to have a good eye for hair." Mrs Holub glanced over to the few red strands that had escaped Dove's hood. "Especially for one of such rarity as yours."
"Valuable?"
"One shoulder-length wig could support a family of five for a year."
"Tempting." Dove chuckled, glancing briefly at the sleeping baby. "I have a better offer. You get me a chance to sing at the night market under a false name, and all the profits will go to you and your family."
Mrs Holub leaned closer, her face and voice calm like the sea before a storm. "Have you any idea how dangerous that is? Besides the fact that Peacekeepers cover a great deal of the non-punishable incident rate, there are drunk men with high egos and short tempers eager to jump at the first sight of fresh meat. Particularly, high-ranking innocent ones as yourself, Miss."
"I've got a short temper myself, Mrs Holub." Dove smiled. "I hardly think Peacekeepers or drunk men will trouble me."
"Does nobody in your family have any sense of fear?" Mrs Holub huffed loudly. "Please, reconsider. What you're suggesting is horribly dangerous for someone like you."
"Someone like me?" asked Dove. "Do you mean someone who's seen death before they understood what The Hunger Games were about? Or perhaps someone who's trained alongside a current victor and a victor-to-be for their entire life? Believe it or not, Mrs Holub, I am the daughter and the sister of victors, and whether others know it or not, I will act accordingly."
Mrs Holub nodded, satisfied. "There's a celebration planned for next week. Debut performances are the norm for events around Victor Tours and Annual Visits. I trust you'll go unnoticed."
Dove hesitated. There was no doubt in her mind that the following week wouldn't be kind to her. Her brother's first annual visit to the Capitol had been scheduled a day after her 'founday'βa make-shift birthday her family held to commemorate the day each sibling had been adoptedβwhich could very well be her last. Despite her doubt, President Snow's orders remained too clear to ignore. If in less than half a year she would have to perform before all of Panem, starting with a few dozen in the dubious comfort of her own district, would be preferable, even if it was on the night of her brother's departure.
"Great. Just one more thing." Dove's sight darted to the few options available. "I'll need a wig."
From that day on, a bothersome thought lingered at the back of her mind. Dove hoped, almost begged, that the hours would pass slowly. She wished to spend the rest of her days stuck in the same uneventful days.
When her founday came to a close, she felt her hopes slip away, like sand through her fingers. Her home would appear desolated to anyone at first glance. There were no lights on, neither were there sounds, from television or radio, and the people in it resembled ghosts far more than living people. Her brother and mother had lost every speck of colour on their faces, while her almost-clueless sister could tell that, even outside of the Hunger Games, going to the Capitol was no good feat.
The hours until midnight went by slowly, drowned in the horrendous symphony of her brother's nightmares. Dove had long since given up on trying to help. It was common for Angel to be in Melo's room by the time she got there, making her presence unnecessary. On the rare occasions when she arrived first, she was swiftly escorted back to her bed.
Dove often wondered what her siblings would do if they knew she too had nightmares. That, though she could not understand the pain her brother went through every night, she could sympathise. Finnick knew, of course. There was hardly anything she kept from him. He listened to her attentively, missing no details, to the point it almost seemed he had done it just to surprise her during their meet-up the midnight of her founday.
"I don't know if I'm supposed to say this, and I know it's technically not your founday anymore, but..." He looked down to his hands, where a large slip of paper fought not to crumble under his grip, "Happy founday."
"Thank you." She took it gladly and read, one by one, the dozens of remedies the paper listed to help with her nightmares. "This is amazing. Can I really get all of this in the market?"
"Most of it," said Finnick. "The rest you tell me and I'll get it for you."
"Illegal?"
"You could say that." Finnick shrugged as he smirked. "I prefer the term 'outside of the conventional realm'."
"Funny. Now, which one do you use?" Dove asked, her sight back to the list. "I'll try that one first."
"Well," Finnick hesitated, his hand lowering to his pocket, "it's not really on the list. My nightmares are past the point of avoiding them. But, when they get the worst of me, I do something, mostly tie knots, so I can't give into it."
"Does that help?" Dove's gaze rose to meet the exhausted look in her friend's eyes.
He nodded. "Most times."
"And when it doesn't?"
"I go looking for you," he joked, a tiny piece of rope resting on his palm. "Shall I teach you the best knot to know, especially in the Arena?"
His hands moved at an impressive speed, twisting and twirling the rope between his fingers effortlessly. Dove watched in awe, awaiting with anticipation to actually learn something that could potentially help her survive another day in the Arena. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but let her disappointment show when Finnick revealed a hangman's knot after finishing his work with the rope.
Not a second later, he put the knot around his neck, fastened it, and offered her the other end of the rope. "Want to take me for a walk?"
Dove stared at him blankly. "Do you really want me to answer that?"
It took only a few seconds for Finnick to retrieve the end of the rope from her hands. "Sadly, I still have an ounce of dignity that I'd like to keep."
She laughed, her hands already hard at work to loosen up the knot's grip around his neck. "And here I thought victors had no pride left."
Finnick stopped her, his touch careful and delicate around her wrists. "There's a difference. Dignity won't stop me from saving those I love. Pride would try."
"It wouldn't work. You're too stubborn," she said.
"Even a second of doubt can kill someone, Dove." Finnick's gaze lowered. "That's why it's better not to hesitate. Whatever it is, do it. And once it's done, don't look back. That's the life of a victor."
Dove shook her head lightly. "One has to stop to think before they try to save anyone. Doing things hastily is what can kill people."
The swarm of cameras and their crew crowded every corner of District Four's train station the next morning, preventing any interaction between her and Finnick. Dove couldn't help but feel glad. Had she been given the chance, she would have marched head-first to the lingering awkward atmosphere and apologised for something she had wholeheartedly meant.
Her brother brought her into his trembling arms, the focus of the cameras far from noticing Dove burying her whole being into the warm embrace. She shoved her thoughts aside for as long as Delia permitted them to delay her plans. The moment she was forced to step aside, her overwhelming worries were back, anticipating what she expected to be a horrifying night.
She watched her brother disappear into the distance as the train pulled away, the sound of its whistle fading into the background. Melo wouldn't be back for another week, and, only minutes after his departure, Dove could tell it wouldn't get any easier to stand and wait. Her mother attempted to cook, resulting in a few fires, which Mags, fortunately, noticed and extinguished. Angel wasn't any better, as her mind seemed to be preoccupied with understanding the gloominess that accompanied the yearly visits.
Two hours away until midnight, Dove pulled her hair up into the most chaotic bun she had ever seenβmaking her dearly miss her sister's hair powersβand struggled to push down the soft brown wig around her head without making the bump obvious. There was no make-up in her house to even try to change her features, yet it didn't seem necessary. As Finnick had once told her, what everyone first noticed about her was her hair. With it covered, she appeared no different from any other fourteen-year-old in District Four.
That turned out to play out in her favour. Mrs Holub, who awaited patiently at the alleyway behind the town square, wouldn't believe her until she heard her voice. Dove feared for a moment that her voice would be recognised at the night market as well, yet quickly brushed off the idea. Hardly anybody gave her the time of day, much less listened to her speak. She could star in a thousand Capitol interviews and half her district would not recognise her voice.
"You can still go back," said Mrs Holub, her baby hugged tight to her chest.
"No." Dove shook her head. "I can't."
After a twenty-minute walk, District Four's old port came into view. Almost fifty years had passed since its closure, a casualty of the Capitol's obsession with centralising all major businesses within their watch. The boats of fishermen who never got to retrieve their belongings still danced at the rhythm of the waves, crashing and clanking against the remains of the wooden floorboards. At the opposite side from the sea stood the Central Keeper, where the lessor of the rented boats had once kept their business away from the Peacekeepers' prying eyes.
The door towered above her, its glass windows filthy with mud and ash. Under it, where the sand had taken over the ground, hundreds of recent footsteps appeared to go right past it. Mrs Holub shoved the door open with a single push, causing it to creak as the rest of the abandoned building appeared before their eyes. The varying thick layers of dust made it clear people frequented the place. If not to visit, to steal. Marks of vanished objects were visible in every direction she looked, especially near a staircase that had to lead to the basement.
Mrs Holub kept a comforting hand on her shoulder as they navigated the narrow space between the bustling stalls and the curious crowd. The stage claimed people's attention, and rightfully so. Sparkly marble pillars stood at either side, engulfed in vines of light bulbs and fake sea flowers. At the centre, the star of the night danced to the rhythm of a flute. Their song was upbeat and catchy, a gift for the tired workers who had gone to have a few more drinks than they should.
"No staring," Mrs Holub whispered in her ear. "People either get jumpy or cocky. None good when you're new around here."
Dove nodded. "Alright."
They marched backstage, where they met a bustling crowd that had gathered at the steps of the stage. Amongst the debutantes, she stood out as the youngest, with none appearing to be younger than sixteen. None had the time to bicker or push her around, which it was a pleasant change to her every day.
"Svitlana, dear. Each sunset you get more beautiful." A white-bearded man strode over to them, a young kid no older than eleven right behind him struggling to carry a guitar with them. "All in order, I suppose."
Mrs Holub nudged her to grab the guitar and smiled at the man. "You flatter me, Jin. And hello Evan. Learning how to run your dad's business?"
The little kid, Evan, had his face turn bright pink and shuffled away as soon as the guitar was taken from him. Mr Jin, whom Dove could only guess was Evan's father, didn't scowl at it despite how awkward or shameful it could seem to anybody else. In fact, he laughed and turned to Mrs Holub with a wide smile.
"Kids," he said. "They can be called for a death lottery at twelve while struggling to talk to strangers."
"Speaking of struggling to talk." Mrs Holub chuckled, the hand on Dove's shoulder forcing her to take a step forward. "This is the kid I talked to you about."
"Oh, let's see then." Mr Jin placed a hand on his chin, his eyes scanning her up and down. "Pretty. Common hair, but intriguing eyes. Murderous look... we can work on that. Add a decent voice and I'd say her performances will give you good living wages for the next four years."
"Iβ"
Deafening cheers overthrew Dove's voice. The girl who had been performing on stage when she had arrived stepped down with a wide smile and flushed cheeks. Without missing a beat, Mr Jin ran up and grabbed the microphone, taking over the crowd's attention.
"Lovely girl, wasn't she folks?" Mr Jin laughed, causing a few men across the crowd to do the same. "Well, don't get discouraged, 'cause we're hardly halfway through the performances. Next up is a young, aspiring singer from the coast side. Everyone put your hands together for Sophie Adelheid!"
Mrs Holub tapped Dove's shoulder and whispered, "That's you."
The light of a thousand suns landed on her the moment Dove stepped onto the stage. She staggered, blinded by the light, searching for the microphone. Mr Jin handed it to her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving the crowd one of his most exaggerated laughs.
"Dear Sophie seems a little nervous, doesn't she?" Mr Jin let the crowd laugh about it for a moment. "I think she might have missed your good wishes from back there on the stage. Let's do another round, folks, so she can hear you! Give it up for Sophie Adelheid!"
Alone at the centre of the stage, Dove blinked to get used to the light while swarmed by a chorus of applause and whistling. She left the microphone back in its place, the guitar that had weighed her down feeling lighter than air and played softly.
"Hello there,folks," Dove called, getting cheers in response. "Having a good night, are we?" The cheers got louder, bringing a smile to her face. "How about a good old song to make it perfect?"
At the crowd's enthusiasm, Dove stroked the chords for a song she had never dared to sing before. One of the songs she had buried at the back of her mind since very little. She hummed first, as she often did, then looked beyond the blinding lights. People had left the outskirts to flock to the surroundings of the stage, listening eagerly to her humming and demanding for more when the song had yet to begin.
You were mine; you swore.
Then your venom took my life,
Your love took my voice,
And, oh, honey, on my word,
A songbird never dies
It comes back to take what's yours
The music picked up at the rhythm of Dove's voice. Although she kept on playing the guitar, she had to admit her lacking skills couldn't go unnoticed for long. If it weren't for the people playing their instruments on stage, she'd be in trouble.
Once the song was over, the instruments kept on playing for a few seconds, as if, much like the crowd, were expecting another song. Mr Jin had to come up and steal the spotlight so Dove could step down. A resounding crowd of cheers welcomed her to backstage. Dove froze in place, not knowing what to do. She wasn't particularly familiar with compliments, much less from complete strangers.
"Sophie, was it?" Finnick, though with a forced low voice and a dark brown wig on, halted in front of her with a confused look in his eyes. "Name's Marco. I'd like to have a chat."