Chapter 31:

The colored constellations of light began to coalesce into a singular white sun shining down over Tigris as she came to. Her eyelids felt swollen and heavy, but the beacon of light overhead prevented her from being able to test how far she could part them. And though she could sense she was lying on her back, there was an enormous pressure against her face- as if the light streaming down was pinning her to the floor with its gleaming weight. An eclipse passed over the sun; light shone through a wild mane of coiled hair like golden fire. A boot stepped onto Tigris' chest. She wondered if the pressure she sensed before was actually even external. Tigris squinted into the shadow that blanketed her vision, its source asking as her eyes adjusted to the face above her.

"How do you feel?" Goneril asked with the tread of her boot on Tigris' clavicle.

Tigris couldn't answer, her lips too numb to part.

"Because you look great." Goneril's white teeth smiled through the shadow of her hair obscuring her scarred features. She studied over Tigris: "My mother never told me I was a pretty girl. She called me her swan. I didn't realize until much later that was an insult. Goneril pressed her foot down harder against Tigris' thumping heart. "Swans aren't carnivores."

Goneril removed both a black notebook and a VHS tape from her draping shroud's pockets.

"She made it clear to me: there are predators and prey in this world and it's a predator's moral duty to eat the weak. The food chain would collapse if flipped on its head- the ecosystem would implode and you'd wish you just started a war instead of ending up so noble, but so hungry. I could have eaten you, Miss Snow."

Goneril lifted her boot off of Tigris' chest.

"But- I decided to do you one worse and give you what you wanted."

Goneril whistled, the high-pitched tone echoing off the curved walls of the Transfer.

"Go." Goneril ordered. "We've all got a big day ahead of us."

The sound of stampeding footsteps pounded down the tunnel along with tongueless hooting, chirping, and whooping shouts. Tigris woozily scrambled to her feet lightheaded as she gripped the metal rungs of the ladder that ran up into the glowing, white beam above. She was dragging a thousand pounds behind her as she ascended up the rungs. As she climbed, Tigris could feel the vibrations of her Animal pursuers behind her through her grip on the rusted, steel rungs. When she reached the opened trapdoor, Tigris rocketed up and into her studio- wasting no time taking a hold of the broken armoire and using all her body weight to tip it back over towards herself. The wardrobe came back down onto the trap door just as it fell closed, pinning it shut with a shattering boom of splinters.

Tigris rolled back and sat up to face the Animal woman sitting across from her- peering back at her with golden-brown eyes. The Animal blinked at Tigris like a parrot when she blinked herself, though the woman was clearly meant to be a tiger. Stripes of black and gold crisscrossed the cat woman's puzzled expression that studied Tigris in return. Her nose was flattened, her lips were curled inwards, and her cupid's bow was flanked by protruding whiskers that flickered as Tigris grimaced with disgust. Tigris raised a hand to her lip to touch her numb mouth, watching the Animal woman before her mime the same gesture, but feeling the whiskers on the other's face against her own fingers. Tigris let her hand fall. The Animal woman's hand fell with it. Then, Tigris saw the fissures and cracks of the mirror between the Animal and her.

She screamed. Tigris ran to the bathroom sink and threw on the tap- first rubbing, then scraping, then outright clawing at the black stripes covering the painfully taut skin on her face. The streaks only appeared darker and more swollen after her desperate efforts, now just intersected with abraded pink lines. Tigris looked into the mirror with horror, gripping onto one of the whiskers sticking out from her upper lip and tearing it from her face. She almost passed out from the pain. The blood came spurting out like a bullet, splattering against her feline reflection. Tigris tasted the blood pour over her lip and flood into her mouth. She tightly pinched onto a second whisker and ripped it too from her face. The world spun as a second burst of red flowed down her lips and over her chin, her jowls soaked and bloodied like a ravenous, bloodthirsty animal. A set of knocks came against the front door of the studio.

Tigris pulled out another whisker, her knees buckling from the excruciating pain exploding across her feline face. The knocking became more insistent. Tigris gripped all of the remaining hairs sprouting from her upper lips in her fists and pried them from her face, roaring with agony. The knocks became bangs. Tigris was practically drinking her own blood then, spraying misty clouds of red and racing from the bathroom and into the kitchen where she collected the largest knife she could find just as the front door was seconds from being broken down. Tigris came around the corner and threw herself at the intruder, tackling him to the carpet and watched his shocked facial expression be splattered with her draining blood.

Zagros squinted up at her as she raised the knife- taking in the wild creature poised to stab him in the heart. Tigris froze. He raised one of his hands to her striped cheek, tucking back a strand of loose, bloodied hair behind her ear to examine her new face.

"Tigris…?"

She let the knife fall to the floor:

"If you're going to kill me… please just do it."

Zagros let his thumb drift down Tigris' cheek, thumbing over her stripes and wiping away the blood on her lips. Then he took a beat before he lifted his head and kissed her on the mouth.

"The answer is no." Zagros explained after his lips came away red with Tigris' blood. "Crane Realty gave me that address on the Corso only because I told them something different."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tigris asked.

"Because I was going to do it, Tigris." Zagros confessed.

"You should have." Tigris almost cried.

"Are you crazy?" Zagros responded.

"That's your dream. I'm not worth more than your restaurant." Tigris covered her face with her hands. "Look at me."

"You are my dream." Zagros insisted. "That place is just… a building. You are a life. You are beautiful, Tigris. And I think you'd be the place I would always want to get back to- not there."

"I can't be happy here." Tigris decided. "Let me come with you."

"Coriolanus would never allow that." Zagros explained. "He wants us under his control or dead."

"Then, kill me." Tigris picked up the knife. "I'd rather die than be seen like this at…" It dawned on Tigris, clawing at her stripes: "My show!" She unconsciously pulled the knife to her face, as if prepared to cut the golden lines stretching across her contorting cheeks. "I can't be seen like this! On the biggest night of my life! I can't go out there!" Tigris lamented with revulsion. "Kill me, please, kill me."

Zagros grabbed a hold of her wrist and pulled the blade from her grasp as he drew her towards himself:

"Okay. I will." Zagros softly agreed. "And then we run away."

Tigris blinked away her tears at him.

"I'll do what Coriolanus asked, as far as he'll be concerned." Zagros explained. "I'll be the Corso Killer I know they were trying to frame me as. We'll stage your murder and leave town."

"Zagros…" Tigris was confused: "Run away to where? The Zagros Mountains?"

"No. I know you wanted to get out from underground." Zagros looked around at the little studio. "But that's the only chance anyone ever has of escaping the Capitol... like District 13."

"13 doesn't exist." Tigris said. "Is this another fake mountain of hope?"

"Our mountains and river are real." Zagros insisted, holding Tigris closer and looking into her eyes, unblinking: "Believe me, there is a place out there for us. There is a place where we can be together."

"But… Judge." Tigris realized. "Coriolanus has no reason to keep him alive if I'm gone."

With this realization- Tigris felt a weight be simultaneously lifted and dropped over her:

"Tonight. Once the Games are over and Judge wins." Tigris swallowed. "After my show- we go."

The cost of this plan was undetermined- but undoubtably very, very high. It was mid-afternoon and she was already hours late to the Supra by this point. It took another hour for Tigris to figure out how she was meant to style her way out of the aesthetic catastrophe staring back at her in the mirror. But eventually with the help of her full coverage foundation, a bulky pair of sunglasses, and a careful arrangement of her bangs, Tigris was able to more-than-mostly cover her feline features. Only her new shrunken, upturned nose gave something, if anything, away. But that was easy to explain as a rushed rhinoplasty; one of those trendy overnight nose jobs could also be a good excuse for her tardiness. The final accessory she slipped into her bag was a chromatifur necktie glowing green and gold as she stepped into Zagros' car. And with that, began the journey to what she hoped would be the last day of the last Games of her career.

When Tigris arrived at the Supra as the sun was beginning to dip in the sky, she was glad hardly anyone was out on the streets. It was the finale, after all. People were likely glued to their screens to witness which of the final three would emerge victorious. Tigris crossed the Supra's lobby and made her way to the elevator, her stomach feeling like it remained on the ground floor as she was lifted upwards to the penthouse without it. What if Judge was already dead? The idea was both heartbreaking and soothing in some horrible way. Tigris couldn't comprehend watching the boy die. And if he already was, she might not ever have to. But Tigris still hoped to her core he'd be alive- and her hopes were granted as she arrived at the penthouse.

The first face Tigris saw when she pushed through the lounge's door was Judge's pale, snow battered visage on the screen. Next, Tigris watched Lucky take notice of her. The flash of his lighter and puff of cigar smoke the man blew out couldn't mask the quizzical look he gave. Tigris watched Lucky unthinkingly set down his lighter on the bar counter while gawking at her with a suspicious squint. The Victor from 5 was the only person in the penthouse paying Tigris no attention, however. She crossed and sat beside Lumen rocking back and forth and muttering to himself so low, Tigris could not hear the words he whispered over the howling, icy winds coming from the flatscreen. Judge pushed through the blizzard, his clean, white uniform appearing to meld with the sheets of cold fog whipping past him. Then, through the cacophony of gusting snow there was the attacking sound of a hacking cough.

Judge raised the platinum knife in his hand in a defensive stance, scanning around at the snow filled corridor. He dove down to the snowbank building up against the frosted rose covered walls of the maze, hastily shoveling away handfuls of the powdery snow to create a divot in the embankment. Judge's white uniform and the snow around him began to blend into one as he scooped more powdery ice over top of himself until he was completely covered. Soon, the boy had disappeared within the frozen camera shot positioned on him. But the black tar covered figure that came lurching into the shot next was hardly as invisible against all the white.

Pyrano carried his dagger in one hand and the jar of venom in the other. His black stained shoulders and chest shuddered with the short, heaving breaths he choked out. Pyrano lurched past the snowbank where Judge was concealed, none the wiser as he slogged past and rounded a bend of the maze out of the shot. Judge burst from the snow a moment later looking just as pale and cold as the blizzard around him. He shivered violently, rubbing his shoulders to warm himself and dust off the snowflakes still clinging to his clothing. Judge climbed from the snowbank with his knife and cautiously peered down the way Pyrano had gone. He apparently saw nothing of the other boy but turned back to the corridor to see the bloodstained dress and golden sword cutting through the frozen haze towards him.

Judge threw himself into a sprint, dashing into the blizzard's winds that seemed to be trying to drag him back to the girl he fled from. Tigris didn't realize just how far the snowstorm had converged towards the Cornucopia. Only a few pounding heartbeats and footsteps later, Judge was sprinting into the still air of the Central Courtyard, racing from the maze's southern entrance into the placid eye of the frozen hurricane. Only three of the original twenty-four pillars remained standing around the shallow, empty pool where the Cornucopia sat. Judge scrambled over one of the fallen pillars' debris and sprinted on, leaping over the pool's lip towards the horn as Zizania entered into the courtyard in pursuit of him. The snowstorm seemed to pursue the girl from 9 with the same icy ferocity she employed after her prey, it's cyclonic winds and sleet following on Zizania's heels as she herself crossed inwards.

Judge rushed up to the mouth of the horn. The broken rotary phone lay against the tile with its cord in a spiraling tangle and a few of its screws knocked loose. He looked back at Zizania and the storm converging on him slowly but surely. Then, he knelt down to pick up the phone's handle and raise it to his ear. He listened for a moment, looking to the sky above. Judge gently set the phone back on the receiver before turning to Zizania, who was stepping over the lip of the empty pool by that point.

"I don't hear anything." Judge told Zizania over the roar of the blizzard- its winds now encircling the pair. "We don't have to fight!"

Zizania said nothing in response to this, but did halt for a moment. Her dark eyes fixated on Judge with an intense contemplation. Not reluctance, but not exactly wrath either. Then, she did respond in a way- tightening her grip on the sword and reinitiating to cross in towards Judge.

"Please…" Judge begged. "I'm sorry!"

Zizania kept advancing. Judge bit his lip and shakily pointed the end of the platinum knife at the girl closing in on him.

"I'm sorry they made you think you have to do this." Judge tried to get through to her. "But what if we don't?!"

Judge threw the blade to the floor. Upon looking back up, his eyes flitted past Zizania into the slurry of hail and snow approaching at her back.

"We're not monsters. We're just kids."

Zizania stopped and shuddered- either shaking off his sobs or the air's frigid bite. She took another step forward in Judge's direction as Pyrano crept over the lip of the empty pool behind her.

"It's not too late to do the right thing." Judge began to cry, warning her: "It's not too late to turn around."

Zizania decided not to listen. She maintained the push towards Judge with a venomous glare in her black eyes. Pyrano was just as close to Zizania's back as she was to Judge, standing over him with her golden sword. Judge lowered his head, ready for the killing blow as Pyrano raised the glass jar of venom up in his grip behind Zizania. The girl from 9 took one last snarling glare at Judge before she swiftly reared back the golden sword over her shoulder to strike him.

'SWISH!'

'CRASH!'

'THWUNK!'

'SQUISH!'

Pyrano crumpled to the tile behind Zizania, ripping the sword from her hands as he fell with it embedded into the side of his skull. The girl looked back over her shoulder as the sword and boy and shards of blackened glass went down- stunned to see the horrific gash she'd inadvertently delivered to the side of the boy's head. Judge raced past Zizania, rushing up to Pyrano's side as his body began to convulse from the fatal brain injury. It took only a few seconds for Pyrano's cannon to sound then. Judge let the boy's limp, venom-soaked hand fall from his grasp, watching the third to last column crumble to dust and be swept up into the wind of the blizzard- leaving only two standing beside one another. Judge turned back and looked up to Zizania as she picked up the platinum knife from the tile where Judge had let it fall.

"Momma!" Judge stood and stepped back from the other boy's corpse, calling up to the sky with tears in his eyes. "I know you said it wasn't real- but it is!"

Zizania took a step towards Judge.

"Momma- you are a star! You're not in the sky. I'm never gonna see you again. But, I'm not going to act like it."

Zizania stepped over Pyrano's corpse and stood before Judge. And Judge straightened his posture to face Zizania as the violent, freezing winds pulled them together.

"I'm still afraid to die." Judge wiped away his tears and looked at Zizania with a simultaneous red eyed defeat and victory: "But, never that afraid."

Zizania looked at her reflection in the platinum knife. Then, blinking awake, she thrust the blade into Judge's throat.

Tigris felt her stomach return and turn over. Judge collapsed with a sharp cry, clutching at his bleeding neck. Zizania began shedding furious tears as she lowered herself onto the small, writhing boy squealing out bloody gurgling screams. The world and wind began to spin with a dizzying, frozen nausea as Tigris watched Zizania bring the knife back down on Judge's neck. Then, she did it again. And again. His attempts at screams stopped. Zizania stabbed and stabbed and stabbed Judge. Lumen vomited onto the floor. The girl from 9 kept sawing and slicing and slashing into the boy's throat until she finally finished- becoming soaked in his blood so thoroughly not an inch of her once white Arena uniform was not dripping red. The blizzard's winds came to a grinding halt as a final cannon sounded, the icy swirls fading as Judge's pillar crumbled.

Zizania rose up from the puddle of blood beneath her, now the only tribute left standing alone at the center of the Arena, lifting her dark gaze and Judge's severed head in her fist up to the white ether above. Tigris let her own gaze fall to the floor; she stood and crossed out of the lounge, not even feeling her fingers grabbing Lucky's lighter off the bar as she went.

Whatever she was doing didn't feel like walking. Tigris' feet were hitting the ground, but it felt like her skull was making impact after impact against the floor with every step she took. Her pulse pounded in her temple so violently, the world churning around her with such horrifying technicolor, she couldn't hear or see anything plainly. Not her heels striking the glossy floor, or the elevator's chime, or the adulations of the applauding crowds out on the Corso she passed by. The people praised Tigris' efforts. They took pictures and asked for autographs. People were wishing her 'better luck next year,' referencing her 'excellent showing,' despite the 'near triumph.' But, she truly perceived none of it. In fact, Tigris didn't have another conscious thought until she sat up in a daze, her eyes adjusting to the dark room where her unfeeling feet had carried her.

Tigris felt the torn silk bedding against her toes as sensations returned to her limbs. Her fingers reached out to turn on the lamp on the nightstand but it wasn't there. She crawled out of the bed, stepping down onto the floor and felt the sharp crunch of the lamp's shattered glass base snap under her shoes. Tigris maneuvered over the remains of a destroyed armchair to the switch on the wall, but the busted overhead bulb fizzed with nowhere for its electricity to go when she slid the dimmer up. For a moment in the darkness, Tigris couldn't define where she was, who she was, or what even led her to this dark, destructed cell of a room. She still had her sunglasses on and was propping them atop her head when the dull, shifting glow emanating from her purse caught her eye. Tigris dug in the bag over her shoulder, finding the lighter sitting against the glimmering blue chromatifur necktie. Tigris pulled the lighter out and ignited a flame with her thumb to illuminate the room around her.

'I AM NOT AFRAID' was carved into the walls hundreds of times with scratchy, childlike penmanship.

Tigris gripped the lighter in her fist with white knuckles and extinguished its flame before crossing out the first floor apartment unit of 74 Cominia towards the manager's office. She let herself in expecting to be greeted by her chromatifur collection mirroring the flames in her mind but instead was just met with Coriolanus' cold stare sitting at the desk before an almost empty clothing rack.

"Where is my collection?" Tigris asked, immediately swatting her bulky sunglasses back down over her face and inconspicuously slipping the lighter back into her purse. Coriolanus' brow furrowed studying the composition of Tigris' expression, before he shook his head and explained:

"It's been delivered to the Palace." He gestured with a head nod to the clothes rack behind him- the only article of clothing hanging there was the initial chromatifur trench coat Tigris had made for Flossie. "Volpe says he wants you to wear this."

"I want the photograph back." Tigris demanded. "You didn't stick to your word."

"I sent in Judge's best shot." Coriolanus explained. "You sent the knife that killed him."

Tigris felt the inferno rising in her mind, but her tongue burned on its heat so intensely she couldn't speak. So, Coriolanus filled the silent tension that followed with words Tigris never thought she'd hear from him:

"I'm sorry." Coriolanus apologized, albeit dispassionately. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him. But he couldn't save himself."

"He died believing he would have been bad for fighting back." Tigris was so enraged she couldn't even hardly get the words out. "…How do we live with ourselves?"

Coriolanus blew air out his nose and sat back in the chair:

"Comfortably- in any one of several luxury units throughout the city."

Tigris imagined herself leaping over the desk, pinning Coriolanus to the ground, and tearing his head from his shoulders. The image was so vivid and righteous in her mind. And her fingers ached so much to make it real that she fell to her knees and cried with shame.

"Tigris." Coriolanus ordered her tears to stop without directly asking so: "You know, all stars eventually die via self-implosion."

Then, he sat forward again and exhaled:

"I understand why you put so much on the line to save your tribute. I might not empathize, but I do understand. You saw innocence in him, you saw goodness. And you were not the only one who did." Coriolanus shrugged. "But the good ones don't survive war, the strong do."

"That little boy was stronger than everyone in this entire city put together." Tigris replied.

"What does he have to show for it?" Coriolanus asked. "You're both sobbing helplessly on the floor. He's dead. But you've got a stretch limo waiting outside to take you to a Palace of adoring fans who want nothing more than to tell you how much they love you. You're finally back on top, cuz'." Coriolanus reached back, pulled the chromatifur trench coat off the rack, and laid across the desk in front of himself between them. "Don't lose your head."

Tigris studied him for a long moment before pacing to the desk, lit by the chromatifur trench coat's deepening red glow as she approached. She reached inside her bag and considered blowing them both to bits right there- the lighter inches from her grip. But a framed painting of snowcapped mountains on the wall behind Coriolanus melted Tigris' fury. So, instead of the lighter, she grabbed the necktie. Tigris quickly manipulated the glowing strip of fabric into a glowing crimson windsor knot she deposited on the desk in place of the coat she slid over her shoulder. Coriolanus eyed the shifting carmine shine of the necktie as Tigris answered his warning:

"I won't."

The drive to the Presidential Palace and arrival with Coriolanus was a painful inversion of Tigris' experiences walking up the same steps just six months earlier. The air and glances of her fellow Capitolites had an icy bite in January, but now, the summer night's heat and warm greetings fell on Tigris like rains of fire. The Palace was even more elaborately remodeled from its former glory, but the feeling of existential dread hung in the air for Tigris all the same as she and Coriolanus weaved through the adoring crowds.

Her sore, swollen facial muscles painfully stretched over and over with her feigned smile. Every gracious word, glowing sentiment, and detailed reference to some look she either wore or designed during the Games bounced off Tigris' matte black chromatifur trench coat. Coriolanus' tie was practically exploding with veins of colored light against his chest as they were approached by fan after fan, celebrating both her fashion and his Games. Tigris had already had enough by the time they had reached the end of the Great Hall but could see in full color how her cousin's enthusiasm had waned none. And the tie's hues only lit up further when Faust approached with Gretchen on his arm.

"Good Game, brother!" Faust warmly patted Coriolanus on his shoulder.

"And good-er looks!" Gretchen chuckled, nodding at Tigris.

"I don't know about that." Coriolanus tittered, though Tigris could tell the comment poked at his ego.

"Well, I spent more of his money on orders for Tigris' designs than I did on Ale." Gretchen squeezed Faust's bicep and turned back with an eye roll: "I hope at least one of you delivers on that investment."

"You'll get your dresses." Coriolanus assured.

"Didn't I hear you offer customs?" Gretchen asked Tigris, who was halfway to disassociated by this point. Tigris was trying to find the words to tactfully deny the request, but Faust was able to come up with one in the form of what he thought was a joke:

"Gretchen, Tigris Snow is out of our pay grade now." Faust chuckled. "Until I get my promotion in the very near future, working with us would be charity."

Tigris didn't even try to laugh along with the other three. That word: 'charity' was banging around against the inside of her skull so violently it started to give her a migraine. Tigris slid her arm from Coriolanus' and excused herself to the powder room- taking only one step away before she and Ada Jane locked eyes.

Ada stood in roughly the same spot she had been in when she took aim to save Tigris' life months previously. But now there was no revolver, blood splattered pale-yellow dress, or Manticore. There was just the most beautiful version of this woman Tigris had ever seen. Ada Jane's shining skin and long platinum blond extensions glimmered along with the near ultraviolet beading of her flowery gown. The extravagantly dressed crew of men and women laughing and sipping posca around her were some of the wealthiest and most influential in the city. And the longer Tigris held her gaze on Ada, the harder it was to tell her apart from them. Ada's smile briefly cracked as she took in Tigris, the corner of her glossy lips twitching before she placed a delicate hand on the shoulder of a man beside her and slipped away from the group and out the Great Hall. Tigris followed.

Ada's gown might as well have been truly ultraviolet, as she kept disappearing from any visible spectrum into the colorful crowd of florally ensembles packing the Gallery. Tigris kept her eyes focused on the coming and going of the dress' purple glass beading through the masses of people until she watched Ada push through and into the women's restroom. Tigris forced her way in a moment later- her heels trot echoing across the empty bathroom. Confused, Tigris turned around just as the Victress from 3 lunged out from behind the bathroom door as it closed:

"What!?"

The bestial tone of Ada's voice pierced through the space- her gleaming features twitching at the ferocity in her own voice echoing around her. Tigris recoiled and murmured with disquieted fear:

"I don't recognize you."

Ada robotically forced her lips back into a charmed smile and turned to appreciate its reflection in the mirror.

"Thank you." Ada took a deep breath before reaching inside of a small bag over her shoulder.

"That wasn't a compliment." Tigris said. "You're no better than Coriolanus or Goneril or Appius." She swallowed. "You're a monster."

Ada blinked her long lashes at Tigris, then removed a compact of blush with a dainty brush she tapped against her temples:

"Do you remember the first person you saw die on January 4th?"

Tigris grimaced, then mis-remembered:

"…Ravinstill?"

"No, ma'am." Ada corrected, returning the blush to her bag. Tigris only then remembered the Animal man.

"The driver?"

Ada's cheery expression dropped as she faced Tigris:

"Bullseye."

Suddenly, Tigris felt like she was staring down the barrel of the gun again. Ada turned back to reexamine her reflection, dabbing a powder puff against her cheekbones:

"No predator, besides the President, touches me unless I say. Of course, you know who I am, Miss Tigris." Ada almost teased. "I don't work for Coriolanus. Or Goneril. Or Appius. I tried to work for you- it didn't work. So, Ada Jane is who I work for. You really don't recognize her?" Ada returned the powder and next removed a familiar tube of lip gloss from her bag. "Then be thankful I recognize a blank round from a live one. It'd do you good too to just pretend to be a pretty little dumb lady who doesn't know what she knows."

"Ada, this isn't you." Tigris urged. Ada slid the gloss' wand across her lips curling into a grin.

"No, ma'am." She pulled Tigris closer so they could both look at their reflection in the same mirror. "It's us."

Tigris saw no one there she wanted to recognize, but Ada asked her to:

"I've borrowed more than just gloss from you. If I'm a monster, then sincerely, from the bottom of my little, black heart, thank you. I am the most beautiful, rich and famous, best dressed monster to ever walk the streets of this city. And I've told you once, and I'll tell you again…" Ada handed back the tube of gloss. "I couldn't have ever done it without you, Miss Tigris."

Ada smiled as Tigris accepted the gloss, but it read more like a sneer:

"I've got to get ready for the show." Ada nodded and went to leave, but Tigris stopped her at the door, calling out:

"Butterfly…?" Tigris sighed. "You feel fashionable, loved, rich, beautiful?"

Ada nodded at Tigris with a blank expression.

"You did not say happy." Tigris said.

Ada's smile cracked. Then, she laughed too hard. Tossing her long, blonde hair over her shoulder, Ada reignited her blinding, social butterfly smile as she exited, shooting Tigris with a parting:

"Boo-hoo."

Ada Jane was immediately met with the charmed affections of the Capitolites in the Gallery as soon as she pushed out of the bathroom. Tigris glared at the stranger in the mirror, watching a tear slide down her cheek and carve out a faded line of her full coverage foundation as it fell. Tigris watched the woman in her reflection try to keep her cries down, unable to control the ways her shoulders quivered, and small, flattened nose sniffled back the tears. It wasn't until half her makeup was shed into beige colored raindrops splattered into the sink bowl that Tigris recognized her reflection again with surreal clarity.

The woman in the mirror's hands suddenly became her own again, and Tigris ripped her sunglasses off and twisted the faucet on to allow the warm tap to pour. She collected the heated water in her palms and dashed the puddle she gathered against her face. She scrubbed and scrubbed until the faucet's flow began to steam and burn her skin. She turned off the tap and gripped the edge of the sink with her eyes shut tight, unable or just unwilling to look at what she'd uncovered. Tigris sat in the comforting darkened world behind her closed lids when the crackling of an intercom system leaked into the bathroom and pried them open.

Appius Volpe's uncharacteristically languid droll cut through the tension between Tigris and the drenched, panting, tiger-faced Animal woman in her reflection.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your President speaking- all in attendance are invited to the Palace's rear gardens for the debut fashion line of the Capitol's most elite designer: Miss Tigris Snow."