"Isn't it lovely. All alone.
Heart made of glass. My mind of stone.
Tear me to pieces. Skin to bone."
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BOOK 1 - Indiana Summers is the niece to two Victors and the sweetheart of the Capitol but now she'd been dropped into the...
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┏━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ➹ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━┓ Before they died They had trees To hang their hope ┗━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ➹ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━┛
Dust coated every visible surface. A high-pitched sneeze disturbed the serenity of the abandoned mansion. Almost two years of neglect and solitude ravaged the house. The ground floor was littered in half-filled boxes and white sheets covered important furniture. After the chaos of the 75th Hunger Games, Mr and Mrs Kentwell had started packing up the house so that nothing could be damaged or destroyed. A job that had been cut short by their unjust deaths.
Hand trailing fondly up the ornate banister, Indiana smiled as millions of memories flooded her mind. Portraits of her family hung from the cream-painted walls, watching as she walked through her childhood home. Her mother and father observed her as she reached her aunt's bedroom. The door sat ajar and the blonde caught a glimpse of silver bedding tucked tightly into the corners of the mattress; just like Cashmere had made each morning. As a child, Indiana had been taught how to pull the sheets so that they were perfectly taut and crease-free. It was a habit the young woman had continued to do even with her thin blanket in the cell of the Capitol. A gap-toothed portrait of Indiana on her first day at the Academy grinned down at Cato as he followed his wife down the hallway. Gloss, newly crowned Victor, smirked at them as they entered Indiana's bedroom.
A fluffy blue rug had been placed at the foot of the large grey bed. Grey sheets lay atop a soft mattress but the pillows littering it were blue. Shelves covered the majority of the walls and had been decorated with books in various conditions. A large desk had been placed under a bright, open window.
"So, blue was your favourite colour before you realised it was the colour of my eyes?" Cato commented, seating himself on the edge of her bed.
Unable to laugh properly, Indiana let out an amused huff. Swiping a finger through the dust that coated her bookshelves, she grimaced at the state her room had become. Everything remained untouched. It had become an exhibit for the life she had had when she was eighteen. The brush used for her hair the morning of the Reaping lay in the same place on her vanity. Nothing had been touched, nothing had been moved. It was as if her aunt and uncle had returned home after the 74th, shut the doors and never entered again.
Turning slightly so that he could get a full view of the room, Cato spotted an envelope resting on the right-side pillow. So the right has always been her side, Cato mused. Reaching over, he plucked the letter off the pillow and was surprised at the weight of it. Crisp handwriting had printed 'from your darling Mother, who loved you far more than you could ever imagine.' Running his finger over the small loops, Cato realised that this was the closest he would ever get to meeting the woman who had brought the love of his life into this world. Tilting his head so that he could glance at his aforementioned loved, he watched as she picked up a photograph and smiled at it.
