❝𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒❞ | k. everdeen

chapter 1: the beginning of the end.

The sword plunged into the mannequin's chest, specifically on the left side, where the heart should be, and the gymnasium fell into a deep silence, as it used to do. Nola could only feel her own breathing, agitated by the effort, her heart pounding in her ears, oxygenating, and her sweat running down her temples and neck, the hair in her ponytail sticking to her forehead and neck. The girl turned quickly, and some of those who had been her onlookers had stared at her, pale and stupefied, while others knew what they should do: look away and return to their chores so as not to disturb her.

Nola fiddled with the handle of the sword between her fingers, then sheathed it in its sheath on her back, not looking to see if she stuck it where she should, but she wasn't surprised when she did. It wasn't like she trained every morning in the District gym to impress people —though she had to admit it felt good when they looked at her with awe and surprise— but she had to admit that being able to wield a sword at only nineteen was impressive.

She decided she had had enough of the impertinent stares, and after sharing a nod with the trainers of the future tributes, and even some of the Victors from previous years, Nola left the gym. She passed through the marketplace, dodging children who approached her to tell her how much they admired her and how much they wished they could become as strong as she was, to which she simply responded with a grimace that was intended to be a smile. However, if Nola was known for anything in the District, it was not exactly for her friendliness, and that was something they had learned to accept, otherwise she would not be their prized victor.

She crossed the fields of District 2 to gain access to the magnificent houses of the Winners. Her District was one of the ones that housed the most Hunger Games winners, so the mansions numbered more than twenty, although some of them were already uninhabited. She had to admit that this house with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, two floors and an attic, a huge living room and a garden that was even more so, was sometimes lonely. But she often shrugged her shoulders and poured herself another glass of whiskey: she preferred that solitude to the company she frequented at boarding school.

District 2 was a strange place to grow up if you weren't born into a wealthy or at least well-to-do family. Nola's childhood had been the opposite of what a skilled tribute experienced: she hadn't had access to a good education, nor had she had access to a warm home, much less received health care or physical care like the rest of the children, no. She had grown up in the boarding school, an euphemism for what an orphanage was, and there she shared a room with dozens of girls going through the same situation as her, the only difference being that she had become a Victor, and the other girls would probably have been forced to marry rich boys or would have ended up on the streets when they came of age.

But she didn't think too much about that. She was rich, she was successful, she was famous. She was alive. She had everything in the palm of her hands, she had the world at her feet and no one would be able to take it away from her anymore. Because she had shown the world at only sixteen years old that she was worthy of all that fame, of that fortune, earning the admiration of the Capitol, which had supported her in her passage through the Hunger Games, impressed with the girl's skills after being aware that she had never trained like her partner in the Games.

She remembered plunging the knife into his chest in the same way she was now plunging it into the apple to cut it to pieces.

—Miss Bernacci? —she heard a voice behind her. She put a piece of apple in her mouth and raised her eyebrows. The peacekeeper seemed to hesitate—. There are two men here to see you. Should I let them in?

—Oh? Is one of them President Snow?

The peacekeeper turned away for a moment, not knowing what to do. The truth was that Nola's attitude always managed to disconcert him.—No, Miss Bernacci.