Worth it | F.O.

XVIII

Morning arrived with its annual mourning much faster than she had dared to hope it would. 

With fluttering lashes and a quiet groan, Nivea opened her eyes to the beams of light cast along the walls and the grand bed of the finest fabrics, mattress, and cushions she had ever felt possible in which she lay. It took only a mere moment of letting sleep drift away for clarity to dawn upon the young woman of a final 18 about to destroy what may have been left of a childish naivety to the horrors of responsibility with the taking of lives. The dawning of the day brought with it a figurative kind of realization of something much larger than herself for the day that had finally arrived. 

Though Nivea was sure almost all others waking to the same reality that she was had much different reactions to it, it didn't change how with it she required a moment to sit as she swung her legs over the side of the bed with a shakiness in her limbs not at all with a subtle fear to blame. Rather, anticipation tore ruthlessly in a new sense of torment through her jittering limbs tapping out a beat one could only possibly associate with some kind of joy. 

Taken into context, that joy was a twisted rotten thing for it was, most essentially, a joy of coming deaths. But who's to say Nivea wasn't a twisted rotten thing herself? She didn't know about anyone else - well, if she gave it much thought she actually most definitely did - but she had already known this from the moment she had taken a step at the mere age of nine into an already struggling district to leech off of whatever kindness they were willing to give all so she could one day kill their sons and daughters. 

And that brought her back around to the big event of that day for the one day she would begin her slaughter had arrived with shining sun and tearful cries in floors below and the floor above as she remained excited for their downfall. 

Never mind the rapid beating of her heart from something other than anticipation, damn the unspoken quiver in the muscles of her lips. She wasn't afraid. Nivea wanted this; she had wanted this more than anything she ever had for over half her life. It would be nonsensical to become fearful now and she was anything but. She nearly scoffed at the mere idea. How foolish. 

A sharp rapping echoed out from beyond her door, brown eyes darting to the plain surface when a chipper voice called out excitedly, “Our big day's here!”

Nivea found herself slipping off the bed quite suddenly and padding on silent feet to the massive window that was her wall, head echoing with the voices of her trainers years ago. As her open palm pressed against cool glass, eyes tracing a heartless skyline, a voice as soft as silk and brimming with emotions untold floated to the door, “I know.”

All was silent for a brief moment, city life and city lights coming to life below where she stood above yet always below them all. Nivea inclined her neck to allow her forehead to rest beside her hand, chills travelling under her skin even with the quirk in her lips that fought to both rise and fall and the descent of her always so valiant lids. She had learned a long time ago to appreciate the calm that came to foretell every storm; the calm before the storm that now raged with a vengeance to puppeteer all those in its shadow to bloodshed. 

For some reason she got the sense, just standing there looking down to the endless drop past a pane of glass to shiny streets below, that nothing would ever quite be the same as it had been, as it was even then. Nivea liked to believe only good would come to improve her life; that any change that did come would be good. 

What else could they do to make life worse for children than puppeteering them into blood-craving murderers? Perhaps she just lacked imagination but she just couldn't seem to conjure anything worse than what was already being done in a few short hours. 

The Capitol, or rather Olethia, broke that tentative peace with as much ease as they always managed just as the world went dark save for the soft glow that made it past her closed lids, “Good, good. Please hurry on, dear! I have always enjoyed the send off breakfast, you know!”