Strictly Prohibited ➳ THE HUNGER GAMES ✔️

|03| Nightmares Of Our Own Creation

Chapter 3 x

~~~~~~~~~~

Gloss's POV

I twirl the empty wine glass idly in my hand. By now, the Marvel and Glimmer are being all beautified in preparation for the chariots. Not that it would take much – both of them are good-looking kids. It might help them gain sponsors, but I don't think it will make much of a difference if another tribute charges at them with a weapon. Finnick Odair is one example of a tribute that gained immense sponsor support – and managed to win.

Cashmere kept raising her wine glass to her lips, but the glass wasn't emptying at all. Maybe it's because the deep red liquid reminds her of blood. I immediately shake off the stupid notion. My sister isn't that childish. I think the truth is that she's worried. Not for the tributes now – this is probably the best part before the Games in the mind of the tribute, a chance to show off. She fears what is to come in this year's Games, as I think all Victors do. None of us want to see our tributes die, but at the same time, we don't want them to become monsters like us.

Storm stands by the window. She's already finished two glasses of wine. The thin straps of her deep blue dress leave her arms exposed, so I can see the purple bruises beginning to form where I dug my fingers into her biceps. I feel a tiny sting of guilt, before I push it away. Storm brought it upon herself. She brought up Honey, and she must have known that it would hurt. All the Capitolians know how to do is hurt.

Outside, the colourful Capitol is alive with noise as yet another district pulls into the station. They don't care about the deaths. Why should they? It's not their kids that get their names pulled out. So they celebrate because their favourite live television event is going to be back on. God, I wish I could knock some sense into those air-filled heads of theirs. Someone needs to give them a good reality check.

"Gloss?"

Speaking of reality checks, it's not until Cashmere says my name that I realise I'm holding my wine glass so tightly that in a minute it'll begin to crack. Storm glances across and I see the fear in her eyes. She's afraid of me losing my temper. Good, she should be. She has every right to be afraid.

"Sorry," I mutter.

Cashmere sighs heavily and gets to her feet. She'd always had an elegance, my sister. She had been the beauty of her Games, the pretty face that none had thought would have the capability to become a Victor. Storm glances over at her and I know that it's time. The tributes will be down at the chariots by now and it's our job to go down and wish them well, to wave to the people who all too soon will be cheering for their deaths. It's not exactly an appealing prospect.

We head down to the Training Centre, with Storm trailing along behind as though she has no idea what to do. That annoys me for some reason. Most of the other escorts have been blathering on non-stop about what's in store for the Games, what the Capitol thinks of everything. Storm remains silent though. I don't like the silence. It means I never know what she's thinking. She catches my hard stare and immediately takes to looking at the ground. I imagine how easy it would be to crush someone as weak as Storm in the Hunger Games.

"Don't we look great," Glimmer babbles, sauntering over to Cashmere and I and twirling in her costume. It's a thing of sequins and feathers that's supposed to represent the occupation of our district, but to me she just looks like a silly little girl playing dress-up. Marvel follows in a more solemn state. Perhaps it's something to do with having to wear the colour pink.

I glance around at the other tributes. The boy from District 2 – his name begins with a C if I remember correctly – glares sullenly around at the rest of them, for some reason lingering on the pair from District 12...and what a non-descript pair they are. Both are dressed in black, a brunette girl and a blond boy. When I turn my attention back on our tributes, Cashmere is already in the middle of giving the two teenagers a firm talking to. Storm shifts her feet awkwardly and I frown.