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WAITING FOR THE CANON TO EXPLODE MADE HER HEART RACE TEN TIMES FASTER, A HUNDRED TIMES FASTER— in only a matter of seconds she was back to fighting for her life. How did it all go wrong so fast? The promise of a revolution, to leave the Quarter Quell unscathed yet, they were a mist amongst the storm of opponents that were in her vision.
As soon as the canon exploded she watched as everyone leaped into the water. But she didn't. Ophelia remained rigid at her post, watching the currents of the water become stronger as the other victors rushed to the Cornucopia. In her center view, she watched Katniss Everdeen emerge from the water and run, seeing everyone else take their chance to murder the fresh blood. And so she jumped.
She found every muscle in her to swim at a relaxed pace. Ophelia had calculated the chances of coming to the Cornucopia at such a hastened pace, first kill. She wasn't planning on dying so quickly. If only the Peacekeepers had been so gracious to allow her to pull her hair back, perhaps she would find it easier to see underwater. Yet, she paced herself to the steadying beat of her heart.
Pulling herself up on the rock, Ophelia's eyes widened to see Finnick throw his trident at another victor. Whatever small talk he had going on with Katniss she didn't want any part of it. She could feel her lungs burning as she gasped for air. Her eyes darted around to see the other victors scrambling for their weapons. A chance to survive, a chance to win —a chance to live. Ophelia's hand shook as she raised them up to pull the matted strands of wet hair away from her face. How did everything go wrong so fast?
And there it was again, feeling her body take over her senses, her lungs seizing up as she sprinted down the path. Weapons, get yourself a weapon. The words kept repeating themselves over and over again in her head as she ran. This time, she didn't think to look at the other victors that were running to the same bloodbath as her, this time, she didn't think about how her life was on the line. This time, she was going to get a weapon. Whether the Capitol fucking liked it or not wasn't her problem. This was a second chance–
—to live, to survive, to make things right.
"I think this is yours!" His was a nagging echo in her brain as she whirled around to see Finnick with the same smirk on his face, tossing her the trinket that made her lip curl.
Once again, in her hands was the compact mirror. The very fucking thing that had sent her winning the games, made her a mocking for every other victor that had won. All the bloodshed, all the sacrifice and as her hands trembled to open the mirror, there was nothing but a reflection of a fearful woman staring back at her. The damped hair, the disheveled look, the bags under her eyes, none of it could compare to seeing a reflection of her younger self, her first games, looking right back at her.
