Rising Flames

Chapter 7: my stylist

Bright lights. That's all I saw as they ripped the hair from my legs, 'beautifying me.' They - my 'prep team' - led me into a room that was almost completely empty except for a steel bed with nothing on it. Even now it's cold to the touch, making me shiver under the sameness of the roof. I can hear ringing from outside, like there are bells tolling through the building.
The door opens after what seems like a lifetime. I turn my head to see a woman who appears no more than 30 or 35 years old wander in, chin held high. She has gold eyeshadow and a bronze completion, dark clothes setting off her bright eyes, glittering with what appear to be tears.
"You remind my of your mother, bravery shows in your posture and face." She laughs to herself for a moment then continues, "and of course you look like a younger copy of her."
I smile at her before sitting up and whispering, "did you know my mother? Like before the rebellion?"
Her face lifts slightly as she shakes her head. "No. No, I didn't know her... But my father did." She glances up at me as she says the last bit. "He was like me. A stylist. Her stylist..." She smiles sadly.
Shock rippled through me. "Cinna was your father?"
She swallowed and looked up at me, wiping away what appeared to be tears. "Yes..." She gathers herself, "my name is Kafiata. I'm going to be your stylist."
I shuffle forward on the table, making squeaking noises ask do so. "So what are we doing?"
That's when she smiles with such joy that it seems to light up the room.
"Well, as I said, you remind me of your mother, an almost perfect copy, volunteering and all." She moves towards the table and sits next to me. "We're going to give your own name, but just remind people of your heritage."
She grins at me, and I beam back. This is going to be fun.