▎𝗪𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗡 ▎ ━━ 𝙖𝙘𝙩 𝙞𝙫 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙣 031. | AFTER ALL THIS TIME
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𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑. They would not stop, no matter how hard she fought them, how much she thrashed away, they didn't stop. She tries to tell them to stop but her lips are sewn shut, and no amount of scratching at her mouth opens them. She doesn't know what to do. The blood in her veins freezes. Nothing she does words. Nothing she does gives her the ability to move. All she knows is that everything feels wrong, and the hands just keep coming from every direction. They're pulling on her clothes, tugging at her hair—trying to touch every inch of her, and take away the last pieces of dignity; they won't fucking stop—
An agonising fluorescent flash of light hits her irises, her pupils dilated under the action. "Get that thing away from me," she shoves the gloved hand that held a flashlight away, "what's wrong with you?"
It turns out the medic or the nurse, or whatever, it was just a young girl who was now frowning at her icy-cold tone. Regret flooded over her like the wash of a wave, and she shut her eyes tightly. It was not a dream, exactly, more like a feeling. She couldn't see or hear anything, it was just a burning sensation of arms holding her down, having full-control over her body.
"Sorry," she sheepishly uttered, clutching onto the thin blanket over her body, she felt even sicker in those white gowns they made her wear. "What's your name?"
The girl smiled lightly at her question, apparently, her sense of curiosity was a good sign because she scribbled down something on her notepad.
"I'm Prim, it's good to meet you, Miss Cristela," the girl nodded. "Do you mind if I call you Scarlet?"
Prim. This was Katniss' notorious little sister, Primrose Everdeen.
"That's okay." Her small voice said.
A terrifying incident took place the night she arrived at District 13, no, not the part where she couldn't bear the touch of her loved ones, well, it was related to it.
It was the evening she was finally in the right space of mind to meet her nephew. It caused a billow of tears to spill down Scarlet's cheeks, a pang through her heart at the thought of the sweet, sweet boy being brought into such a world.
A few minutes before that evening, a medic was trying to heal her remaining wounds, expert fingers applying medicine to all the cuts and burns over her once-smooth skin. It was a regular routine she had been following ever since she came back.
