"Dahlia Blossom. Don't let the name fool you. She's better known as the Black Dahlia. And she didn't earn that nickname by smiling and looking pretty."
"She sure knows how to perform for the camera."
"Because she knows how to play the game. She alwa...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Dahlia never expected to find herself preparing for her own Reaping again, but the odds never were in her favour. Of course, there were other Victors in her district that could possibly be chosen to go back into the Games. But Snow had rigged the Reaping for his own desires once before and Dahlia was sure he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. With this Quarter Quell, he had the opportunity to get rid of all the Victors that could cause him any sort of trouble. This was a chance he would not waste.
Alaric had been very vague with Dahlia in the lead-up to the Reaping. She could tell his mind was whirring like mad but he refused to share any details with her. He had become aloof and distant, always muttering indistinctly to himself. All Dahlia knew was how important the upcoming Games were and how crucial Katniss was to the plan.
Even in what could be their final days alive, the Victors' every decision was still being controlled by Snow. Dahlia was forced to maintain her femme fatale persona right to the very end and Alaric reignited the sword training he hadn't needed to utilise since his own Games. They became mere shells of their true selves, like strangers unbothered by the certainty of death lying ahead.
Standing onstage as a tribute not a Victor would've made Dahlia feel like a little girl again, if it wasn't for the outfit she had been ordered to wear. Once again, there was more skin on display than actual material. Not that the sparkly sheer fabric was covering very much anyway. The top was little more than a flimsy bra held together with a golden metal ring on her chest. The skirt didn't leave much to the imagination and would've revealed her entire lower body if it weren't for the solid black material hugging her hips. As exposed as she felt, she couldn't let her discomfort show for the camera. This was who everyone thought she was. The Black Dahlia is always dressed to kill.
"Welcome, one and all." Magenta's voice is devoid of any enthusiasm as he stands among a stage of people he's known for many years. Things were a lot more personal this year. He felt as though he were saying goodbye to old friends. But he still had a job to do, so he had to remain professional. "As we celebrate the 75th anniversary and 3rd Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games. As always," The normally cheerful man pauses to swallow back his tears. Even Magenta knew the odds weren't in Dahlia's favour. Everyone had a suspicion of who the tribute would be so his words wavered emotionally no matter how hard he tried. "Ladies first."
The crowds are silent as Magenta walks over to the near-empty bowl. He doesn't even put the effort in to produce the name with a flourish. His actions are diluted and hesitant, very unlike his usual behaviour. But still the man persists.
"The female Tribute from District Five, Dahlia Blossom." He announces into the microphone, not bothering to build up to a big reveal. It doesn't come as much of a shock to anyone. Dahlia plasters a confident smirk on her lips, disguising her sorrow under a mask of determination. She struts across the stage like she owns it and stands next to the escort with a triumphant grin. On the outside, it seems that Magenta is more heartbroken than Dahlia, which only means the girl is fulfilling her character. "Isn't that just... wonderful?" Magenta forces the words out with a smile that dulls his eyes. "And now, onto the men." He traipses over to the other bowl as Dahlia looks out to the crowd. She expected to see expressions of relief written all over their faces, but all that is visible is sympathy and rage. "The male Tribute from District Five... Alaric Silvers."
