𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑶𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒓

𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍.

An Expensive Paperweight.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Rosie wasn't sure where she'd first heard the saying, nor had she thought much of it until now; when she wore a crown that felt heavy with all the guilt it reminded her of.

The crown—made of solid silver, encrusted with diamonds and decorated with metal flowers which twisted around the entire thing—was heavy. It weighed her down, her body already worn down—even after her hospital stay, where she realised quickly that it was more aesthetic-driven rather than health-driven—from the Games, she just wanted to throw the crown out the window and curl up in her bed, the one tucked away in District 9.

But she wouldn't ever get to do that again, she'd go back to all her belongings being ferried off the Victor's Village. A few houses poorly kept up, stupidly big with no one to fill them; that's all that made up the supposed village. Because people in District 9 don't win, they die and they die pretty quickly. That's a contributing factor as to why her popularity somehow only went up after she was crowned Victor, people were shocked. She was unassuming and pretty to look at, but they wrote her off as someone who would die because they lacked the substance that made a Tribute turn into a Victor.

Rosie was standing at a grandiose party that the Capitol claimed was thrown for her when, in reality, it was thrown for themselves. They wanted to see the girl in person, relish in asking her to recount the worst moments of her life, Rosie would drip-feed them something unimportant, definitely not what they wanted to hear then she'd escape—she'd gone to the bathroom about ten times in the span of an hour, she'd sit on the marble counter for a little while, immediately taking off the crown, and do everything within her power not to think about the events.

Rosie knew three people that wandered around the party: Zavir, someone she'd begun to have a solid relationship full of mutual respect for the other, one that acknowledged the differences between the two. Kit, and, by extension technically Haymitch, but she'd never had a conversation with him where he wasn't wasted. Lola, who'd made her a dress in the stupid, olive green she never wanted to wear ever again after the after Hunger Games interview—hours of her life was sat in that chair, pretending that she didn't keep knocking bruises that were stubborn, pretending that she didn't want to vomit everywhere, pretending that she wasn't so damn angry, pretending that she was oh-so-thankful for the opportunity the Capitol gave her.

Not only did she have Caesar Flickerman asking her to recount the events, mainly focusing on when she'd gotten poisoned by the lizard, Toby's death and when she slit Jett's throat, apparently those were the ones that sent the Capitol into an obsessive frenzy.

"No one could look away from their screens! We couldn't, could we, folks?"

They also played the video of her singing to Toby, something she wished was sacred and not used to entertain hundreds of thousands of people.

At least everyone was crying, she had thought.

When she had stumbled off that stage Kit was standing right there, clearly sensing what state his first successful mentee was experiencing. He wrapped her up in a tight hug as she cried and cried, asking why she had to do it. Kit didn't have anything to say that made it any better, there was nothing to say, he just hugged her until the desperate cries turned into shaky breathing.

When in the shower that night she debated on just jumping off the balcony the accommodation provided. She didn't, that would just further the hurt, and there was already enough to go around.

The green dress was pretty, though. Unfortunately, it kept up the seducing persona she hoped she could ditch.

Rosie adjusted her crown as she hid in a corner, sipping a glass of what she thought maybe alcohol, but wasn't entirely sure, and ate a lemon tart. For old times' sake. In the end, she just took the damn crown off and sat it on the table beside her.