𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑶𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒓

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎

Like Powdered Sugar.

Rosie walked up and down the train, taking more of it in than the last two times she'd boarded it.

The first time she was overwhelmed with the weight of the crushing unknown mixed with the knowledge that, if she wanted to come back, she knew some of the things she'd have to do. Awful things, stuff her parents brought her up to not even think of doing. The second time she was desperate to just be home, to find a routine of normalcy—one she was beginning to think was impossible to find. The train felt like it was suffocating on the way back, the first memory too new, too changed, too empty.

This time the stakes, while still undoubtedly high, were lower. Or so she thought. She was quickly realising that her life was no longer her own, it was owned by so many people other than her. Her influence was gone, her wants squashed by the desires of others.

The train was stunning, it was somehow still smooth despite going so fast. The nature passed by in a blurry flash, the only time she could take it in was the occasional lake or snippet of the ocean. She saw expansive fields that reminded her of home, something she missed after only being gone for less than a day. The interior made no effort to hide the luxury, Rosie realised that the glitz and glamour of the Capitol was simply to distract the people from the real atrocities taking place just out of their field of view. It was far away enough that they could be distracted by wanting the newest bags, chasing to start a new trend, to be different in a sea of people trying to be different, but close enough that if the shiny promise of luxury distraction dulled for a second and they glanced away they would soon realise what was happening under their noses.

Zavir's cackles could be heard reverberating throughout the entire train, Rosie couldn't escape the shrill noise. The woman made her presence known.

Her fingertips grazed the wallpaper covered in velvet, she saw the room she used last time, and a few doors down the one Toby used. Her hand slid to the cold handle of the room he stayed in and she pushed it open. It looked the same as the one she used, but the colour scheme was a little lighter, pairing with his brighter demeanour. Six months ago he sat in that bed, watching the same show she watched across the hall. Now she knew some of what was going on in his head—his initial plan of jumping off the podium and getting blown sky high, not even feeling his death. It would've been kinder than the one she dealt him, no amount of stupid singing or gentle hair brushing could distract from that kind of death.

"Zavir wants you in the dining cart, she's just found out about your birthday. Just to warn you," Kit mumbled, the door swung open so fast made Rosie jump but she composed herself and turned to see him.

She nodded and followed the older man through the train and down to the correct cart. She couldn't help that her feet dragged, prolonging the walk, dreading what Zavir was going to spout.

"You didn't tell me it was your birthday!" Zavir grinned, showing off her fake teeth that were so white they seemed blue. Her long hands clapped in excitement, and the man who stank of cinnamon seemed equally as excited. "Oh, how I love birthdays."

Kit sat down, having snatched a bottle on his way. Rosie sat across from him, mentally clutching onto him for sanity—when a jaded alcoholic is the most normal person in the room, you know you're in trouble. She thought about her birthday and what that entailed for her, in short, not much. In an area where the rich are distinguished by not actively starving, birthdays aren't a priority. A few well wishes, a card and perhaps an extra serving of food was all you'd get.

Rosie didn't know, and was afraid to know, what a Capitol birthday party would entail. She worried that what Jess joked about would be true, maybe this was all going to swallow her whole and not bother to spit out her bones. They would keep them, display them alongside everything else they stole from her.