𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑶𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒓

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

Happy Birthday.

Fifteen.

In a normal world, one free of failed rebellions that lead to child death events and segregation where areas of a country starve to death in mass, fifteen would be an age you were almost guaranteed to survive to. But not in Panem, in Panem fifteen isn't a guarantee. Every person you talked to—at least in the Districts—would know handfuls of people who didn't make it to fifteen. Whether it was a bitter winter that took them, a failed harvest, or something more violent, like the Hunger Games that caused their demise, not everyone made fifteen.

Getting your name pulled from the bowl was almost always a sign to begin planning a funeral. Start growing flowers and scout out a nice patch of ground, because you're doomed.

But not Rosie, somehow she didn't die, so naturally, she was to be thrown a Capitol-style birthday party, acting as if they didn't just traumatise her for life. 

Getting through the rest of the Tour was painful, seeing the families of people she killed was hard, but somehow not as hard as she thought it would be. When she saw the vibrant red hair in the hoard of children standing in front of Wren's picture Rosie noticed all their stoney faces, Wren's father gave Rosie a curt nod, it was a subtle gesture, one that, if she weren't so laser-focused on his face, she wouldn't have noticed. It wasn't a forgiving one it was an acknowledgement that Rosie got the best of Wren, that no matter how much hatred fueled his daughter it wasn't enough. She was too angry, her family knew that, the rage was what led to her death;  rage and borderline psychopathy.

"That's wonky," Zavir fussed, yanking one of Rosie's plaits so it pulled to the same length. The movement was accompanied by a yelp from Rosie as she wasn't warned Zavir was going to be trying to yank her brain out of her skull. "Now, there has been word the station is packed with people wanting a glimpse of Rosemary Aldine. At least pretend to be excited, it is your birthday, that's cause for celebration."

Rosie smoothed her hands over the skirt portion of her silky dress, her blunt nails couldn't pick at the splattering of beads dotted across—something Lola was thankful for.

"I'd rather just go to bed early," Rosie mumbled as the train ground to a halt and Peacekeepers walked to open the doors. There were over a dozen just making sure the hoards desperate for a look at Rosie didn't get too close. The second the doors of the train unlocked she could hear the screams of adoration, soon she and the rest of the group on the train filed off one by one.

Rosie didn't like the way the façade naturally crept up and covered her when she walked off the train, the flashes of light where her picture was taken rapidly and screams that all blended into one blob of noise assaulted her senses. She just kept following Zavir until she got into the car that would take them to the accommodation. Once the group of five got into the car Zavir began running over the afternoon's events, she factored in time for mistakes whilst Rosie got ready, a break to eat something and ample travelling time to the venue.

On the drive she saw more than one poster of her own face hanging from a building, it displayed the details of her party and how to book a spot—but stuck on top was a "SOLD OUT" sticker.

Soon she was taken to her accommodation, not the same building that she stayed in for the 67th Games, but something with a similar design. She waved to a few of the other Victors as she walked through the halls, the grip Zavir had on Rosie's hand stopped any conversations bubbling up, something Rosie definitely wasn't angry about. The less talking the better. The people Rosie could actually stand having a conversation with were few and far between.

She was then sat down in a chair and had her hair done to perfection and her makeup applied seamlessly. She looked bright and fresh, but she couldn't outrun the Seduction part of the name The Capitol bestowed her with. The floor-length dress had a dip in the front, was almost completely backless and had a racy slit up the side. The glittering material itched the underside of her arms as they rested against it, but it was inarguably stunning. It almost looked wet and had a rich green colour, decorated with abstract colours grouped to have the appearance of flowers. Her hair was left out, cascading down her back in soft waves.