Timber || The Hunger Games

Parade

Mira woke to the soft chime of a clock in her room, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent apartment. For a moment, she lay still, the heaviness of the previous day clinging to her like a damp cloak. The bright morning light spilled through the window, illuminating the opulence of her surroundings—the gilded mirrors, the plush carpets—but it all felt distant and surreal.

Rubbing her eyes, she pushed herself out of bed, the weight of dread settling in her stomach as the reality of the day hit her. Today was the Tribute Parade, the Capitol's grand spectacle, where tributes were paraded like trophies for all to gawk at. She felt an unsettling mix of anticipation and terror.

After a quick shower, Mira dressed in the clothes left for her—a simple black dress that felt luxurious and constricting. She tried to steel herself for the day ahead, but her heart raced with the thought of facing the Capitol's scrutiny.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and before she could respond, it swung open to reveal a flurry of stylists. They were all bright and eager, buzzing around her like bees, their chatter a mix of excitement and urgency.

"Good morning, darling!" one of them chirped, her voice as effervescent as her hot pink hair. "We have so much to do! Time to get you ready for your debut!"

Mira swallowed hard but nodded, allowing them to usher her to the vanity. The stylists clucked and fussed over her, brushing her hair, applying makeup, and discussing her outfit. But her head stylist, Ophelia Spark, commanded the most attention. Ophelia was known for her eccentric and daring designs, and today would be no different.

Ophelia came into view as they worked, holding a delicate piece in her hands. "Mira, my dear," she said, her voice both soothing and authoritative, "I've designed something special for you. I wanted to reflect your district, your roots."

Mira's heart raced as Ophelia unveiled her creation, and a gasp escaped her lips. The outfit was nothing short of enchanting, designed to evoke the magic of the forest. The gown flowed gracefully in a gradient of lush forest greens, transitioning into rich browns that mimicked the earth beneath her feet.

Instead of the bark texture, the dress featured delicate, hand-embroidered patterns of intertwining vines and blooming flowers, each stitched with vibrant threads that glimmered like sunlight filtering through leaves. The bodice was structured yet soft, adorned with intricate floral appliqués that seemed to bloom outward, creating the illusion of a living tapestry.

The skirt billowed like a gentle breeze, cascading into layers that resembled the soft petals of a flower in full bloom. Tiny, shimmering crystals were scattered throughout, reflecting light as she moved, making the dress sparkle like morning dew. With each step, the gown created a sense of movement and life, a perfect embodiment of nature's beauty. It was stunning and ethereal, inspiring both wonder and a hint of trepidation about the spectacle to come.

"Are you ready to wear it?" Ophelia asked, a glint of enthusiasm in her eyes.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Mira replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

After slipping into the dress, she marvelled at how it felt against her skin, a second layer that connected her to the very essence of District 7, it it felt so fake, so capital. The memory of her face loomed over her like a shadow, she was ruining this outfit with her hideous injury.

Ophelia stepped back, inspecting her handiwork. "Ah, yes! Now for the finishing touch!" She produced a glass eye, its surface shimmering in its white colour. "This will complete your look, my dear. A way to symbolise your strength and resilience."

Mira hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. "But it's just—"

"Just an eye, yes," Ophelia interjected gently, "but it represents so much more. It shows you are a fighter, a survivor. You wear your scars with pride. This is your chance to tell your story."