Timber || The Hunger Games

Preparation

The next morning arrived with an eerie calm. Mira had hardly slept, her mind racing with strategies and visions of the arena. As the Capitol sun crept into her room, flooding it with light, the weight of the day pressed heavily on her. Today, she would be trained not in survival but in deception—the Capitol's version of charm for the interview stage.

As she dressed and made her way to the dining room, she found Joseph waiting for her, leaning against the wall and staring into the distance. He gave her a small nod, the unspoken tension between them still palpable. They weren't enemies yet, but the knowledge of what was coming sat between them like a silent, ticking bomb.

When they arrived in the main room, Blight took Joseph away, and I was left with Marisol, the red-haired woman from the Capitol escort team, who was adjusting a dress on a mannequin. She looked up as Mira entered, a bright smile on her face. "Mira! You're just in time. We're going to work on your presentation today!"

Mira approached, feeling a mixture of nervousness and hope. Marisol had always been kind, a stark contrast to the others in the Capitol. "What do you need me to do?" Mira asked, trying to quell the flutter of anxiety in her stomach.

Marisol gestured toward the elegant heels resting on the floor. "First, let's get you used to these! Walking in heels is crucial for the interview. It's all about poise and confidence."

Mira swallowed hard, glancing at the heels that looked more like torture devices than footwear. But she knew this was just another part of the game—another skill she had to master. She slipped them on, wobbling slightly as she took her first few steps.

"Good, good!" Marisol encouraged, her eyes sparkling. "Keep your shoulders back and your chin up. Imagine you're gliding, not walking."

Mira tried again, focusing on Marisol's instructions. With every step, she felt more at ease, her movements gradually becoming more fluid. After a few laps around the room, Marisol clapped her hands in delight. "Yes! You're getting it! The Capitol loves beauty and grace. You need to show them the best version of yourself."

Just as Mira felt a spark of confidence, Ophelia Spark entered the room, her sharp eyes surveying the scene. "What is this?" she snapped, crossing her arms. "Mira, you look like you're ready to trip over your own feet."

Mira's stomach sank, the warm atmosphere dissipating under Ophelia's gaze. She struggled to suppress her annoyance. "I'm trying to get used to the heels," she said, her voice steady despite the irritation bubbling within her.

"Trying isn't good enough," Ophelia replied, her tone cold and dismissive. "You need to be perfect. This isn't a game; it's your life. If you want to impress the Capitol, you can't afford to stumble."

Mira clenched her fists at her sides, feeling the pressure mounting. "I'm doing my best," she said, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

"Your best isn't what I'm looking for," Ophelia shot back, her expression unyielding. "We need to make a splash, not a wet blanket. If you want to survive, you have to shine, not just blend into the background."

Marisol stepped forward, her expression firm but supportive. "She's improving, Ophelia. It takes time to learn. She has a lot on her plate, and she needs encouragement, not criticism."

Ophelia's gaze turned icy. "Encouragement won't save her life in the arena. We need results, not excuses." She turned back to Mira, her voice low and dangerous. "Don't waste my time. You're a tribute, not a charity case."

The tension in the room thickened, and Mira felt a rush of anger surge through her. She didn't need Ophelia's approval, but she knew she had to play the game. As Marisol continued to support her, Mira focused on her goal—she would master this, and she would show them all what she was capable of.