❛ HOPE ISN'T SOMETHING GIFTED TO YOU
IT'S SOMETHING YOU ACHIEVE. ❜
in which a small girl from district ten must
protect those she loves, or die trying.
𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙋𝙇𝙀𝙏𝙀𝘿 (UNDER HEAVY EDITING)
― oc x...
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I SLOUCHED DOWN FURTHER INTO THE STYLIST CHAIR and huffed, "I can't recall anything. Nothing; nada. A little help here? What the hell has happened?"
Looking back up to the mirror, Bradley took a deep breath of realisation. "There was a note in your pocket when you were pulled out of the Arena. I didn't read it, but it got a little burnt around the edges. You can make out a little of it. . . If you squint perhaps. . ."
"That's okay."
He reached inside his leather jacket and retrieved a pale section of paper, burnt with a black, ashy border surrounding it. His hand extended toward mine and I took the piece into my palms. I rotated it, gazing at the old smudges of fingerprints around the edge and peeking at the scrawny handwriting, however not reading too much. I wanted to read it when the time was right, which was most certainly not now.
I thanked Bradley once again and smiled as brightly as I could. But, it still didn't feel complete. Not like I was picking out faults in my existence; I honestly did not feel okay. Maybe it was the shock? Probably, or at least I hoped it was.
Saffra signaled Bradley out of the room when my hair and make-up was done. I slowly stood up from the stool and made my way to the rack of clothes by the wall. "Now," she said, filling through the various fabrics, "We're looking for a sophisticated and grown up outfit..."
"So it looks like the Games changed me?" I asked.
"For the better," she explained, "Seneca Crane's orders." Seneca Crane, the head Gamemaker for the last four years. He had decided the fate of so many lives, I couldn't even care what he had to say.
Minutes later, my clothes had been replaced with a long bronze dress that split at the knee and only had one sleeve. It made me look taller than I was and Saffra had put my hair in a way that made me appear almost two years older.
"That'll have to do." I swivelled around to see Atlanta closing the door, stepping towards me. "Now that you look respectable, we've got an interview to attend to. Hurry up then!" She strode forward, adjusting strands of my hair with her harsh grip and sharp talons. Her eyes surveyed me, studying every inch visible of my outfit, ensuring that it wasn't too adventurous or the slightest bit boring.
"I think —" I snapped Atlanta's hand away from my face — "I can handle myself."
Atlanta chortled. "You should have no problem then."
