Author's Note:
I am writing a second part to the second chapter as putting everything in chapter three would be a lot crammed into one chapter and I want to try and space it out a bit. Forgive me for taking so long to upload, this chapter was very tedious as I had to cast all 24 tributes, which is a lot more difficult than it sounds. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it :)
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After my visits, the Peacekeepers whisk Aiden and I on to the train that will carry us to the Capitol and at least one, probably both, of our deaths. Elektra, the woman who reaped us, seems to stagger around the train as she makes sure we are situated comfortably, although the train ride is so smooth we don’t feel a single bump. I wonder if she’s drunk, or if it is simply how she walks as a Capitol citizen. It certainly makes her seem more eccentric, which seems to be valued more in the Capitol than brains or function.
“And these two lovely people,” Elektra gestures dramatically, “will be your mentors for the game. Let me introduce you to Woof and-“
“Cecelia!” I almost squeal, interrupting a perturbed Elektra. I run to my friend, embracing her. She has a rather petite body, with long brown curly hair much like mine. She is gorgeous despite the scar that stretches from her eyebrow down to her jawline, crossing over her eye the Capitol replaced after she won the Games. They offered to give her cosmetic surgery to get rid of the scar as well, but Cecelia insisted she not go through with the surgery. She claimed it was because she was afraid of needles and scalpels, but I had a feeling it was for other unknown motives.
Cecelia and I had worked side by side in the textile mill until she had been reaped for the 55th Annual Hunger Games at the tender age of 14. She had been underestimated by the rest of the tributes, and was able to make it into the top 5 without any real conflict as they hadn’t seen her as a threat. After an avalanche took out all of the tributes except for her and a Career from 1, she used her nimble fingers from the mill to rig a very complicated snare that had allowed her to kill the last tribute, but not before she was slashed on the left side of her face, leaving her partially blinded until the Capitol gave her a prosthetic eye.
When Cecelia returned home, she got to live in Victor’s Village, on the other side of District 8. Not required to go to work anymore, I haven’t seen her except for on screen since she left for the Games. All I know was that it had changed her. She has a boyfriend, Christian, that she is going steady with. He is able to take care of her despite her evident PTSD. When she’s with him, she is far less worried and frenzied looking, which probably explains why he is standing in the doorway of the train car, a smile cracked on his face despite the sorrow in his eyes. Having Cecelia as a mentor was bittersweet. It meant that if I lost it would be even harder for Cecelia to recover from the pain of losing an apprentice. Last year she had stopped eating for days when Pearl, her first student, died in the initial bloodbath. Her body was that of a 16 year old, but her mind was much older.
“I see you’ve met Cecelia,” Elektra smirks, interrupting my reflection in her arms. I pull back to look at the Capitol citizen and blush. How many rules of protocol had I just broken? Oh well, it would give the Capitol another piece of juicy gossip to sink their teeth into. The tribute from 8 is best friends with her 16 year old mentor, Cecelia, who has built up quite a fan base because of her looks and naivety.
“Sorry,” I whisper, looking down at my feet and then back at my friend, who lifts her lips to try and motivate me.
“No matter, make sure you’re at dinner at 7 sharp,” Elektra orders, then turns to her cabin where she is probably planning on catching some beauty sleep. Or maybe another tequila.
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