"𝒩𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝓏𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇."
"𝐼'𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑒𝓉."
An ambitious girl with anger bigger than herself and even more confidence was unfortunate enough to be reaped for the 73rd hunger games. Daphne Westef...
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The pain had been bad, the worries had upset her, and the horrors never seemed to come to an end. Still, Daphne would go back to feeling like that any second. Now, everything just felt numb. It wasn't hard to imagine why. She'd been clinging to idle hope, nothing more than a silly, children's dream.
Johanna Mason was dead. Killed by the Capitol. There was no one out there looking for her, no one brave and bold enough to come and rescue her. She hated feeling like a damsel in distress, but she would take that over the emptiness that now resided inside of her.
On those brief moments that she actually formed a cohesive thought, Daphne wondered if she was even still alive at all. She didn't feel the part, for sure.
The fire she'd had was extinguished. She had watched Johanna die. Now, she would die. There was no question about it. Daphne was trying to accept the fact that she would soon be dead, which actually wasn't the worst thing she could imagine. At least the pain would stop. At least she wouldn't have to hear the other victors scream. At least she wouldn't have this terrible ache in her heart.
Still, Daphne didn't spill the little she knew about the rebellion, but the shift in her persona got noticed. She was asked to do another interview, and kindly repeated anything they told her to say.
What was the point of not doing so? No one was coming for her. Katniss might try to get Peeta out, but she wasn't even certain of that. And besides, she'd always been a pawn in all of their games. Replaceable. Utterly unimportant.
She supposed it didn't matter anymore, she was done fighting. She had a scratchy blanket and got food that she didn't touch. Hunger seemed like an old friend. Sometimes, she ate anyway, feeling sick afterward, but at least she felt something.
It felt rather pathetic, but she'd found out that all the hope she'd had, had been tied to Johanna. Johanna would make them come and get her out. Johanna would come and get her out herself, if no one else did. Johanna had made it out of the games. Daphne loved Johanna.
Growing up with the Games, she'd never thought of the world as fair. Had always felt resentment when a chair in her class stayed empty. Had always gone as far as she could when they delivered the money and goods every month. And yet, never in her whole life had the world felt as unfair as it did then.
Johanna was dead and Daphne hadn't been able to do something. Johanna was dead and soon, Daphne would be too. She'd seen too much death to truly believe in the afterlife, had always thought of herself as too rational to convince herself of a dreamy meadow where all the dead people were having picnics. Now, she wished she could believe. At least that would mean she would be reconnected with Johanna. And her mother. They could finally play the violin together.
