I am, first and foremost, an actor, the perfect star of their pathetic show. I can be whatever innocent kid tugs on their heartstrings or the nightmarish murderer that plagues their little ones at night.

Maybe this would turn out for the best. It’s not like the arts are much appreciated in the districts as a career anyway, so who knows if I’d even have a wage to keep my pretty little head afloat.

Though the Capitol may be hesitant to say, they couldn’t function in their extravagant lives without our electricity production. They need us, but I most certainly don’t need them. I shall simply use them. They won’t see me coming until it’s too late.

•~$~•

It was time to say goodbye, for now at least. The few I cared about would visit, and my plan would be set into action.

_Knock, knock. _

__

A guard wordlessly sent my sisters in, locking the doors’ many locks behind us. What a joke of a prison.

“Do you have it?” I whispered, not knowing how much the Capitol’s comically large ears were listening in on.

Alinne, the younger one, pressed the cool vial into my oustretched palm. A grin stitched itself across my face.

“Merde, Vilven. You will do well. I know you will.” That came from Wilenna, the oldest, and arguably the toughest, of the three of us.

I allowed my stoic facade to crumble a little as I threw my arms around them, tears free-flowing down my face. The reality and gravity of the situation hit me. I had to win.

•~$~•

The train ride over was as strange as one could imagine it to be. The cars held an excess amount of fancy trinkets and trimmings that were far too ridiculously frivolous for anybody. I liked drama and all, but this was far past my limit.

“You must be Ms. Galva.”

I spun around, seeing a very strangely dressed woman. She wore a neck brace and far too snug blue bodysuit that matched the over-the-top, futuristic train decor.

“Yes, Vilven,” I respond, turning on my well-practiced charm. Her body language, though clearly awkward from her injury in her games, suggested she approved of my persona. She had a practical pixie cut and a generous spread of freckles that complimented her brown eyes.

I continued, “You must be my mentor.”

“Indeed. I’m Porter Millicent Tripp. Shall we get started?”

I nodded, fidgeting with the vial I now wore as a necklace beneath the collar of my dress.

“Do sit.” She gestured to the cloud-like couch on her right.

“Well, to address the obvious, I definitely did not come out of the games unscathed. That last little squeak of a career broke my neck with his last breath,” she said, gesturing to the projection she has pulled up. The young version of her, probably 15 or so, clutched her neck and released a bloodcurling scream that would put the best actors to shame.

“But of course,” she continued, “the Capitol wasn’t done with me, another of their previous victors. I presume you’ve probably seen me on their posters…” she trailed off, seemingly losing her train of thought. “Well, enough about me for now. What did you pick for your item?”

With a flourish, I revealed my bottle. She seemed confused.

“What is that? You know poison would be considered lethal, don’t you?”

“I know. But this is no poison. It’s fake blood.”

Ms. Tripp looked very alarmed now.

“Yep, that’s it. I’m done! Another idiot to mentor,” she muttered under her breath, before yelling aloud, “Are you out of your mind?”

I rolled my eyes at her, dropping my attempt at politeness.

“Woah, woah, calm down! It’s useful, I promise.”

“Yeah, how?” Her skepticism was sharp enough to slice bread.

“It’s versatile. Intimidating, of course. No one wants to mess with the girl who carries blood around. They don’t know for sure that it’s fake. I also plan to fake my death a few times, and maybe, if it works out, create false trails and whatnot. And, if all else fails, it’s just berry juice and flour; I’ll drink it. The way I see it, it has endless uses,”

“Frankly, I’m stunned.” Ms. Tripp had a dazed look in her eyes. “Tell me about your other talents.”

•~$~•

Fresh out of the train, I was ushered straight to the stylists. As Ms. Tripp had said it, “That frumpy dress simply won’t do!”

A girl, in her 20s or 30s, poked her head out of the door. She had ethereal wisps of light purple hair.

“Ms. Vilven? Come in please. I’m Ephyra, your stylist. Tell me about yourself.”

It was nice inside, cozy and not terribly flashy, and she seemed nice. Something about her made me want to trust her right away, even though she’s Capitol scum. We talked for a while about possible designs based on my stories of my life.

The final dress took a lot of inspiration from old Hollywood styles (from way before Panem). It was to be a form-fitting mermaid shape, made of blood red satin with a layer of polkadot tulle overtop. All the polkadots would shoot little fireworks of light. It looked absolutely perfect to me. A perfect accessory to my blood flask necklace.