❛ 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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SKINNED TO THE BONE. Bare skin stung against the air. Plucked and pruned and perfected: this is how the Capitol is supposed to remember her — looking younger than she is, red-skinned and alone.
This is supposed to make the Capitol love her. But this is the first time she has truly felt like a child in a while.
Resiting the temptation to grab her robe and cover her body is futile. The movement is swift, swifter than she expected. And, when the eyes of a young woman — tainted by the extravagance of the Capitol — are perusing her body, Silver is almost thankful for the silken protection. For when her stylist prods and pokes, it's already too much to feel nails against her body, a finger lifting up her chin and forcing her head to tilt to the side.
"Your token is charming," her stylist — Saffra is the name she learns — says whilst she rifles through the bag of Silver's belongings. Nimble hands raise her chain into view.
"But you won't let me wear it?"
Silver supposes this might sound like a stupid question. Not a whole lot of Tributes go into the Games with a token, even though it's the one thing from the outside world the Capitol lets you enter with. Far fewer are allowed to wear them in any official pre-Games events.
Saffra ponders it for a moment. "Not for the Parade."
"Alright—" This answer does not satisfy her. "—What about the interviews?"
The stylist finds a desk, gently places the necklace down and laughs sweetly to herself.
"I thought you were supposed to be the quiet one?"
That ought to be enough to shut her up, but Silver allows curiosity to overwhelm her for a second. After all, Saffra is considering it. She also takes the effort to talk to her more than any of her prep team had bothered. Why shouldn't she press forward?
"Statistically, Tributes who wear their tokens do twenty-three percent better in receiving sponsors," Silver says, matter-of-fact. Listening to James and Bradley's tactical planning on the train journey from District Ten is beginning to prove useful.
Beneath the thick layer of rose blush, you might even say Saffra looks impressed.
"Very well." And she smiles. "Let me clean it first and then you can wear it for the interviews."
But this does not begin now. Instead of rushing aside and cleaning it, Saffra simply discards it back into the bag. She can only assume this is no first-time occurrence. Saffra is young, yes — and Silver remembers both Bradley and Atlanta saying that the young stylists always get shafted with the outlying Districts first — yet she does it with such ease that it cannot be the first Tribute's token she has thrown aside. Or maybe it is the simple Capitol charm that fuels her. Either way, the experience painted over her fingertips makes Silver's head spin a little.
