Sweetest Downfall

Emmer, our mentor, grabbed me by the shoulders before the train even stopped. Emmer was only in his early twenties with short, dusty blond hair and hazel eyes. He had big, rippling muscles only slightly larger than my own and he had that same air of pride that all former and current Career tributes carry. Emmer had won the 51st Hunger Games when he'd only been 16 and I have to say, he was one of the only people I truly looked up too. His hazel eyes leveled to my blue ones. "You're going to let the stylists do their jobs and bite your tongue. Don't say a word. Do you understand me?"

"Why?" I asked sternly.

"By not speaking, it creates a sense of mystery and danger. You want them talking about you. So, don't say a word." He stopped then, his breath cold and short. He lets go of my shoulder and calls my partner over to me, a 17 year old girl named Presh. She was a tall, skinny girl with platinum blond hair and eyes as blue as mine. I only knew her slightly, but from what I did know she was pretty handy with throwing knives. She won't win, but she'll definitely take out a few contestants before she goes. Emmer looked us both over before the train stopped. He smirked, "Go."

Presh and I were immediately ushered off the Capitol train and into the hands of Capitol people. Without a single word, Presh and I were separated. Two men took me away then and lead me inside a building and into a room filled with mirrors, accessories, and makeup. The two men set me down on a chair in front of one of the mirrors and started to prep my hair. I took this time to examine them. One man, the shorter one had orange tinted skin and dazzling golden eyes. His hair was a soft yellow and orange mix, but he held a friendly smile. The other had kept his natural skin color but his eyes were a soft lavender and his hair was a bright, cotton candy pink. The Capitol had always been known for their peculiar fashions, but sometimes I found it a little over the top.

"Setel shall be with you shortly," said the pink haired man. The orange-skinned man tussled my hair one final time before they both left. I leaned back and closed my eyes, recalling my mother saying goodbye to me. My father should have been there, I told myself but I try and swallow the thoughts. Emotions are for the weak, my father had always said. And yet, as much as I hated to admit it, I felt as if my Dad should have sent me off with a proper goodbye. It was the considerate thing to do, if not loving.

Setel came in then, surprising me thoroughly. She was a tall slender woman with winter blue skin, crystal like eyes, and silver hair that was beautifully pulled back into a bun. Her blue lips curved upward in a smile as she walked up behind me, my eyes on her through the mirror. She runs her fingers through my chocolate colored hair and sighs. She put her finger to her lip for a few moments before speaking. "I think I know just what to do with you."

I scoffed and let her do her job. Not even ten minutes into her cutting and trimming my hair, she spoke. "So, do you have any sort of strategy for the Games?" Her voice was light and silky, the question born from sheer curiosity. I almost responded, but I remembered Emmer's words. Stay quiet. Be strong, be scary. I saw Setel raise an eyebrow in the mirror, noticing that I was ignoring her. She bit her lip. "You must've been instructed by Emmer not to speak, huh?"

I nodded slowly. There's no harm in nodding, right?

"Listen here, tribute," she said coolly, her scissors stopping in mid cut. She half closed her crystal eyes, though I couldn't tell if out of anger or something else. "You can talk to me. No one will ever know." She then started to cut my hair again. "What's your biggest fear for these Games, tribute?"

I drew in a shaky breath. I was breaking Emmer's rule, but I felt like I just needed someone to talk to. I closed my eyes and let all the emotion float out of my voice as I said, "Not coming home to make my father proud."

Setel nodded and set down her scissors, picked up the make up and started to put some blush on a tiny brush. "Well little tribute, everyone believes in something. I believe in fairy-tales. You just have to believe you'll make it home."

I grinned and our eyes met. Setel was the first to break the gaze, but in that moment we had an understanding of each other. There was something that truly made a difference in the Games. It wasn't always your strength, agility, or even your skill with weapons. It's what you believe in and how hard you'll fight for it. I truly believed I'd make it home to my father. Whether he cared if I did or not.