I sat quietly in the bathroom of my compartment, back against the door and staring at the roof, as the exotic feeling of the morphling running through me put my mind at ease.

Slowly, the memory of the needle that won me the games, hitting Tanner Oreigon from District 2, faded back into my treasure chest of forbidden epiphanies.

They were at it again, Axel and Woof. Arguing about something that I did not understand. I had managed to collect so very few things from their hushed disagreements, and Cecelia and Hanaberi would look at me sympathetically, Hanaberi in particular.

"It's okay Azaylan," she would say. "It's not your fault."

Something about the way she said it, and the way she smiled told me that it was. It also told me that Hanaberi didn't like me very much. 

All I knew, was that Axel was trying to protect a girl from something I wasn't sure of. This 'something' was a tragedy Axel, and Hanaberi had been through. I didn't know what, and I was fairly frightened of asking Cecelia. 

Also, I didn't know who 'she' was, the girl that Axel was trying to protect.

I heard that President Snow had something to do with it as well, which was also upsetting. Maybe I should ask Finnick, he might know, or perhaps Celeste?

Eventually I dragged myself off the floor and came into my bright room, despite the fact that it was nighttime.

My hand still held the syringe tightly, and felt I was not able to let go of it. Maybe it's because I was thinking of my 'victory' again, when the district 2 boy chased me and I had one needle left, and my hand locked around it like it is now.

I left for the dining area again, and took a seat at the empty table after grabbing a bottle of vodka from the small bar and a glass.

Taking a seat, I poured a single into the short glass and leaned back with a heavy sigh. Perhaps this will help? I had finally dropped the syringe on the table to drink this, so maybe it will.

I heard the door being dragged open as I took a sip, and found Axel walking in looking tired and angry. Possibly spotting me because of my hair, he stopped. I looked away when his head snapped in my direction.

I was more than aware that he hated me sometimes. Our feelings were exactly the opposite of eachother's. I looked down as he walked towards me, and snatched the bottle off the table. 

"Don't be stupid, morphling and vodka couldn't be a worse mixture." Perhaps he had noticed the syringe. 

This is where I felt like the lovesick puppy that follows him around like a child. I didn't reply as he left, and just sat there, sipping the rest of my drink. 

On the way back to my room, I heard a whimpering coming from the room that Melody was sleeping in. Automatically I returned to my old District 8 self, and went in to see her.

Shockingly, I found both Zeke and Melody sitting beside each other on the bed. 

They looked up in shock, and I blinked in confusion back at them. That's when I noted the ridiculous resemblance with their eyes.

"Re…" I tried breathlessly. "Re…lated?"

Melody nodded in confirmation, "we're cousins…" This seemed almost unrealistic, but awful at the same time. "You…" I began, dragging the vowels like I had adapted to.

"Are…you…scared?"

They nodded simultaneously, and I motioned for them to lay down as best I could. Eventually they got it, and I sat at the end of the bed.

District 8 Azaylan took over completely, and I remember what my Mother used to sing when she tried to get me to sleep.

"It smiles its pale face, down at the children. The guard of the night and the darkness' light, always willing to fight…"

The moon, that's what the song was called. It was calming, and then I left after singing it twice, and Melody was asleep whilst Zeke was slowly dozing of.Cecelia smiled at me from her own room, and I realized everyone could hear me, including Axel and Larii. 

Dashing into my room, face as red as my hair, I decide to lay in my bed and fall asleep.

The next morning, I am the first to wake up. Sadly this was not by my own choice, instead I am faced with the screen in my wall displaying the grinning faces of my stylists and preps. 

Unlike the tributes, I have a set of twins, Miele, her skin dyed silver with hair and eyes to match, and Jordi, who unlike his sister had no hair, but was still died silver like her.

To me they looked like a very shiny set of cutlery, Jordi being a spoon and Miele being a fork, as her hair stuck up just like the spokes of a fork. 

They had been my stylists when I was a tribute, and when they had come to terms with the fact that the capitol really liked me, they made it their job to be my personal prep team for life.

"We have a new style for you!" They cried, and I almost cried when they held up a costume that ridiculously resembled a cupcake. I stared at it, my mouth agape at the red velvet material.

"Like a red velvet cupcake," Jordi smiled. Turning the volume down low, all I could do was stare and pull my lips up in somewhat smile. They were aware of my speaking incapability, and began to speak at the same time as twins do, praising me and the dress.

They ended the call with the promise of meeting the games latest stylist, not that I really cared. 

I came back to the dining compartment and ordered rice pudding with hot chocolate, two things I had come to absolutely love about the Capitol, but that was possibly it. As I ate, I leaned back and folded one leg over the other. 

Axel and Cecelia were up next, and Cecelia sat beside me and stared at the photo in her hands of her three kids. I smiled and patted her shoulder, before standing up and returning to my compartment to get changed and ready.

"Zay," only Axel used my nickname. I turned my head slightly, "Good job last night." I nodded firmly.

In no less than 5 minutes I had found myself looking in the draws, wearing a towel and searching for some clothes. I came across a purple dress, the top part and straps made of silk, and the skirt made of satin.

A satisfied sigh left my lips as I pulled it on, finally something not absolutely disgracefully Capitolised. I do what I always do. Being from district 8, I have a hand in making a lot of clothing and fabric accessories, and on of those things are strap pockets. 

That's the name my Mother, the inventor had given them. A fairly flat pocket attached to an adjustable strap. I keep it on my thigh, or if not, my arm or calf. Today it will reside on my forearm.

It's filled with my throwing needles, sewing kit, morphling injections and a small medical kit. I found the flowery shoes that matched my dress, and walked back to see that Melody and Zeke were sitting there alone.

Carefully, I sat across from them, and they looked nervous. I though of something to ask them that could be said in words. Together they eye the breakfast carefully. 

"Eat," I whispered softly, but they both hear me and dig in as politely as they could. I start with the simple, most obvious question. "What…weapons?" I manage out. They glance nervously at each other.

Without hesitation, I took out the first needle I could grabbed and aimed a deadly shot to my left, and it hit the most empty vodka bottle on the shelf, shattering it into little pieces.

This seemed to have the opposite effect of what I wanted, as their eyes fill with fear as though I would throw a needle at them. This makes me shake my head and sigh.

"That's not going to work," Hanaberi scolds, sitting beside me and looking around at the food. I have to lean back and wipe my mouth when her black ponytails whips me in the face.

"Axel tried it on them yesterday, it doesn't work."

It makes me sad. "Factories?" I ask hopefully, to which they understand. What factories did they work in back home? 

"Bedding, sheets, linen," Melody says quietly, absent-mindedly though. I look at Zeke, "Peacekeeper uniforms."

Nothing. That gives me absolutely nothing. In fact it gives THEM nothing. I worked in the knitting factory, where I adapted the ability to throw the needles. When Woof, Hanaberi, Axel and Cecelia found this out, they had needles put in the cornucopia. 

Shakily, I handed Zeke a knife. Nodding to the wall behind him, the boy turned and stared. "Throw it, give it a go,"Hanaberi encouraged, and when he threw it I almost laughed.

The blade didn't even touch the wall! I can already tell we have no chance.

Arriving at the capitol. Larii lead the two Tributes, bearing clothes that clearly don't suit them into the prep building. I follow with Axel and Woof, the tension between them obvious. 

The prep teams, take one tribute each to a District Eight room. If there is one thing that I like about my district an the Hunger Games, is that out dresses look slightly nicer than everyones, because textiles can't really be imaged in a dress, since we MAKE dresses.

"Azaylan!" A familiar voice calls out to me, and before I know it I am spraining excitedly towards him and jumping in his arms.

~

Thanks to everybody who has made a character for me! :D I changed the story a bit; Azaylan is 19 and won the 70th games at the age of 15.

~Renee xx