lamb to the slaughter.

Dawn of the 74th reaping had arrived and Glory was already out of her house, breathing in the crisp morning air of Twelve. When the sun was still so low the world was the deepest shade of blue, she would run the path she used to train tirelessly on before her name was pulled for the reaping two years ago. Father would drag her from sleep to avoid the overworked men and women trudging to the coal mines in their muddy boots so she could jog through the Seam until her legs were numb and her lungs were on fire. He would yell she could do better and it would hush warbling birds and stir stray dogs. He would always say she could do better because she had to be the best. Sometimes he'd shake his head in disapproval, sometimes he would stare at her tattered shoes, not quite here or there.

Glory walked the path today. Her eyes were already puffy, she didn't need to add scraped knees and palms to the list of things her prep team needed to fuss over. Her head stylist; Blanche, spent hours looking over her body yesterday, searching for bruises or any tiny imperfection the cameras may pick up today. The skin on her knees and elbows used to be scarred, a result of wrestling Father to the ground but Blanche said it was hard to look at, so she allowed him to fix it. Blanche could see what she could not, so he held a mirror up to her back. The crescent scars sickened her, as did the bruises. She told him never to show her again, to just get rid of them. Now, her back was perfect, you're perfect, Blanche said once he'd finished for the day. She smiled at him, and once he left, she climbed the stairs to her room, locked herself in and cried into her pillow until she slept.

As the sun started to peek over the horizon and few people began to wake, she reached the edge of the district. Despite what it claimed, the electric fence surrounding them all never had electricity buzzing through it. Which at the time of the discovery, shouldn't have surprised her as there was rarely ever power at home, but it did, she was so excited she tried to convince Father that they could leave the district and go live on their own without constant surveillance. They could hunt for their own food and be free. She was young and naive and didn't realise the repercussions doing so would cause them should they be caught. At least not until a year or two later when she saw the Capitol reprimand a runaway girl by cutting out her tongue. She could still remember all the blood, the sound of her choking on it.

When the mutilation was broadcast on live television Glory's father had held her head in the palms of his hands with enough pressure that it squished her cheeks and made her lips form an unnatural position. And he said desperately look at this! Is this what you want? And of course, she didn't. All she ever wanted was to make a better life for her father.

The idea of her tongue being cut out never used to frighten her, it made her want to one-up the captured, to evade being caught for just a day longer, to prove that she was and always will be, better. It was a stretch to say it frightened her these days as well. She wasn't afraid of the pain or the blood, but the stakes were higher for both Father and herself, she only had everything to lose. This didn't mean she avoided daydreaming about running into the forest during the endless, soul-devouring days between the end of the games and the next reaping.

Any other day she'd bet she could make it to Thirteen before a soul realised she was gone. But not today. The electricity would be switched on to film the reaping, and she had to be there.

It was common knowledge that District Thirteen was obliterated after the bombings during the First Rebellion. With a reminder shoved in the District's face every year at the reaping ceremony, it was impossible to forget. You failed, you can't beat us. You will never be free and there is no point in attempting to be. This is what will happen if you try. It's what the Capitol wanted everyone to believe, and everyone had, for over seventy years. But Glory heard whispers in the Capitol, this wasn't the whole truth. District Thirteen had simply moved underground and was now an independent nation. The Capitol allowed it to happen under the impression the District would die off with no outside support. She had no idea if it was true. It was astounding how loose-lipped military officials, politicians, and technical support could be when they were put in a room with the object of their desire.

She pulled off her glove, reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a gold coin. Heads meant that at the next real chance she got, she would escape to the forest and begin towards Thirteen- to find out for herself if it was still smouldering and uninhabited- and tails meant that she would live out her days in the ghost town of a Victor's Village.

The coin rested atop her thumb and forefinger, she breathed in as she flicked it up into the air, spinning. It was pretty. It had been the only possession her mother had on her when she passed and it had been the token Glory got to take into the games. She caught the coin, flipped it once more and cupped it onto the back of her hand. Heads. She breathed out, a small smile warming her cold face—something to look forward to.

She slipped the coin back into her pocket and her glove back on as she felt the air bite at her pale fingers like small bugs. The sun finally rose over the trees in front of her and she closed her eyes for a moment savouring the warmth it provided. It was only then, once she was aware of every rustle of leaves and morning chirp of a bird did she feel a tiny itch at the nape of her neck- there were eyes on her. It was a sense she had developed when she was much younger and had since come to trust it with her life.

She turned her back to the fence. Her eyes, trained at spotting that which doesn't fit, had no trouble finding the other pair. Wide, tired and grey. The other girl had ducked behind a hickory tree with a thick base but couldn't resist the urge to glance at the victor. Why she was hiding, Glory didn't want to appear as though she cared to find out. So as she walked back towards the Seam she slipped behind a creaky wooden house, similar to the one she grew up in, and watched. It wasn't long before the girl jogged to a space in the fence that was stretched wide to climb through and continued into the trees. Each step, a little more relaxed- at home.

On a day like today, when Peacekeepers would be teeming throughout the district looking for any illegal activity, basically drooling like a dog waiting for a treat, it was reckless. Not to mention the electricity could return any second and trap her out there.

Maybe her name was entered so many times she believed it would be called. It would make sense to slip away while the Capitol eyes are turned to the event, rather than face the arena and a near-certain death.

In any case, it was her choice. Glory was just trying to get through the morning. It was becoming bright, so it was time to get back. She tried to breathe through her mouth, but the Seam smelt worse. People must be waking in a cold sweat, from bad dreams and worries. Glory's prep team once told her the district was foul and dirty, not in those exact blunt words, but that was their point. To make small talk, she asked them to explain. Their answer filled the car with noise for the five-minute drive to the Victors Village; it was everything- the houses, the people, their clothes. She couldn't defend it as she knew it was true. She hadn't realised that the district had a smell until she came back from her games- back from the Capitol, and since then she hasn't been allowed to settle into the district long enough to grow used to it.

The Seam wasn't all bad, she also recognised its beauty. The sort of beauty the Capitol lacked. The Seam was real; it had character. You could see its past and how hard it was trying to continue. Sure, the way people were forced to live wasn't pretty or adequate in any way, but it was better than the Victors Village. Which was too manicured, too put together, too empty, too clean- too everything and still not nearly enough. It felt like a graveyard; it felt like an extension of the Capitol, in no way was it home. Two years ago she wouldn't have understood.

The Seam wasn't home anymore, either. The early risers shadowing around their houses shot her scornful glances as she passed through. She knew how she appeared, especially with the warm woollen jacket hugging her and the coin bag heavy on her shoulder. Rich and austere- holding a severe lack of care for those she left behind. She didn't fit here and she had given up on trying to convince people otherwise a while ago- somewhere between realising her only friend wasn't able to meet her eyes and a group of young kids running from her.

Glory left the Seam. Her legs take quick, long, strides. Ahead, weaving through the district was a black car, presumably heading to the Victors Village. No one district drove cars, not here at least. Behind its darkened windows would be her colourful prep team who would no doubt question what she was doing out and about if she came back empty-handed. She beelined towards the bakery. What was the saying? Kill two birds with one stone?

She kicked her boots on the edge of the first stone step, but they still left muddy prints for the boy she saw sweeping every evening. The bell above the door rang as she stepped inside. The smell of flour and fresh bread swallowed her. The woman standing on the other side of the counter who appeared to be mid-conversation with a boy outback stopped talking and smiled at Glory in that impersonal way people do because they know it's what's supposed of them. "Hello," She greeted, glancing out the window of the shop front. The last time Glory was in here she deterred a few customers. They walked right up to the door, saw the straight, black hair of the Victor leaning against a wall in the corner and turned around. Still, she kept the facade up not one to refuse money from a girl who clearly had too much of it. "What can I get you, Miss Seyler?"

"It's Glory," The woman nodded tight-lipped. "Just a loaf of bread." Glory had no idea what she was going to do with a full loaf but the words just slipped out. She wanted to get out of the woman's hair as soon as possible. The bread was going to go mouldy before she could eat it, and her father wasn't much of a bread eater. He could afford to be picky now. The woman nodded once again, and it seemed like an unnatural movement. A little too stiff and small. Glory often swore she could hear her shouting from the back corner of the Victors Village. She had an impressive set of lungs. She slipped the loaf into a paper bag and put it on Glory's side of the counter. Glory put down what she owed and took the bag by the handles. She left the warm store not sparing a glance back at the woman or the boy she had begun commanding with vigour again.

Glory's legs moved swiftly underneath her as people left their homes to seek comfort from their friends and relatives, or to run last-minute errands. She made them uncomfortable. Even when she was in school she'd had that effect. In class, kids would shift in their creaky wooden chairs when she'd walk past, eyes following her until they needed to turn their heads. They knew she was different- covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat like anyone else, but always unusually tired and always keeping to herself. Now it was different. They all knew what she'd done. The games laid her on a metal table where she was cut down the middle and splayed wide, her insides put beside her for examination where they determined she was rotten to the core.

It wasn't long before she was surrounded by the discomfort of the Victors Village and her prep team who'd made themselves comfortable in her living room. "Dad, I'm back!" He was almost certainly still in bed. The front door banged closed behind Glory as she walked straight past the awaiting people to the kitchen at the back of the house. She did have to admit her house was grandiose with its high ceilings and arched doorways. It was like something out of a dream she had as a child.

She dropped the loaf of bread on the kitchen table and grabbed a cutting board, strawberry jam, and a knife. Behind her, she could hear her prep team walking to the kitchen. "Would you like a piece?" She offered but was met with polite but firm refusals like she knew they would. So she cut off the crust and sliced a single piece for herself.

"Finish up what you're making. You need to shower and get ice on those under eyes," Blanche instructs. "Then Melia can use the ice on herself." This earns a gasp from Valeria.

"Rude!" Melia huffs.

They slept on the train last night. Glory had offered them a room each here, at her house, but they declined saying they were used to sleeping on the train. Maybe it felt different when it was moving.

Glory nodded taking the first bite of her sandwich. She felt cleaner than she'd probably been all year but she didn't protest. She'd learnt the longer she took to do what they asked of her, the more difficult it became.

After her final bite, her skin had been subjected to hot water and soap the fragrance of roses. It was the only soap she owned with a scent. She'd had it for two years, and for two years it sat unopened on her sink. It had been a gift. A sick joke. The sweet, thick smell made her head throb. She didn't understand why she needed to use it, it wasn't like anyone was going to get close enough to smell her. Still, she was quick to get out of the shower and downstairs for her stylists to begin their work. It happened to be minimal. Her wet hair was plaited in two braids that refused to rest in front of her shoulders. It allows your beautiful face to be seen. Blanche had explained while gently holding an ice pack overtop her eyes. He then proceeded to conceal them and brush a healthy amount of colour onto her cheeks, and well, her entire face. She'd spent too little time in the sun and far too much on the train.

"We've brought you new styles to try on!" Valeria hops off the couch she'd been patiently perched on. Blonde hair bouncing just above her shoulders. "This silhouette is all the rage at the moment. Long is out, short is in, and you would look just a dream in this," Valeria holds up a dress. It's gold but also purple, pearlescent, maybe sheer and definitely not suitable. Valeria can see the displeasure on Glory's face. "How about we try something else?"

She turns to the clothing rack, fingers skimming over three dresses before settling on one a bit longer. It would fall to the top of Glory's calves. It's beige with undertones of green and gold. A velvet waistband. It has a cut-out down the middle from the neckline to the hem, made of an ombre gold-toned mesh, light at the top, dark at the bottom. Glory steps closer, eyes narrowing, of course, the mesh is patterned with flowers. Her eyes study the rack of dresses, and each disappoints. "Valeria, they're all sheer."

"Oh! We have a slip for you to wear under this one." She thrusts it towards Glory. "Go on dear, try it on!"

Glory turns towards Blanche. "You designed this?" He nods a confirmation. "Then it will fit." Valeria drapes it over her arm and takes it up to Glory's room, while Melia begins to cover the other dresses. Glory studies Blanche's face. He's got the same sorry glint in his eye. "It's okay."

Now she was sitting with her back to the slate grey Justice Building beside Mayor Undersee and an empty seat where Haymitch Abernathy should have been. They were subject to hundreds of frightened gazes but she was the one to receive the hostility they had to offer. The Capitol was about to take another two innocent lives and she was catching the brunt of it.

She pressed her shoulders back and focused on feeling the two braids she was leaning against. Her attention moved to the escort; Effie Trinket, who looked more like an elegant cupcake than a human. She had just announced that ladies were to go first. Her purple heels clicked as she stepped over to the glass bowl. It was so silent Glory could hear everyone hold their breath praying it wouldn't be them. She could hear the ground shift underneath people who were squirming from foot to foot. She watched as the crowd of females crossed their fingers and gripped their friends' hands.

She could remember when she was down there letting her friend's clammy hand slip from her own as she walked to the stage- head high. Her plan was to volunteer, but her name was reaped. Her father had pushed his way through the crowd of parents to give her a stern look accompanied by a nod of encouragement.

Her friend would still be down there praying not to be reaped.

Effie pulled out a name and walked back to the microphone. Glory could feel the discomfort radiating off everyone as Effie struggled to unstick the folded paper with her long nails. "Primrose Everdeen!" There was a collective sigh of relief from the girls' section but in the youngest group, heads turned to look at a small girl who was in shock. Glory took a close look at Effie. Surely she had to feel some sort of guilt knowing she had picked this defenceless girl, but nothing but a slight smile washed over her pale painted face.

Glory noticed that Primrose had her hair plaited similarly to her own and that her shaky hands were behind her back tucking her blouse in. She looked terrified, like a deer that caught sight of its hunter and was equally as helpless—poor girl.

Glory could already see her death. It was in the bloodbath. It was quick and painless. Some brute of a guy from the career districts would walk up behind her and snap her delicate neck, and it would be over. This was all she saw when she looked at people- how they would die, how long they would last, the amount of pain they would endure. If she was sick enough, she could have made a game out of it.

Primrose's fate was sealed until an older girl stepped out of line, and began to shout. She was desperate and panicked. Glory couldn't quite understand or even believe what the girl was saying until she slowed down. They had a volunteer—the first volunteer in Twelve's history.

Amidst the controlled chaos that ensued, she found a familiar face in the crowd who was looking at everything but her. Effie fumbling to the Mayor, the two girls embracing, a tall guy pushing through the crowd to take away Primrose. Glory found it challenging to block out the small girl's cries as the square was deafeningly quiet as they watched the events unfold. So she focused on her friend. The girl was more of a stranger now than anything else. She hadn't changed much. Her name still matched her face; Mary. She still had dark hair and a small build that used to have teachers calling her by Glory's name. Much to her dismay now. Perhaps her flesh clung closer to her bones but Glory couldn't tell from so far away, this was the only time she got to see her.

Glory looked away from Mary as the older girl walked up on stage. Peacekeepers kept her moving forward. Effie asked for her name and when she received an answer, everyone who didn't know the two girls realised they were sisters. Effie then asked for applause- as though she was going to receive it from anyone outside of the career districts. And the crowd put three fingers to their lips and raised their arm in respect. Glory didn't move a muscle. She didn't grip the armchair tighter, she didn't blink, and her breathing stayed smooth. The majority of cameras would be focused on the District and Katniss' face, not the stage, but there would be one watching her closely.

Katniss stood tall, facing it all with a brave face. She was aware of the cameras and the attention this reaping would receive because of her actions. Perhaps Glory would have something real to work with this time. The male reaping was quick in comparison. A boy named Peeta Mellark was reaped, and her mind went back to the bakery she visited this morning- was the fiery woman who served her, his mother?

Glory couldn't help but feel for both of the tributes. She tried not to get attached to anyone going into the games, as more than likely she would never see them again, but she had a heart. No matter how many times her father tried to tell her emotions would get her killed, she couldn't shut them out. Sometimes things snuck through.

The two tributes shook hands and she was finally able to move off her plaits. She followed them inside without so much as a glance back at the cameras or the District.

She was taken straight through the Justice Building to the train. This morning she hadn't been able to say goodbye to her father before peacekeepers were at her front door waiting to direct her to the reaping. She assumed that when he noticed she wasn't there he would remember where she had gone, but she wasn't sure of him anymore. He wasn't the man he used to be.

It wasn't long before she was stepping out of the car, onto the train, and then into the room that was hers, not sparing time to look at the delicacies. As expected it was different from the previous years. The last was all white and brass tones. This year it was silver, navy and black. She preferred it more now- it reminded her less of her house back in the Victors Village.

Stepping into her closet, she looked at the two items of clothing they had given her; a blue silk top and pants. They were for sleeping in, so she would have to stay in the dress. She then made her way to the bathroom. While walking she loosened her hair so she could brush it back to its normal position. She avoided the mirror. She knew she appeared different, not quite herself. She knew her grey eyes were dull, and underneath the makeup her cheeks were hollow and her lips, pale. She didn't look like soft Mary anymore. Full of warmth and life. The Capitol made sure she looked like a Victor.

Glory knew the two tributes would be in the main car with Effie soon, so as she stood in the bathroom she prepared herself for whatever was to come from them, whether that be bursts of rage, hysterical sobbing, or just plain silence. She was ready. She needed to be. Haymitch certainly wouldn't help or be of any assistance while he was unable to form a coherent sentence.

A door opened, and Effie's prim voice resonated throughout the train. Glory walked out of her room and into the hallway where she saw the train leaving Twelve behind. She stood there in silence for a while. It was so quiet she could almost hear the mechanical movement of the cameras as they focused on her. Who was watching? What would Effie say if she just walked back into her room, climbed into bed and shunned the responsibility of being a mentor? The previous escort would have said something along the lines of you're being selfish Glory. Those kids need your help! It wasn't a surprise when she was replaced by Effie.

Speaking of Effie, Glory heard her mention trying to find Haymitch. So she made her way through the train to the tributes. In the bar car, she saw Haymitch passed out and drooling on the lounge as drunk as ever. As she was exiting, she almost walked into Effie who made a shocked gasp as she saw the female victor. "Glory! I'm just fetching Haymitch, go talk to our tributes- I don't want them in there on their own for long."

Glory didn't acknowledge Effie's worry about the tributes. She couldn't imagine any kid from Twelve voluntarily getting into trouble; they were disadvantaged enough as it was. "Good luck." She slinked around Effie into the main car.

The door opened quietly, and she was met with the back of the tribute's heads, exactly where Effie would have placed them. One blond and the other brown. They didn't turn around to see who entered, so she moved closer to hear if they were talking or sitting in silence.

The boy; Peeta, was talking about Haymitch being an experienced mentor and the girl was ignoring him, looking out the window. "I wouldn't rely solely on Haymitch." Glory interrupted. Peeta's head whipped around, startled there was someone else in the room, and Katniss merely turned so Glory could see half her face. Katniss reacted as though she already knew there was someone behind her- and maybe she did- Glory would undoubtedly sense it.

"You're Glory," Peeta confirmed.

Glory swiped a cookie off the nearest counter and took a seat in front of Katniss. She crossed a leg over the other and relaxed back. Peeta leant forward in his chair. Eager to get started. She understood that.

"What you did for your sister was brave," Glory said, noticing the gold pin on Katniss' blue dress. A Mockingjay. She saw the girl's face twitch as she suppressed emotion. "But it wasn't smart." She met Katniss's eyes and pushed away the familiarity of them. They could have been in the same class a couple of years ago. Both of them looked soft and frightened; they weren't ready. The games would eat them alive. Glory supposed that was why she was on the train and called a mentor. But she couldn't help them the way they needed. It was her father who could.

Glory leant forward, her tone hushed and face turned slightly downwards. The cameras wouldn't catch her voice or see her mouth moving. "You should have stayed in that forest, Katniss."