"I never again shall tell you what I think. I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and sly."

— Edna St. Vincent Millay, from Sonnets (XXXI)

▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼

"𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄," 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃, looking up at her God. Blood ran freely down from her hair, rivering into her eyes and mouth. "You don't have to do this–" She coughed, spittle and gore flying from her bottom lip.

She was weak, like they all were but sometimes the weak did not deserve to survive.

Sweet, sweet darling who thought she'd be the Victor. Sweet, naive, monstrous darling girl.

"I'm sorry–o–okay? I'm sorry!"

"You should start to pray," whispered the hunter, the one they hadn't expected. She'd hidden herself so well, she had been the snake in the reeds.

"Please!" She was wailing, her mouth thrown open and wide. The hunter could've reached her hand out and down her throat and plucked out her heart if she had truly wished. But how much gore was allowed on the screen? When did it become all too much?

These games have changed you.

No, she thought back. I've changed them.

"Please, Keres, I'm sorry, Keres, please!"

She brought the sword down and hoped she would one day forget the sound of the screams.

But no one ever did, did they? 

▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒. The gong blares and echoes and it symbolizes a new start, a fresh death, and an end. The godling girl, the hunter, the avenger, she stills and listens and grows with every chime.

The gong sounds and a new life ends as another begins. Another tick in her book, another name to bear. She stands over the world and watches as it burns, as the buildings crumble and the gong chimes. 

Nothing is the same, nothing is true. 

The hunter, the little girl made up of revenge and prayers, she will never be the same again. She will never be the same, she will never be the same–

▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼

𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 it all could've been different. To her brother, she sees another life outside of the one they're living now. They are somewhere far from here, somewhere safe and calm.

There are no gong chimes. There is no secret trapped hell awaiting them in a vipers jaw. There are only wolves and cattle and the farmers. They have their fields, their garden, their home. There is nothing but goodness here, seeping and soaking weary bones and wet eyes. 

For her brother, she wishes peace.

But things will never be the same, will they, oh God? Will they never get better? Will they never calm down? Will they ever sleep again? Will the dreams stop, those fretful clashing nightmares of dead faces and dead smiles? 

No, she thinks. They won't ever stop.

Because there will always be another round, another devil to face. For her, there will be a set of twenty-two and another twenty-three to follow. Nothing is sacred, nothing is calm, nothing will ever be the same again–

▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼▲▼

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 as she recreates death. It's like rubies, the one she'd seen sewn into gowns and unitards, like little flames in the sun. She'd never seen something so beautiful as the blood rolling down her face in the reflection of the water. She'd never seen something so gloriously monstrous.

She'd turned into something she hated, but it was necessary. It was all essential. 

She would not let them see her weep. She would not allow them to see her break.

Death was crucial here and she'd never planned to sit back and wait the entire time. Not after her, not after him. It was important she make it through, somehow. 

The blood rinsed from her hands but she kept it under her nails. A reminder. A truth to keep close. This would never end the way they'd all thought, she'd made certain of it. But now her secret was out, the cameras had seen, the Capitol bear witness to her truth. 

A wolf in sheep's clothing, she thought, what a joke. 

She'd never been the sheep, they had just foolishly looked over her. They were the sheep, all one in the same, all rounded up in the middle of the laughing cooing mess. They'd underestimated her and she planned to make that their downfall.

But not all downfalls were pretty and cruel. They were nasty and haunting and most importantly, bloody and full of war. But she always liked the blood, animal or human, it didn't matter now.

They were all trapped like the animals anyway. 

Animal entertainment for the gloriously greedy. Puppets for laughter. 

All just lambs to the slaughter, wasn't that the saying? All just little, sweet, innocent lambs coming home to the slaughter. Sweet, innocent, little lambs wishing for a crown, wishing for a victor, wishing their deaths would go without pain or bloodshed.

The blood didn't leave her face, nor did it leave her clothes. A reminder for all the lambs that had been killed, for all the innocents, for all the lives she would be forced to take in reckoning. 

Their downfall would be sickeningly sweet, it would be just as bloody and full of war as they feared, and she smiled at the thought. 

It was the only thing keeping her alive and sane.

AUTHOR'S NOTE━━do i love writing raging female characters? yes. yes i do. are they the only characters i ever write? yes <33333333 but is keres the most 'crazy' of them all? we shall see LMAOOO (unedited)

first chapter will be out soon <33 

pls dont forget to vote/comment i appreciate it sm!!!