CHAPTER FIVE
YOU NEVER REALLY LEFT, DID YOU?

(Current day)

Finch and Argo have already made their way down to the tribute training centre so Arella has some time to herself once again. The Capitol is well and truly at her disposal, most of the people here would give her anything she wanted, yet Arella never knows where to turn. The shops they have here are much more extravagant, large in size and full to the brim with designer clothes and handbags. She remembers the first day she wandered into one, the lady behind the counter beaming at her and giving her free dresses which she has since stashed away in the back of her closet back home.

"Arella!"

A small, and even somewhat genuine smile, slips onto her face as she walks into the small store. The curly haired woman stands beside some homemade dream catchers, hanging them from the ceiling so that they can be seen properly. Florence, and her store, had been a breath of fresh air to Arella. The woman is much more genuine than those who are slathered in makeup and dressed in ridiculous Capitol clothing, Florence doesn't see Arella as some sort of attraction but rather as a real person.

"Hello Florence," Arella greets in her usual soft tone, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear in order to keep it out of her face. "It's lovely to see you again,"

"It's been quite some time, darling. I was beginning to think you wouldn't be coming back," Florence climbs down the ladder and walks over, engulfing the girl in a tight hug. Arella hesitates for a few moments before returning the embrace, the coolness of her skin brushing against Arella's.

"I just haven't had time to venture out here. I thought perhaps I'd get something for my tributes again this year," Arella responds, pulling away.

Last year, Arella has gifted both her tributes a small dream catcher to hang above their bed and deter their nightmares. Shes not so sure it worked but it gave her peace of mind, soothed her worries a little. They weren't allowed to take them in the Arena but she had them boxed up and sent to their families. She sees Fawn Little's dream catcher hanging beside her front door back in District Five all the time, the wind blowing it about through the day.

"I was hoping you'd stop by, I already have two made up for you. A red one for the girl, blue for the boy. Also, I've got a new one for you to hang up as well," Florence smiles, walking around the counter to grab something from underneath.

She lays the box on the counter and pulls out the two items for Arella's tributes before showing off a beautiful white dream catcher. It's so intricately made, small snowflake details along the wood and small splashes of a lighter blue.

"It's beautiful," Arella breathes, running her fingers over it in awe. Half her house is full of trinkets and decorations she's bought from here, her sister had grown rather annoyed by them.

"A dream catcher isn't going to stop them from dying,"

Arella looks over Florence's shoulder and sees him standing there, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall. He's looking right at her, blood splattered all over his shirt and his eyes drained of life. She wishes she could simply blink and he'd be gone yet Malcolm seems intent on haunting her.

Florence is speaking enthusiastically about something but the brunette cannot even begin to understand what about, the words drowned out by the intense beating of her heart.

"Perhaps if you spent more time helping instead of running away, Finch and Argo might actually have a chance,"

Florence is looking at her now, concern swimming in her eyes as she then follows Arella's gaze. There's nobody there, Arella knows she must look like she's out of her mind. Shaking her head slightly, Arella looks back to Florence with a sweet smile and brushes off the expression on the woman's face.

"Thank you for these but I must be going now. Finch and Argo will be returning soon," Arella speaks softly, pulling some money out of her pocket and handing it over to Florence.

Arella can still feel Malcolm's ghostly gaze on her, the boy more than content to continue causing her hands to tremble. The brunette picks the box up and leaves the shop, exhaling deeply the second she turns away from Florence. The woman's eyes follow her out the door but she pays no mind, not needing the questions that will probably be thrown her way.

Keeping her head down, the District Five girl manages to weave her way through the Capitol crowds with minimal disruption. The one thing she's never gotten used to is the fanfare revolving around her, people stopping her in the streets for a photo or an autograph — the Capitol's favorite killer apparently.

Walking back into the tribute centre, Arella is met with the sight of several tributes making their way back towards the elevators. She searches for Finch and Argo but neither are in sight, the careers leading the group. Arella can't help but be intimidate by the mere sight of them, the boys tower over her easily.

The blonde one catches her eye for a moment, his gaze harsh and cruel but Arella knows it's likely a front. She's seen enough death, enough needless murder, to know that even those who appear the strongest are fearful in the face of death. In fact, she still sees their tear filled eyes whenever she drifts off to sleep, tributes twice her size slain and scared.

"Arella Sinclair, she lost it remember?"

The brunette moves her attention over to the District One girl, whispering rather loudly to the her partner. Swallowing deeply, Arella holds her head up high and moves by them, wanting nothing more than to flee the attention she's been given. Perhaps stumble is the better word, her steps shaky and uncoordinated as she leaves the area. The whispers continue to follow her however, taunting words flying into her ears and resonating within her mind. She's well aware how people in the Districts think of her, hearing it is an entirely different story.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

Always following her, Malcolm loves to haunt her mind so mercilessly that with every beat of her heart he invades her thoughts. The real person, the twelve year old boy who had been forced into the Arena, was the complete opposite of his spiteful ghostly figure — sweet and innocent rather than cruel. It's almost amazing at how easily the guilt had paved him into a personification of her deepest thoughts, Malcolm merely a figment of her imagination that appears every once and a while to make her hate herself even more.

"Maybe I wouldn't be here if you kept your promises,"

"I'm sorry," Arella breathes, moving into one of the empty elevators and hoping that nobody decides to join her. He's there, just like he always is though, judging her with his lifeless eyes.

"I am too, sorry that I actually listened to you,"

Arella has often wondered what his parents really think of her, the boy's mother and father greeting her when she returned home and embracing her quietly. They'd appreciated her effort, that their boy had somebody who cared for him there when he died, but that little voice – Malcolm's voice – is constantly telling her otherwise. How can you possibly like somebody who returned home at the expense of your own child?

Just as the doors are about to close, somebody puts their foot inside and causes them to open back up. Arella doesn't want to converse, she doesn't want attention, so she simply gives them a quick glance before looking away again. The two tributes from District Twelve are awkwardly standing on the other side of the large elevator, none of them knowing what to say. From what she's seen of Katniss Everdeen, the girl isn't much of a talker anyway.

The ride up to the District Five floor is slow, like the elevator is taunting her. When it does open up on her floor, she almost dashes out of there but decides against it. She doesn't need these two to think she's lost it as well,

Arella gives them a small, forced smile and leaves them be.

She can already hear chatter as she nears the dining table, Finch and Argo eating some food that they've been provided. The smile that Arella gives them is a lot less forced, rather genuine as she sits across from them. Putting her hand in the cardboard box, the brunette pulls out both of the dream catchers and slides them over to their new respective owners.

Both look rather confused.

"I know that it's not much of a saving grace, it won't save your life in that arena, but hopefully they help to keep the nightmares away," Arella speaks softly.

This is also she can give them right now, the only way she can show that their safety is something that is important to her. Arella Sinclair has always believed in the art of gift giving as a way of showing that you care for somebody, from something as small as a flower to an extravagant diamond necklace — the thought is what matters in the end.

Finch and Argo may not have long left to live, both may be gone in a matter of days, so it's her job now to care for them like their families would. In a way her and Malcolm weren't.

"Families are supposed to keep one another safe,"

Arella looks at Malcolm once again, the side of his face now slathered with his own blood. He has tears slipping from his eyes, his hair disheveled as he stands there with a blank expression. Blinking a few times only brings him even closer, allowing her to see the deep wound on his cheek that simply won't stop bleeding.

Finch reaches out and touches her hand with a tiny smile, breaking Arella free from his haunting gaze. "Thank you,"

Arella smiles, Malcolm still watching her closely as she actively tries to ignore him. Argo passes on his thank you as well, fingers gently running over the expensive material. The duo look so taken by something so little which makes her heart ache.

"You'll be crying for them in a few days, shipping those useless things back home just like last year. Waste of money really,"

Arella tries not to let him get to her, leaning back in her chair and showing off the one that had been made for her. Malcolm is looking at it over her shoulder, scrutinizing the design with his eyes.

"Snow Angel, Snow Angel. You never really left that arena, did you?"

No, she didn't.