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chapter four

CRIES OF MOURNING

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She's hurried up the stairs and slammed the door of her bedroom behind her with so much force the walls seem to shake. Yelena struggles to catch her breath, it tumbling out of her chest each time she swears she's forced it back down into her lungs. There's noise from the kitchen below her, the faint queries of her mother's voice, and the bacon still crackling. Her hands are shaking. She mangles the sealed envelope, hissing at a papercut that burns across her pointer finger. Annoyance, frustration and fear all swirl inside her.

Not today. No. Not today on her birthday. It's her birthday, Snow couldn't do this on her birthday, why would he summon her on her birthday? That's what this letter has to be. A cruel summoning on the Victor's twentieth birthday, just to remind her he still owns her, and so does anyone else in The Capitol.

She yanks the letter out of the envelope, a grunt of exasperation escaping her lips as she unfolds it in a frenzy. Something gleams, sailing across the room and clattering along her hardwood floor. Yelena can't seem to focus on it, only feeling her panicked gaze scouring the words with sheer desperation.

What does it say, what does it say, what does it say?

Dearest Yelena,

I hope all is well in District Eight. I missed you the last time you were in The Capitol, but perhaps we can arrange for another meal together after the Victory Tour, my treat. Thank you for fixing the hole in my handkerchief the last time. I don't think I've ever seen such attentive and careful craftsmanship in all my experience of Capitol tailors.

Please be careful when opening this letter. Your birthday gift was smaller than others in the past years, so I attempted to tuck it gently inside the envelope. I hope it fits.

Your friend,

Caspian Steele

Yelena feels a sense of relief wash over her, starting from the top of her head and slowly working to the tips of her toes, something else coinciding with it. Embarrassment. Her cheeks flush red, and she laughs hoarsely, feeling completely and utterly foolish.

She should've known. Caspian has always written her on her birthday since her own Games. The two have become pen pals of sorts over the years, grabbing a casual lunch or breakfast during some of her visits to the Capitol every once and a while. They could be awkward, but were often harmless.

Caspian is one of the few people from the Capitol who treats her like a real person. She feels like he actually respects her, not because she's a glorified murderer morphed into a celebrity, but because she's an actual human being, and due to that, she respects him.

She plops onto the edge of her bed, mattress creaking at her weight, gaze combing over the words again. Part of her expects them to mutate into a crueler and threatening message from Snow, revealing the truth that it could never be that easy for a Victor on their birthday, but they don't. Snow is not summoning her. Thank God.

Your birthday gift was smaller than others in the past years, so I attempted to tuck it gently inside the envelope. I hope it fits.

Yelena straightens and frowns. Flipping the mutilated envelope upside down, she waits for something to fall out. Nothing does. Then she remembers the brief glimmer and clatter her nerves blocked out. Glancing around the room, she spots something small, but golden and gleaming beneath her desk and mirror.

The bed creaks again when she stands to stalk toward it. She can hear her father's footsteps starting up the stairs, likely preparing to check on her. "I'm fine," she calls out mindlessly, only focusing on Caspian's gift. "I'll be back down in a minute."

With a narrowed and curious gaze, she crouches down, pinching the cool metal between her fingers. Even in the dim light of her room, the large diamonds and sapphires are nearly blinding. The ring isn't quite gaudy like the rings typically worn in The Capitol, but rather elegant, the stones cut and arranged in a vintage fashion along the yellow gold. Perplexed, she turns it over in her hands multiple times to inspect. She can tell it would be too big for her finger.

A ring? Why would Caspian send her a ring like this for her birthday? His gifts in the past had been lavishing all things considered of course; a golden hairbrush, a jewelry box with a pretty ballerina that twirled to a light tune-- even a book of strange but beautiful poems. But even though they were lavishing, they were never like this.

There's a light knock on her door when realization comes. The blood drains from Yelena's face, and she drops the ring as if it were made of acid, it bouncing along the floor once more. Betrayal burns in her belly. This gift makes all the others connect, suspicions she dismissed screaming at her now. How could she have ignored them?

Because it's not just any ring.

It's an engagement ring.

And now she knows, Caspian never intended to be her friend at all.

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Her knee bobs up and down relentlessly, the old hardwood floor of Thimble creaking beneath her foot. No one can hear it though, the delicate and lovely tune of a piano floating in the evening air. Her aunt and mother chatter, fussing over the menu while her father makes small talk with a table nearby. Yelena just slouches in her chair mutely, arms crossed and eyes burning into the warm glow of a candle.

It all makes sense now. Something so dreadful finally has clicked in her brain, and the various emotions from this revelation leave her tangled and knotted, unable to climb out.

The golden hairbrush. The ornately painted music box. Even that book of one hundred poems, their stanzas holding all the clues she needed. They weren't just gifts to a friend. How could she have been so foolish as to believe he simply just wanted to be her friend?

They were gifts for a lover.

Caspian Steele has been attempting to court her all these years.

The thought makes her stomach churn, and she grinds her teeth together, swallowing thickly. He's more than twice her age, old enough to be her father. Disgust ripples down her rigid spine as she side-glances her own father, still chatting with the Frills family.

And now this. This. A ring like that isn't just a simple birthday gift.

Had their schedules aligned her last visit would he have proposed in person instead of mailing it to her? Is this his proposal? Is he awaiting her call this very moment, praying for a yes? Or worse... has he come to District Eight itself, waiting on her porch once they return home from her birthday dinner?

Knowing what she knows, she likely doesn't have much of a choice but to say yes. Not unless she wants her entire family dead.

Her mind is swimming with thoughts and feelings. Rage. Revulsion. Fear. Betrayal. And one more... sadness. She truly thought she had found a reliable friend in the soulless Capitol. One that respected her, had empathy for her, that just wanted to help her, not expecting anything in return.

But it seems there is no such thing.

"Hey," a familiar voice murmurs softly. She feels a familiar hand latch onto her cold left one, giving it a gentle squeeze. Yelena barely climbs out of her mind as she and Chenille lock gazes. The blonde searches her softly. "You okay, birthday girl?"

Yelena feels the emotions trembling inside her, wanting to come roaring out. She beats them back down as she nods. "Just a bit tired. Could use a nap after this."

She can tell by the way her cousin's eyes narrow faintly that she sees right through her bullshit, but she could care less right now. Thankfully, Chenille doesn't press her further in front of their families, giving her hand another gentle squeeze before glancing back to her menu.

"What do you think you're having?"

"Not sure."

"Well I'm having the soup. The casserole sounds good too." Her voice rises in pitch slightly. "Whatever you do, save room for dessert, because I picked up a cake from Suede's."

"Yelena," her mother chirps from across the table. She feels all the eyes around the table center around her, and it makes her almost shrink. Her aunt and mother are nearly identical with their thin mouths and sharp chins, icy eyes peering at her like Siamese cats. "Was everything alright with your letter earlier?"

She feels herself pale, eyes widening and irritation surging her chest. How could she ask that right now? Not just in front of family, but in public nonetheless? Did she not see the Capitol seal along the envelope?

Her mother has never been good at finding the appropriate times to discuss tricky topics.

Barely regaining her composure, Yelena shifts in her seat. Her voice is forcibly light, and she prays no one notices. "Oh it was fine. Caspian sent me another birthday gift."

"Which was...?"

She feels her father's eyes on her. Yelena bites her tongue to not curse her mother. Annoyance burn at the bottom of her diaphragm. "Just a piece of jewelry. He is always very kind."

"Jewelry?" her Aunt Vera queries, brows knitting into a judgmental frown. Chenille glares in a way that nearly sets her mother on fire. "Isn't that rather... strange? I thought Caspian was in his fifties."

Yes. Yes it is very strange Aunt Vera, Yelena thinks.

"You know what's really strange?" Chenille interrupts. "They took the meat pie off the menu. I know you really like that Uncle Bobbin."

Yelena's father smiles lightly, nodding. "Yes, I spoke with Mrs. Anniston, she said it's been harder for them to get the meat at the quantities they need with the butcher adjusting his prices."

Aunt Vera doesn't appear amused by the attempted small talk, eyeing Yelena once again. Just as her lips part, a lanky figure appears beside their table. Relief almost shoots through the young Victor. Almost. Because while the waitress should be beginning her introductions, she's not, simply looming around them.

The piercing and scalding glare that Yelena receives nearly bores a hole right through her. The frail woman's eyes are relentless, purple crescents beneath them and cheeks sunken in. Yelena feels her own eyes watering just looking at her, and shame eats away at her again.

"Hello," her mother awkwardly greets, hoping it'll pull the waitress's gaze.

But there's not a chance. The woman clicks her pen back, voice hard as stone. "Find someone else to serve you this evening. Because it won't be me."

Everyone at the table is completely and utterly shocked by this seemingly unprovoked, abrasive behavior from the waitress. Everyone except Yelena. An uncomfortable, nauseating knowing sinks into her core as she eventually averts her stare into the tablecloth shamefully. And with that, the mother of Lucy, the twelve year old tribute from the last Games, stalks off, unable to bear the sight of the mentor that failed her daughter.

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Today is finally the dreaded day.

Tour Day. Except this isn't a Tour that Yelena is a guest for, but rather a hostess, Annie Cresta venturing to District Eight to hold her victory over every mourning heart. Yelena knows better than anyone that there is nothing to take pride in. But the Capitol certainly tries to keep one fooled.

A crowd has been gathered in the Square. While the Square is considerably large, District Eight's population bleeds out into neighboring streets, holograms set up to depict the decorated stage. People have been shipped in from the various, smaller factory towns that scatter around the larger, more populous Heart of District Eight Yelena calls her home. It all feels uncomfortably familiar to Reaping Day. Starved citizens yanked from the factories for a few hours and crammed where they'll fit. Instead of it being a sweltering, humid day in July with everyone in their best dresses, they're huddled together in the frigid cold like shivering sheep, wearing patchwork coats in mourning.

Various bright colored flowers decorate the stage, all of which Yelena has never actually seen grow natively in District Eight itself. Perhaps they once did, before the cement, steel, and brick bloomed across the land like a cancerous tumor and entrapped everyone in a gloomy urban prison. She's lucky if she spots a dandelion fighting through the cracks in the concrete. Along with the flowers, the red velvet curtains along the stage serve as a stain against the naturally gray atmosphere.

The sun doesn't plan to rise in District Eight today. But there's always tomorrow.

Yelena, Rudy, Cecelia and Woof sit neatly in line on the stage, facing the crowd just like they do on Reaping Day. Instead of two Bowls of Death looming in front of them, there's only a podium and microphone. Woof's head starts to hang as they wait anxiously, eyes fluttering closed until Cecelia gently pokes him in the ribs. He straightens with a start, struggling to wipe away the drowsiness from his sleeping pills. Next to her, Rudy digs into his coat pocket for a pack of cigarettes, clenching one between his teeth and cupping the lighter carefully.

"Seriously?" Yelena scowls. His lighter clicks once, twice, thumb struggling to get the spark to stay. Eventually, he's successful, the embers burning in response.

Rudy inhales deeply, sucking in the dark smoke before blowing it back out with a sharp sigh. His green eyes glare into the crowd blankly. "Mind your business."

If she weren't on stage in front of the entire population of District Eight, she might smack the cigarette out of his mouth and stomp it out with her boots. Between the two of them, she's always been the one to practice stronger restraint. Despite her irritation, she's not quite willing to give up that title just yet. So instead, she follows his glare out to the crowd too, nostrils flaring as she stuffs her hands into the warmth of her coat pockets.

The starved crowd looks worn and exhausted like always. But unlike other years, something new is hidden beneath their hollow eyes that doesn't make them seem so hollow. Something that terrifies and excites Yelena all at once. About one hundred feet away, two smaller stages stand in the crowd, framed portraits of this year's tributes presented besides their mourning family.

A deep and uncomfortable ache gnaws at Yelena's chest painfully as she peers at their pictures. She feels the tattoos for the two young tributes burning along her flesh at the reminder. She hates how young they look. Every year they look young, they're children of course, but these kids were the youngest she'd ever mentored. An innocent twelve year old girl and fourteen year old boy are dead. Plucked from the masses to serve as lambs to the slaughter for a crime their grandparents weren't even old enough to commit at the time.

She can feel the woman's scalding stare attempting to burn her alive even with the distance between them. Yelena tries not to look at her. Then of course guilt nags at her for not being able to return Lucy's mother's gaze, leaving her torn. She feels like a coward. A coward, a failure, another guilty party in a child's murder.

Rudy's voice lightly draws her out of her haze, the stench of his cigarette smoke drawing closer. "It could help you sooth your nerves."

His offering surprises her, brown eyes snapping to his for inspection. He leans toward her in his chair, the cigarette smaller now as he pinches it between his fingers close enough for her to take. She's even more surprised by the strangely genuine spark in his eye. That doesn't last long though, annoyance rippling down her spine as she folds her arms across her chest. She glowers at her shoes now.

"Mind your business."

A light chuckle of amusement vibrates from his throat, and he leans away again, taking another silent drag.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the stage sits Mayor Poplin with his wife and son. Two more chairs are filled beside them, the two Mentors of District Four these past Games claiming their places. Mags Flanagan. And Finnick Odair.

Yelena's not embarrassed of it now, or at least she doesn't think she is, but there was a time where the Capitol Darling made her feel completely and utterly foolish. It sprung from their first meeting at the close of her Victory Tour. Back on the balcony where she tried to hide away only to be found by the bronze-haired Victor. She remembers how close he stood to her, how he talked as smoothly as silk, and how confident he was when he asked her to a dance.

She felt pretty good about herself for turning down the beloved heartthrob that night. The naively romantic teenage girl in her thought that meant he would only try to win her favor even more now, chasing after what he couldn't have. But unlike the fantasy in her mind, Finnick didn't. In fact, he hardly ever spoke to her again unless for polite small-talk when their paths crossed as Mentors over the years.

When she watched how he effortlessly charmed and interacted with everyone else like he did with her that night, she realized that was just who he was. There would be no start of a love story for the two of them.

The Victor's grown past that now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't feel silly if she thinks about the romanticized thoughts of her teenage self. If only she understood back then that her little crush on Finnick Odair would be the least of her problems.

She doesn't realize she's staring at him until his sea-green eyes reflect back at her beneath long lashes, startling her out of her trance. Now she's the one almost jerking out of her chair instead of Woof, stomach flopping awkwardly. Her eyes widen as warmth creeps up her cheeks, and she swallows thickly. She prays her reaction isn't as obvious as it feels, but she knows that's just false hope.

A corner of Finnick's lips twitch upward. There's that familiar sparkle in his eyes that she's seen many times, and she wonders if he manages to do that on purpose. He gives her a firm but friendly nod along with a close-lipped smile. She stumbles to regain a steely mask, returning his nod before shifting her gaze elsewhere.

Really subtle, Yelena.

The sound of the national anthem suddenly blares through the speakers, signaling the start of the ceremonies. District Eight seems to jolt collectively as an unsettling shift reforms the atmosphere draping over them. Mayor Poplin stands from his seat, approaching the podium silently. He's a tall, slender gentleman with a tendency to wear plaid bowties, curled hair gelled across his head. He adjusts the jacket of his suit, clearing his throat carefully once the anthem is brought to a close.

"Good morning." He clears his throat again as he nervously scans the crowd, faltering a frown. Something feels different this year, that's for sure. Nevertheless, his speech remains similar to previous years with a few exceptions. "We gather as a District to honor our tributes who bravely fought in the Arena during the Seventieth Hunger Games, as well as their families. Both Lucy Bowman and Jax Dowling graced the nation with their courage and sacrifice, ensuring the prosperity of our great Panem."

Rudy huffs, flicking his cigarette onto the stage angrily. Cecelia and Yelena side-glance him warily as he grinds the spark out beneath his boot. If Mayor Poplin notices, he ignores it.

"Now, we also come together to celebrate the Victor of these past Hunger Games. Ladies and gentleman, may I present to you from District Four, Miss Annie Cresta."

There's no cheers or applause. Just an underwhelming whoosh of the velvet curtain as it parts to reveal a frail and meek figure. She stands there wide-eyed and frozen for several moments, almost trying to shrink into herself while the crowd bores their glares into her. Yelena notices some of the people soften as the poor girl trembles like a leaf.

Mayor Poplin tries waiting for her to join him at the podium, but when Annie shows no sign of moving from where she stands, he carefully makes his way toward her. He offers her a gentle hand and a smile. She still flinches. District Four's Escort Jasper Serling politely urges her forward, passing her a set of index cards that she barely grasps onto. Eventually, Annie takes the mayor's hand, tentatively allowing him to lead her to the front of the stage. Her lips are moving as she mutters incoherent words beneath her shaky breath.

Cecelia shakes her head lightly, a sadness pooling in her soft brown eyes. "Poor thing."

Yelena nods silently in agreement, gnawing on her bottom lip silently. Annie stands in front of the podium now, the microphone producing static from her murmurs.

"Off with his— off with his—" She flinches when her words echo through the speakers and her wide eyes dart wildly across the crowd. A whimper escapes her and rattles through the air.

Mags slowly but steadily stands from her chair, working her way besides Annie. The girl jerks when her mentor carefully links arms with her, but something about her presence quickly settles her. She looks a bit steadier now as Mags gives her a gentle nod, standing proudly beside her in front of the looming crowd. Her elderly mentor patiently points to the cards held limply in her other hand.

The young girl seems to be brought out of her haze momentarily. She clears her throat, eyes trailing the cards faithfully. "G—good morning. I come to your District today to..."

Mags points to the next word, helping Annie regain her footing. "To thank your brave tributes for their sac—sacrifice." That word makes her stiffen, and tears begin to sting her eyes. Her bottom lip is trembling.

Annie inhales a few shaky breaths, the air brushing against the microphone and producing more uncomfortable static through the speakers. Everyone's too engrossed in the traumatized Victor's behavior to notice someone weaving predatorily through the crowd. Yelena straightens at the faint movement. Unease builds when she glances back to a stammering Annie, then to the stage with Lucy's portrait presented in the distance.

Her mother is gone.

How could the Peacekeepers not notice she's gone?

Yelena stands from her seat at the exact same time the shouting starts. It's shrill, loud and belligerent, words tumbling ferociously together with so much rage it's difficult to understand what's being said. Annie shrieks when a rock is thrown at the microphone, knocking it down with a piercing BANG!

"YOU KILLED MY DAUGHTER! YOU BASTARDS KILLED MY BABY GIRL!" The bewildered crowd parts for Lucy's wrathful mother, her lips twisted into a grizzly snarl. She yanks more rocks from her coat pocket as she hurls them now at the Peacekeepers guarding the stage. "SHE WAS TWELVE! SHE WAS TWELVE AND NOW SHE'S DEAD, BECAUSE YOU MONSTERS MURDERED HER!"

Annie is screeching and crying as her knees buckle beneath her, hands reaching up to cover her ears. Finnick has leapt up from his chair now too, murmuring some kind of soothing words. Their Escort Jasper has opened the curtain again, and Finnick carefully but hastily draws Annie back inside. Mags hurries as quickly as she can behind them.

"FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK ALL OF Y—"

The Peacekeepers push forward toward Lucy's mother, but the front row of the crowd tries to shield her. Everyone's yelling and crying now. It's no use, because they reach her eventually, yanking her up toward the stage. She's absolutely feral, mad rage plaguing her eyes with her teeth bared like fangs. There's the crack of her knuckles against one of their helmets before they pin her arms behind her back. Terror sends Yelena's heart flailing, and she lunges forward with wide eyes.

"Wait!"

It doesn't matter, a uniformed hand grabbing her the bicep and sending her reeling backward. Her and her fellow Victors are shuffled roughly off the stage by other Peacekeepers, stumbling down the three stairs below. Cecelia barely keeps a frail Woof from faceplanting. Rudy's tall frame shifts in front of Yelena as the chaos ensues, but she pushes him out of the way just in time to watch the Peacekeepers force the mother to her knees on the stage. The pistol presses to the back of her skull. She still screams obscenities.

Yelena shakes her head in horror as the shriek rips across the inside of her throat. "Stop it! Just wait, JUST WAIT A SECO—"

The roar of the gunshot choruses with the cries and screams of Lucy's mother that are then brought to an abrupt and sickening halt. Her body crumples limply onto the stage floor, sending an eerie echo through the microphone as her blood pools around her in a crimson halo. More shrieks of terror ripple through the crowd. The executioner then points his pistol to the air, firing two piercing warning shots. The crowd of sheep is sent running in all sorts of directions.

Tears burn Yelena's eyes as she feels her feet sink into the ground. Shock keeps her frozen in time while the rest of the world spins chaotically around her. It's like a bomb went off. Obliterating any sense of peace, creating relentless ripples and trembles in the form of catastrophic waves. She can feel herself shaking. The image of Lucy's dead mother blurs in and out of her vision as two Peacekeepers carry her body off the stage.

Cecelia cries softly, shaking her head and holding onto Woof. "Oh my God."

Rudy just stares blankly ahead. His voice is barely above a whisper as he huffs. "Well, at least she got what she wanted."

Yelena's shaking form somehow falls deathly still, and she feels her eyes growing mad with an almost irrational rage. She glares up at Rudy, blinking away the tears. Her voice is a harsh whisper, teeth almost bared like a wolf. "What?"

Rudy doesn't even falter at her tone, peering right back at her coolly. He shakes his head, as if it's simple and she's just too stupid to understand. "She got what she wanted. She got to tell some Peacekeepers to fuck off, and now she's dead, with her daughter. She had no peace here. Now she got exactly what she wanted." He shrugs, kicking at the pavement. "I wish I could do that."

He's too loud for her liking. Yelena grabs at his forearm tightly, glancing around frantically for listening ears. "Lower your voice."

"What? It's true." Rudy leans forward as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat, slipping from her grasp. Yelena feels her heart hammering against her chest bone, the panic swirling like a heavy cloud, as she half expects Rudy to drop dead this moment for his daring words. She's started to tremble again when he whispers to her. "You know a part of you wishes you could too."

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Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! Feel free to comment, I love hearing from you! :)

WOOO I'm so sorry this update took so long, I had most of this chapter written for months but got stuck at the restaurant scene for the longest time.

What did you think of Yelena admitting she hoped Finnick would've pursued her more? I honestly remember feeling that way about potential love interests when I was a teenager, overromanticizing them in my head and playing hard to get because that's what the rom coms said would work, when it did not in fact work. So that's where I got that idea from! I feel like that's maybe fair to say how some teenagers might feel about a potential love interest? maybe? if not, don't worry i am in therapy now and healing my attachment style lmao!

Anyway, please feel free to let me know what you think of these characters and such. Do you really think Caspian is trying to propose to Yelena?

I can't wait to get to Catching Fire, oof.

Also, please feel free to check out my other Hunger Games fics :) I published a bunch!

Thanks again!

Word Count: 4766