𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑫𝑨𝑯𝑳𝑰𝑨, 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒓

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒇 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒅

Dahlia wasn't used to people fighting for her. She could only ever remember surviving on her own, struggling and suffering for everything she got. Every action had consequences and nothing ever came for free, that was what she had learned. And the Rebellion would be no different. From what she had experienced so far, it seemed she had been liberated from one prison cell and then thrown into another one. For an organisation claiming to fight for freedom and peace, she sure had seen a lot of captivity and violence. But then she was thrown a lifeline, a chance, from a man who was helping her to unlock her memories and the man she had been taught to despise.

Haymitch had bound into her cell with an unusual burst of enthusiasm, armed guards following behind him with their guns gripped tightly. "Come on, kid." He announced eagerly, throwing his arms out in excitement as the guards brushed past to reach Dahlia. "We're getting you out of here."

"What?" Dahlia spat out in confusion, eyeing the guards warily as they approached on either side and began to undo her restraints. "Why?"

"We had a chat with our great and glorious President." He replied with a hint of mockery in his voice, briefly displaying his true feelings for the woman in charge of the whole operation. "We vouched for your sanity and she has agreed to move you out of this bland, boring prison cell."

Dahlia assumed it was too good to be true. She waited for Haymitch to start laughing and reveal that it was all a big joke. Or perhaps he would explain that they were only moving her out of this cell to relocate her to a more secure facility. Because she was convinced no one would dare trust her. Even after all she did for them, the Capitol never trusted her. So why would the rebels?

But then her arms were freed... and her legs... and her head... And then she finally felt the freedom of movement flood her whole body after many long torturous days of being restrained. As she stood to her feet, still suspicious of the whole situation, her knees nearly buckled under the weight they hadn't had to carry in a while. Her limbs were numb and heavy, nearly forcing her to drag her feet along the floor to get them to move. And yet, Haymitch still didn't admit that he was kidding her on.

Instead, he led her along the corridors of District Thirteen with the guards trailing them as a safety precaution. He babbled continuously in her ear as they weaved through the twists and turns, Dahlia barely paying attention to a single word. She was too tense, shoulders hunched and eyes darting around madly, like she was searching for possible threats or preparing for a surprise attack. No such ambush ever took place.

They arrived at a hallway lined with doors, which Dahlia automatically assumed was District Thirteen's official prison block. She then believed all her previous assumptions had been correct. They weren't freeing her, they were just moving her from one cell to another. That's what she would be doing for the rest of her life.

Head hung in acceptance of what was to come, Dahlia waited to be confined to her fate once more. And then Haymitch slid the door open and she was met with a shock on the other side. It was a small area, big enough for two people to live comfortably, but it was far from what she'd come to expect in her accommodations. Two bedded pods for sleeping, a modest living area for everyday use, a door leading off to a connected bathroom. It was the height of luxury compared to her past living quarters.