"Dahlia Blossom. Don't let the name fool you. She's better known as the Black Dahlia. And she didn't earn that nickname by smiling and looking pretty."
"She sure knows how to perform for the camera."
"Because she knows how to play the game. She alwa...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
Dahlia didn't know where she was. And she didn't know how long she'd been there. She didn't even know if it was day or night. But she did know that she had been separated from the other Victors. She did know that she could hear their piercing screams from her darkened cell. And she knew that Snow hadn't forgotten about her. She had only been spared thus far from any torture because he had other plans for her, this she was certain of.
They had left her alone with nothing but her own mind, a dangerous and destructive place for Dahlia to reside. She was never normally this solitary, usually having Alaric or Finnick nearby to rescue her from her thoughts. But Alaric is dead and Finnick... She doesn't even know where he is. Is he alive? Dead? Had he been the one to abandon her? Was he glad to be rid of her? Left to her own devices, her worries and fears overpowered any other emotion. Her darkest demons had come out to keep her company, toying with everything she thought she knew. Suddenly nothing seemed to make sense and everyone was against her. She couldn't trust people, not anymore. She couldn't even trust herself.
Like clockwork the peacekeepers would march up and down the corridors escorting prisoners to and from their cells. The sounds of sobbing for help and scuffing feet became as constant as the agonised wails, a twisted melody to remind the captives of the hell they were in. But not once did the soldiers stop at Dahlia's door. It was a cruel waiting game, wondering when her time would come. When would Snow grow bored of his other playthings and seek a more satisfying target? It seemed that day was today.
The heavy boots came to a halt outside her door, the lock clicking as light finally flooded into the cell for the first time since she had arrived. Dahlia's eyes squinted as they were exposed to the harsh fluorescents but the peacekeepers gave her little time to adjust before they were storming inside. Roughly gripping her arms, they forced Dahlia to her feet and dragged away from her cell.
They led her along a blinding white corridor with glass cells lining the walls. She passed many of her fellow tributes, some in worse shape than others. Enobaria seemed unharmed, reclining comfortably in her cell like she was on a relaxing vacation. Johanna was not so lucky. The poor girl's body was twitching uncontrollably, as if she was being shocked with electricity. Her skin was stretched thinly over her bones and her vibrant, fiery eyes were dull and lifeless. The sight made Dahlia's fists clench in anger. What the fuck had they done to her?
Peeta wasn't faring much better. Dark circles had become a permanent feature under his eyes and he seemed to be paranoid of things around him, even though there was nothing in his cell. But the biggest shock of all for Dahlia, was spotting a mane of vivid red locks hanging limply against the frame of a quivering girl.
"Annie?" Dahlia whispered quietly, her throat hoarse and gravelly from lack of use. But still, the redhead heard the familiar voice and whipped around to face her. Unfortunately, Dahlia's guess had been correct as it was the Cresta girl who sat behind the glass confinements. She gasped out in horror at her presence in the Capitol, "Annie."
