Rosemary Acker was pronounced victor of the 55th annual Hunger Games, however she didn't feel like a victor. The trauma and horrors of the games continues to haunt her for many years to come. Watching her friends die one by one, under the hands of P...
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Rosemary's yearning for enduring happiness clashed with the harsh reality that the Capitol's Hunger Games were designed to ensure the ephemeral nature of joy, granting only a fleeting respite, perhaps just for a night or, at best, three. The weight of her mentorship duties, the agony of witnessing young lives extinguished in the brutal arena, fueled her fervent desire for the annihilation of the Games. The haunting memories of tributes surviving only to meet their demise on the cusp of victory or within the spectacle of the finale tormented her every waking moment.
As she stepped out of her bedroom into the usually bustling living quarters, Rosemary was surprised to find an eerie quietude. Absent were the familiar sounds of Celeste and Quartz engaged in conversation or the rhythmic shuffle of cards being played. These moments of camaraderie, albeit strained, provided a semblance of normalcy in the twisted world they inhabited. The silence compelled Rosemary to seek refuge in movement, a walk to escape the stifling stillness that the living quarters had become. Her choice of attire, a dress with a neckline slightly lower than her usual, bore the mark of vulnerability she sought to conceal. A scarf wrapped around her, both for warmth and as a symbolic shield against the chill of the Games and the unsettling tugging sensation in her chest. It wasn't necessarily foreboding, but rather an intuition leading her towards something significant, a place where she might bear witness to something she wished she could unsee. Her instincts guided her steps towards the penthouse, where she knew Haymitch would most possibly be.
As the elevator doors slid open on the top floor, she entered the space to the muffled cadence of voices. Haymitch, Johanna, and Quartz were deep in conversation by the table, their faces carrying the weight of experiences etched into the lines on their brows. Intrigued yet hesitant to intrude, Rosemary lingered at the periphery, catching snippets of their discussion.
"Beaulfort is here this year, god I can't stand that man." Johanna declared, momentarily diverting her attention from the televised spectacle of the ongoing Hunger Games.
The revelation caught Haymitch off guard. "He is?"
Quartz chimed in, "Yeah, I saw him talking to Rosemary before the interview."
The tension in the room heightened, and Johanna stated, "She hates him?"
A solemn nod from Haymitch affirmed, "She does."
Quartz added a layer of complexity, "It didn't really seem like a good conversation."
"What do you mean?" Haymitch asked, with furrowed brows.
"I don't know, he was his usual self," Quartz revealed, a touch of concern in his voice.
"You mean- touchy touchy?" Johanna prodded, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.
"Something like that," Quartz admitted with a hint of reluctance.
Haymitch's temper flared, and his voice, now louder than usual, demanded answers. "He touched Rose?"
