"Not very intimidating, are you?" I watch as my stylist, Sia, marks something in her planner, mouthing the word "petite". "That's alright, I can change that."
I frown and twist my newly trimmed hair. Now it only reaches the place between my shoulder blades.. The charcoal tips curl slightly at the ends, almost like they are shrivelling up. It's such a small change, no one else would notice it at all, but I still feel like something important has been taken from me. The first part of my identity to be stolen. Hair grows back, but not everything does.
We arrived in the Capitol yesterday. Mykael hasn't spoken to me all week and I would be lying if I said it didn't bother me. Every time I think of what I said and the look in his eye, like a wounded puppy, my heart throbs. I never wanted to make him hurt, I just wanted to protect him. But now with Aaryn's threat fresh in my mind I'm not sure I will even be able to do that.
Sighing, I close my eyes and wait for Sia to say something more. I like Sia, sort of. Other than ripping the hair off my arms and legs using what she called "wax", she hasn't actually hurt me yet, so I'm hoping that she truly is trying to help me. Maybe not everyone in the capitol is all that bad. Maybe I can trust her.
Flinging her dyed red hair over one shoulder in one quick motion, she sets her notes on a side table. "I have a plan for the parade." Sia smiles at me knowingly as though I am just as excited about this as she is. "You're from the technology district."
She says it as a statement, not a question, and I fail to catch on to what she is trying to tell me so I just nod once, slowly, encouraging her to continue preparing me for one of her bizarre ideas.
"So," Sia drawls, "I am going to have your outfit surge with electricity!"
At this she claps her hands together and squeals like a little kid. Even I have to pause and imagine what it will look like. I am small, it's true, but clearly Sia has a plan where that tiny detail won't matter. For a moment, I am almost frightened of what she intends to do to me. When she is finished, will I even be the same girl any more? Or have I already changed?
***
I am fierce.
There's no doubt about it. I look powerful.
So why am I more frightened of myself than the people around me?
At first I thought I was looking at a photograph of someone else, someone capable and strong, not into a mirror, but then I peered closer. Yes, it's definitely me; that much I can tell. Sia straightened my hair and pulled it back into a tight, severe ponytail that hangs over my right shoulder. My tresses are adorned with an elegant sapphire crown circled around my forehead, bringing out the shades of blue and gray in my eyes, causing an electrifying effect. The iciness in them is brought out with black eye-liner and fake blue eyelashes ringed around my irises in a vibrant explosion. The tips are sparkling with energy, as though lightning itself was being formed inside me.
I can tell that my stylist wished to make my features sterner and crueller. While my eyes are petrifying, my lips are unavoidable to the eye, outlined in deep red. I notice defined cheekbones jutting out that I didn't even know I had and my skin appears flawless, pure, and white. Whiter than the snow freezing upon the icy floor in winter. The same ice that people slip on and break their necks. Ice is deadly.
I'm not fourteen any more. I am the past, present, and future.
You can see the influence of Egyptian goddesses set far in the past, before the hunger games, before the rebellions in District 13, and before me. Someone Sia called "Cleopatra" was a factor in the design. The electricity represents the now, what it is like in District 3, and everything speaks of what I can become: what the future will look like.
It is a cold beauty, one that is not to be reckoned with.
That is only my make-up though. I am just as surprised, for better or worse, about my clothes. I am wearing armour. An armoured skirt and my sleeves of the shirt are metal too, with navy fabric rippling with static. I am not wearing heels, I don't need them. Vipers don't need height to harm their prey.
I am a warrior. I am untouchable.
Taking a shaky breath, I rest a hand on the table beside me for support, the child inside of me trembling. Who am I? Am I still the little girl of District 3 that cried into her sheets and squeezed her eyes shut at night, hoping that when she woke up everything would be okay again? I clutch onto the orphan that is still there. I hold onto myself before it's too late.
I wonder if Mykael would recognize me. No, I correct myself. Will Mykael recognize me?
I need to remind myself that I will see him in just a few minutes, that he's in the exact same mess as I am. When he thinks of me, does he still imagine the girl he used to know or am I just another murderer to him? I brush the thought aside and turn towards Sia, who is not-so-patiently waiting for me like a firecracker about to explode. Pride is displayed on her face. I know she just thinks of me as a project. Another project well done. Projects are so delicate; it doesn't take much to break them. It won't take much to break me.
Despite what my get-up portrays, I know the truth: I'm only human and they can bring me down and crush me to pieces if they want to. I am not invincible. I am more vulnerable than ever and so, so afraid.
"So what do you think?" Sia asks me expectantly and it is the first time that I realize she actually cares about what I have to say.
"I think," I start, "that I look terrifying."
Sia's smile fills her entire face and she flourishes her hand when pointing to the door. "Come. Let's meet the others."
When Mykael sees me, he stares for a full second, then looks away, flushing. Am I really so hard to look at? I feel heat rushing to my cheeks and look down to cover it. I don't want him to think that he has that effect on me. That I am so easily hurt.
Mykael's hair is slightly spiked and the tips are dyed dark blue and silver, making it seem as though his hair has sparks in it. The black jacket he is wearing has ripples of electricity arcing through it, much like mine. The real difference between him and I is that he doesn't need a major makeover to look strong, and I do.
I can't stand being here like this, beside him but not speaking, as though we are strangers, so I approach our chariot. It has two beautiful black horses pulling it. I tenderly reach one hand up and stand on my tippy toes to pet one of the horses muzzles, imagining that I am not present, that this is another world entirely. They nicker and sneeze and I let out an abrupt laugh. I feel penetrating eyes on me, like flames burning into the back of my head and remember that I am supposed to look intimidating, not kind, and certainly not caring. I am merciless.
The thought makes me stop smiling and I climb into the carriage, my heart as hard as molten lava rock. What will this do to me? The hunger games changes people. Will my heart just be an empty stone by the time it's all done with? Then I remind myself that I won't make it that long. I will make sure Mykael survives and then everything will be over. All this will be nothing. It may be nothing, but not worthless. My future is an empty pit, full of endless darkness. The thought doesn't help the hole in my stomach.
A sigh escapes me and I lean back into my seat, trying to focus on the task at hand. I am painfully aware of Mykael taking his seat beside me and wish, not for the first time, that he isn't here. That he is safe back in District 3. I don't have time to think of this as the parade begins and I hear trumpets playing as they announce the districts.
1... 2...
3. We're next. I feel someone squeeze my hand encouragingly and look to my left. Mykael smiles grimly at me with none of his normal warmth and then lets go of my hand. A fist tightens over my heart. I wonder... if I smiled back, would he just flinch away?
The roaring hits me like a tidal wave straight to the core and I feel a sharp flame of rage. They're cheering for... what? Their next mass murderer? All the bloodshed that will soon be coming? I nearly throw up with disgust. Suddenly, I realize that my anger is just fuel for their entertainment. I have to contain my ire.
"It makes me sick," I tell Mykael, steaming.
Silence. He doesn't say anything, just waves to the crowd as a perfect tribute should. I refuse to give in. His body is as tense as a coil and I can imagine all the effort it must be taking him to act nonchalant and cheerful when everything is really upside down and I know this is hard for both of us and now I feel like screaming but I don't because I can't seem weak and small and all I want is to wake up and for this all to just be a really bad dream, but I know it won't happen because life doesn't work out that way and we're really stuck here.
Stuck in this nightmare together.
"I know," he replies finally, putting his hand at his side, acting no longer.
I cheer inside, where no one can hear it, at my small victory. Mykael doesn't hate me... yet. But then I wonder if maybe it would be easier if he did.
Finally, the parade is over and I wonder how I will ever survive the interviews later in our stay --how I will manage another plastic smile and act like everything's all right even though it isn't. These people are crazy. They don't understand what it will be like in the arena. They've never had to worry about it. I'd like to see them thrown in there, I think and immediately scold myself. Where would that put me? It would make me just like the Capitol: power hungry and vengeful. I don't want to be that way. I won't let the demon inside control me.
Sia hugs us both, squeezing me like I can't be broken, and rushes me to the elevators, bursting with how incredible the show was and how excited she is for us. She is radiating with excitement, shooting out rapid-fire comments: pretty much the opposite of how I feel.
I know that Sia has a whole new wardrobe planned for me and, having already seen her job at work, I am not looking forward to what I will have to wear. I am not one of the capitol's toys. I don't want them to control me. But, of course, like a puppy I follow along. At least later on I can reveal a little of my true self in the interview, if not much. I won't let them define me. I will choose my own path.
Doesn't the Capitol know that if they play with sparks, they'll get burned?