Chapter Text
The cage seems to shrink the longer she is in it. Lilith’s silver, dazzling guitar from her very first Tribute interview leans against the bar. It mocks her as it twinkles, a streak of silver amongst golden captivity. She’s lost track of how long she’s been there. It feels like eternity.
No one comes to visit her. No Peacekeepers rattle the cage bars and taunt her. No Avoxes were forced to bring her food and water. She hasn’t seen a single person since she was thrown into the bars of the cage and the thick lock clicked shut behind her. Only the cameras whirring to life let her know anyone is watching. She tried to smash them, to break the lenses, but they were too high up to reach. Even the guitar couldn't reach the cameras. Lilith only succeeded in smashing the guitar into fragments of wood and chipped rhinestones. They would record her every move, not that she has many places to go. She could barely muster the energy to drag herself across the floor. The cameras would stare at her, that sinister red light blinking into her sunken eyes.
Lilith can’t help but think they were incredibly bored. She wasn’t particularly interesting, sitting at the base of the overly large bed and staring into nothingness. Capitol citizens needed instant entertainment, the Hunger Games were a prime example. They surely weren’t satisfied. Even if the footage was private to only Snow and his most trusted underlings, they must have wanted something from her. But there was nothing. No beatings, no sudden power cuts that left her scared and unseeing, no water being forced into her lungs. It didn’t make sense. It made Lilith anxious.
Then the videos started playing.
Holograms would pop up, dozens of them. Each of them starring her fellow Victors. Johanna, soaking wet, electrocuted as they questioned her about the rebel plot. Peeta, strapped to a chair with needles hanging from his neck. Chaff branded with a poker. Gloss, whipped within an inch of his life. Over and over and over. A never ending cycle of pain and screaming and pleading and blood and fear.
Nothing drowns the noise. The pillows over her ears, hands pressed against her head, screaming over them. Nothing. It echoes in her skull, bouncing off the walls until it’s all she can hear. Hours, days, weeks of watching her friends scream.
Eventually, through muddled thoughts and snotty tears, she realises this is her punishment. Her own personal torture. To watch. To be forced to watch. The guilt consumes her. Like somehow it’s her fault, that they’re screaming in pain while she sits pretty in her lovely little cage. Just big enough for a songbird. She can’t save them. She can’t take the blows for them and let her skin knit over the wounds. She can’t make a deal in the shadows of Snow’s office. She drowns in the guilt. It fills her lungs like water and she chokes on it. It fills her with cold.
Sometimes, just when she’s managed to block the noises out, they turn all the holograms off. The silence is overwhelming, deafening. It pounds in her ears. Her skin feels too tight and her throat seizes up. It’s weird, how not knowing is almost worse than knowing. Her imagination runs wild. Images flash in her mind, each more horrible than the last. When the holograms come back on, a sudden flash of relief hits her, right below her ribs, because then she knows they’re all alive. She can see them and they’re all alive and then Lilith lets herself fester in the guilt. Because she feels relief and they feel pain and Lilith wonders if she’s more Capitol than she thought.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She waits for the screens to appear and the screaming to start. It doesn’t. She stumbles from the bed, her legs unsteady beneath her. The bars of the cage are strong. Thick, like oak branches. She clings to them, pressing her face between the bars.
“Let me out.” She sobs. “LET ME OUT!”
Silence. She curls in on herself, pressing her eyes to her knees. She’s so hungry. She thought she had felt hunger before. When she was a child, living in a concrete shack and her stomach ate itself. During the Games, when food was sacred and the smallest, thinnest cracker was a miracle. No, she did not know hunger before. This was hunger. Everything was challenging. To lift her arms, to blink, to breathe. She didn’t know how long she had been here. Maybe she had always been here. In this room, this cage. She just didn’t know it until now. They hadn’t fed her since they locked her in. Her stomach had stopped growling. It knew no food was coming, instead feasting on what little remained of her body.
The hologram startles her, but doesn’t surprise her. It took longer than usual this time. What does surprise her, though, is that all of them show the same thing.
Peeta.
He’s dressed in a tight fitting suit. His hair is combed back. Makeup blended over his face. For a Capitol viewer, they would have no reason to doubt this was nothing more than Peeta Mellark, Capitol loverboy, here to save them all. But Lilith sees him, really sees him. The jilted way he shifts, like every breath is a task of its own. The pained huffs when his ribs knock against the chair. The makeup doesn’t hide the deep eyebags that blossom like bruises. The way his fingers tap against the chair, in an unsteady rhythm. No amount of Capitol glamour can hide the telltale signs of a man who has been very, very badly hurt.
Caesar welcomes Peeta to the stage with his usual overjoyed facade.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a very special guest with us today. Here to discuss the recent rebel terrorism in District 8, I am happy to introduce Peeta Mellark.” Caesar grins manically. The audience claps widely, but the sound is slightly… off. Lilith knows there is no studio audience, but merely recordings to give the appearance of such. No one to witness if this doesn’t go according to plan.
“Thank you Caesar. It’s a pleasure to be here.” Peeta tries to smile, but his skin stretches awkwardly across his face. Caesar turns somber very fast.
“Peeta, my boy.” Caesar simpers. “I’m sure you’ve seen the rebel news from District 8.”
“Yes, Caesar. I have.” Peeta nods.
“For our viewers out there, let me remind you. Katniss Everdeen, a vicious, violent girl, appeared in District 8 mere hours ago. We received reports that Everdeen and her rebel thugs set fire to a hospital, killing everyone inside.”
Caesar shakes his head in pity. Peeta looks off camera, as though looking for instruction.
“Peeta,” Caesar continues. “Why would Katniss do this?”
"They're using her, obviously," says Peeta. "To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake."
"Is there anything you'd like to tell her?" Caesar probes. Peeta’s eyes flicker to the side. There’s an awkward pause where he waits for someone to tell him what to do.
"There is," says Peeta, finally. He looks directly into the camera. "Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't...find out."
The seal of Panem flashes on the screen, signalling the end of the broadcast. Lilith can’t help but stare at the hologram, waiting for something more. Her starved mind slogs to find an answer to why Snow would want Peeta in front of the camera. To rile up the Capitol? To stop the rebels? The rebels wouldn’t stop for Peeta, for any of them. No, Peeta was on that screen for Katniss, and Katniss alone. To scare her. It said: ‘Look at what I will do. Every action you take against me, I will take against him.’
She slides against the bars of her cage until her face is pressed to the tile floor. It’s cold against her face. She’s always cold now. Every part of her. Her brain, her eyes, her bones. Nothing brings her warmth. The floor, the bed, the air all ice against her.
The lights flicker. Lilith stares at the roof curiously. They flicker again.
Then they go out.
She holds her breath, waiting. For what, Lilith isn’t quite sure, but she waits. The air is still. Without the hum of the lights, all she can hear is hissing. Her brow furrows.
‘Hissing?’
The doors elevators open. Smoke pours into the room as several figures run into the room. They’re clad head to toe in black, faces concealed behind heavy gas masks. They track through the space, pointing their weapons at every dark corner. A few of them split off from the group, racing towards the cage. Lilith backs away as far as she can, pressing herself between the bars. They pull out a thin circular saw and begin cutting at the lock on the door.
When the door swings open, they rush into the cage, crowding around Lilith. She fends them off weakly. They haul her up, dragging her towards the elevator. Only when the doors close do any of them dare to speak.
“Look at me, Princess. You okay? You’re gonna be okay, imma get you outta here, alright?” The figure, the one speaking, steps in front of her. He takes her face between her hands with surprising gentleness. Lilith stares up at him in awe. She can’t see his face, but she doesn’t need to. She knows it’s him. The gruff timbre of his voice, the width of his shoulders, the way his attention is only on her. Only he calls her Princess.
“H-Haymitch?” It’s pathetic. A broken whimper that barely leaves her lips.
“C’mere, Princess.” He pulls her into a tight hug, presses her head to his chest. She trembles in his arms.
He’s warm. Warmth that burns through his shirt. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of orange and fresh linen. She pauses.
“You smell…nice.” Lilith says. Haymitch pats her on the shoulder and turns back to the door.
“Finally had a shower.” He grunts. She can't see his face, but Lilith imagines he’s smirking beneath the gas mask. Another of the soldiers comes up to her.
“Good to see you, Lilypad.”
“Finnick?”
“What, didn’t recognise my good looks?” Finnick flexes his arms and Lilith, for the first time in days, weeks, months, lets herself laugh. Finnick’s voice sounds nasally, probably distorted behind the mask. She leans into his side and lets his strength hold her up.
“We have to get the others.” Lilith tells them. Haymitch nods.
“We’re heading there now. We have another ten minutes before the security grid is back online. Servers are currently offline. Peacekeepers are inbound. Hovercraft is waiting to dispatch support above the roof.”
Lilith furrows her brow. She didn’t understand most of what he just said. She didn’t think Haymitch understood half of what he just said, but she nods anyway. It was probably something Beetee had told him. The elevator opens again and Lilith has to shield her eyes from the white walls that lie beyond. The squad move forward. It’s precise. Tactical. A well oiled machine of protection and momentum as they jog down the corridors. Haymitch and Finnick stay on either side of her, both keeping their fingers on the trigger. It takes less than two minutes to find the cells, the others inside. The cell doors, while hiding the outside from the occupants, leaves them completely visible to anyone outside the cells. A strange, one-way trick.
Lilith’s stomach rolls.
They look worse. Much worse. Johanna’s shaven head is covered in cuts and scabs. Two circular burn marks are etched on her temple. Her eyes seem to vibrate in her head and she jerks erratically, like the electricity still flows through her. Chaff’s severed arm seems shorter by a few inches. His stump is oozing blood and pus. His body is covered in half-healing wounds. He looks exhausted. Gloss is shaking. He’s a lump of flesh that moans in agony at every shaking movement. Peeta, still in the middle, physically looks the best. But his eyes are shaky, unable to focus. He stares at Lilith’s empty cell, muttering under his breath. He’s covered in sweat, his skin sickly pale. He yells at someone who isn’t there. The others don’t seem to react to this.
“Let’s get them out.” One of the soldiers orders. One of them fiddles with a control panel on the wall, trying to figure out which of them unlocks the doors. He presses one. It appears nothing happens, until Chaff’s horse voice calls out.
“Girlie? That you?”
Lilith drops to her knees in front of the cells, pressing her hands to Chaff’s cell door.
“Chaff? Can you see me?” She almost cries. Chaff sighs in relief and pain.
“Thank fuck, kid. We thought you was dead, we did.”
“We’re getting you out of here, Chaff.” Haymitch steps forward, letting his hand fall against the door. Chaff squints at the hooded figure, the gears turning in his addled mind.
“Abernathy?” Haymitch nods. “Bullshit.”
Haymitch, and Finnick, both fiddle with their masks. They pull them off, taking a deep breath. Johanna cackles hysterically, slapping her hands against her thighs.
“Now this is what I’m talking about.” She giggles. “Get us the fuck outta here, boys.”
Peeta and Gloss finally seem to realise what’s happening. Lilith sees the same thing grow in each of them, the same thing she feels in her own chest. Hope. It’s a plague, spreading through their system until every part of them is alight with hope. The soldiers keep fiddling with the control panel, unable to find the right buttons. Haymitch claps a hand on Lilith’s shoulder.
“Let me look at you, girl.” He says. He scans over her, eyes skimming over the bruises on her skin, the bones jutting from beneath her thin gown. Lilith looks at him back. He’s barely changed. Still has stubble he refuses to shave, hair hanging in his eyes. Hard lines form a roadmap of pain across his face, all leading to his eyes. She missed his eyes, her own eyes. Those tortured, pained brown eyes.
Finnick begins checking the doors, trying to pry them open from the outside. It doesn’t budge. He punches the door from anger, then shakes out his sore hand. His hair falls in front of his face and he pushes it back, dark brown hair glinting in the harsh white lights. It looks almost black in the harsh light. Chaff heaves himself up, but his eyes never leave Haymitch. Johanna is waiting, poised on her toes to run. Gloss cannot bring himself to stand, too pained to try. Peeta just stares at Haymitch in disbelief.
“Get these doors open, for fucks sake.” Haymitch growls. He runs a hand across his jaw, checking the corridor they had come down furiously. An invisible clock ticks over their heads, counting the seconds until someone finds them. And while they hold their weapons with surety, they are in enemy territory. There is no end to the Peacekeepers who will arrive to stop them. At any means necessary.
Lilith scratches at her arm. The others are getting restless, the lack of movement making them antsy. Lilith is antsy too. She wants to leave. To go to District 13 and know she is safe. She wants to tell them she feels cold so they can fix it. She wants them to look at the red scars that line her arms, the ones Johanna said would fade but haven’t. She wants them to give her new clothes. Fresh clothes that don’t smell. They all need new clothes. Gloss is covered in blood so old it’s almost brown.
Brown.
Brown.
It slides down her throat. The realisation. Slowly. Settles in her stomach and sinks her to the ground. She gasps for breath, her lungs trapped between her ribs. In front of her, Chaff kneels. Separated by the door, he can’t comfort her the way he wants to. The way Haymitch should be, but he’s occupied checking the corridor.
“Kid? Girlie? What’s wrong?” Chaff asks her. “It’ll be okay. They’ll get us out.”
“No,” Lilith gasps. “Chaff, I-”
She gasps for breath again. Her throat feels tight, the air struggling to get into her lungs.
“It’s not. It’s not.”
“It is okay, Lilith.” Chaff says. He looks to the others for help. Finnick just stands there. Watching her with squinted eyes. Johanna moves forward to join their odd, separated huddle.
“Get it together, kid.” Johanna hisses. “You need to be ready to run outta here the second those doors are open.”
“No. Johanna, it’s not. It’s not.” Lilith wheezes. Johanna furrows her brow, looking at Finnick to help. Finnick just shakes his head and walks over to Haymitch, whispering in his ear.
“Fuck, Finnick. Help her.” Johanna curses at him.
“It’s not them.” Lilith cries. Everyone goes still. Peeta drags himself forward, his leg dragging behind him.
“Lily. What do you mean?” Peeta asks. Lilith looks at Peeta frantically, desperate to make him understand..
“His eyes are brown.” She sobs. Then the gun hits her in the temple.
Her ears buzz. Everything muffled behind high-pitched ringing. Her eyes refuse to focus, the lights blending together.
Blink.
Peeta, locked in the cell, staring at her in horror. Johanna’s mouth is agape as she throws herself into the door. Lilith can’t hear what she’s screaming.
Blink.
Gloss. He crawls towards her, leaving smears of blood across the white tiled floor. He looks dazed, but determined.
Blink.
Chaff points accusingly at Haymitch, shouting at him. Haymitch - not-Haymitch, stands over her, leering down.
Blink.
She feels like she’s underwater. Their voices waver in her ears, fighting against the ringing.
“-fucked it up. I told them we needed more time for this.”
Finnick - fake-Finnick. His hair lacks the coppery glow of the real Finnick. His skin lacks the right sun-kissed hue, it’s too artificial, too orange. Not-Haymitch shakes his head, grumbling under his breath.
“Fucking doctor. Armitage is a dead man. Change of plans, then.”
Lilith groans as she’s pulled away from the cell doors. She reaches her hand out for Peeta, a futile effort. He slams his hands against the door.
“Leave her alone. Leave her alone.” Peeta screams. Johanna, holding her shoulder, is trying to kick the door down. Not-Haymitch leans over her and smiles. His teeth are straight, absent of yellow whiskey stains.
“You should have kept your mouth shut, Princess.” He mocks her, the name Haymitch keeps only for her. His breath is fresh and minty, far from the scent of stale alcohol she’s used to. “You made this very difficult for us.”
She can only lie there. She closes her eyes, but Not-Haymitch huffs in disappointment.
“No, no, no, Princess. Eyes open.”
He pulls the skin above her eyes up, forcing her eyes open. She turns her head and the world tilts. She knew it wasn’t Haymitch, but it had his face. His voice. His hands. It wasn’t him, but it was. The bruises were his fingertips. It wasn’t Haymitch, but it was.
She can hear the others. Pleading, shouting, swearing, crying. She can see them. The horror on their faces. The way Gloss can’t look at her. The way Chaff forces himself to look, like his pain will ease hers. She can’t imagine it was easy, watching a man wearing his best friend's face. Johanna is feral, punching, kicking, clawing at the door. It’s Peeta who breaks her. He looks distraught. Hope is gone from all of them, but none more than Peeta.
She lays there and she waits. And when Not-Haymitch is finished, Not-Finnick moves forward and Lilith screams.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She recognises all the men who visit her. They wear the faces of those she trusts most.
Not-Haymitch and Not-Finnick are improved upon. Not-Haymitch’s eyes are now grey. Not-Finnick’s hair is copper under the lights. New fakes arrive over time. Not-Gale became a regular. Lilith wasn’t entirely sure how they had copied him, considering he never spent a day in the Capitol, but she didn’t waste much thought on it. She had new visitors every day, sometimes more than one.
Not-Seneca Crane.
Not-Wade Rankin.
Not-Taonga.
Not-Brutus.
She knew it wasn’t really them. She did.
It didn’t stop her from thinking it was them. She began to resent them, all of them. Every memory she had warped in her mind. Every hug from Haymitch became tainted. Every shared laugh with Finnick turned to screams. Every nod from Gale became a warning to run.
Lilith prayed for death. Final, endless death.
She knows the others have seen her. They never ceased the hologram videos, but now the format changed. Instead of simply showing Lilith the torture her friends suffered through, it was a mutual connection. She heard them scream her name as they unlock her cage and her fellow Victors were forced to watch her as their bodies were brought to the brink of death.
She hadn’t been allowed to see them since. Weeks had passed again. Not-Finnick is with her now. Lilith wants to hit him. Kill him. Shove a knife through his ribs and twist until blood bubbles from his lips. Watch his eyeballs melt in fire. It’s a little known fact that eyeballs melt in intense heat. They burst, and the jelly leaks from your eye sockets, like runny eyes.
She thinks Not-Finnick would suit runny-egg eyes.
Johanna, soaked and shocked, is on the other end of the hologram. Not-Finnick grins at the top of the cage.
“Pretty cage for a pretty little songbird.” He croons. Lilith tries not to cringe at his finger trailing down her cheek. Or maybe it was Johanna’s spluttering breaths that made her cringe. “I loved to hear you sing. Listened everytime.”
Lilith can’t remember the last time she sang. She can’t think she ever will again. Her father’s guitar was probably covered in dust in her home in District 12. Unless she had been robbed by now.
Johanna screams again.
“And your hair. You have the most beautiful hair, but,” Not-Finnick continues. “I always thought you’d suit shorter hair better.”
She had always loved her hair. It had been her mother’s hair. She had been tempted to cut it before the Quell, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She liked the length, the colour. It was hers.
It’s sudden. One minute Not-Finnick is lying beside her, the next her hair is clenched in his hand. She didn’t even see the blade in his hand. He hacks at her hair, like a butcher carving at a prize sow. It falls around her, forming a dull blonde halo around her. It falls to her chin, choppy and uneven. She runs her fingers through the hair.
It breaks her. All she’s been through and this throws her over the edge. She sobs. Screams. Wails. She clutches her cut hair between her fists, while Not-Finnick laughs at her side.
“Much better.” He smirks.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She recognises all the men who visit her. Except not all of them hurt her.
He just watches.
Always.
He never steps foot in the cage. Just watches from the outside. Oddly, he looks away whenever she has another visitor. He never speaks, never leaves. Just watches her.
“You ever gonna talk to me?” Lilith gurgles out. Spit clings to her lips and her eyes are bloodshot. He stares at her.
“What, you get off on watching?” Lilith laughs painfully. “You steal his face and you watch me?”
He comes closer to the bars, until he wraps his fingers around them. He watches her with sad, blue eyes.
“What do you want from me?” Lilith sighs. Exhaustion bleeds from every pore in her
body. She draws a rattling breath and her ribs creak in protest. She huffs when he ignores her again.
“You’re not him.” She whispers, not to him. “You just stole his face.”
“Didn’t steal it.” He whispers back. Lilith turns to look at him so fast, her neck pops and warmth spreads through her scalp.
“You took his voice too?” She takes another shuddering breath. “How many hours of footage did you have to wind through to get it right?”
“You look older now, Lily.” He doesn’t look anywhere but her face.
“Don’t call me that.” Lilith hisses.
“What else would I call you?” He doesn’t smirk, but smiles. A boyish smile that’s haunted her dreams for years. She looks away, unable to bear the sight of him. The last time she saw that face, it was mottled and peeling, life fading from his eyes like a dying flame.
“Say my name, Lily.” He asks her gently. “Please?”
Lilith takes a shuddering breath.
“Axel.”
He lets a small smile form.
“You’re losing it, kid.” He tells her. The small smile is still there but his voice is sharp. “You need to get it together.”
“Are you giving me advice?” Lilith laughs weakly. “You’re here to give me therapy?”
Axel furrows his brows and watches her with pained eyes.
“Fuck you!” Lilith yells suddenly. “You don’t get to steal his face. Not his.”
Axel lets his arms fall off the cage before sending Lilith another sad smile. Lilith lets her eyes drift to the roof, watching the gold shine. When she remembers Axel was there, she finds him gone, vanished from the room. Lilith wonders if there is anything the Capitol will let her keep.
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She’s plucked and waxed and polished in the chair. Her uneven hair is covered by a shining wig that looks exactly like her real hair. She’s been slathered in makeup that barely hides the dark circles under her eyes or the hollows of her cheeks. Her lips are painted obnoxiously red to hide the splits and cracks. She stares at herself in the mirror as unknown faces peck around her. They’re unusually quiet, but still find ways to chatter. The lack of fresh produce. The electricity shortages. The Peacekeeper shortage from 2. All things that give Lilith hope the Rebellion might actually win.
Lilith tunes it all out, staring into her own eyes in the mirror. She looks strange. Alien. Like a creature has slithered from the ground and attempted to pass for human in the barest form. She can almost imagine Pixie fluttering behind her, Vanity painting her nails as she prepares for another interview. It’s almost the same. Except for Pixie and Vanity.
And her wrists tied to the armchair.
She’s forced into a dress. Diamonds and silver, as usual. It’s unapologetically Capitol, claiming her as one of them. ‘She’s one of us.’ It screams.
“I’ll never be one of you.”
“What’s that?”
Lilith jumps in her seat, eyes meeting purple in the mirror. The tiny, amethyst woman stares at her with false concern. Lilith forces a wide smile.
“I said: thank you!” Lilith bats her eyelashes for good measure.
“I thought so.” The woman croons. “You’re very welcome.”
The sound stage is barren, only the essential crew running about. Caesar Flickerman stands off to the side, fiddling with a chunk of plastic in his ear. Lilith is marched to the others, who are already waiting.
Johanna is also wearing a wig, but the makeup around the hairline doesn’t quite hide the burns. Peeta is incoherent. He mutters to himself, tapping his fingers against his legs in rhythmless chaos. His eyes stare across the stage, unfocused but seeing. Every so often, he’ll furiously rub his eyes before biting his fingers harshly. The first time he does, Lilith tries to pry his fingers from his mouth. He growls at her, before his eyes clear slightly and he begins apologising erratically. Eventually his eyes fade and he begins biting his fingers again.
No amount of tailored suits or makeup in all the Capitol could hide the hobbled way Gloss moves. Every breath rattles in his lungs. His body wracks with violent coughs. Blood stains his lips. One of the Peacekeepers nudges him forward and Gloss sprawls across the ground. The high-pitched whine that escapes him is pitiful. Johanna bends to help him, and receives a gun muzzle to the back. They’re all forced to watch as Gloss slowly, painfully clambers to his feet. It takes minutes. Slow minutes, that stretch longer and longer with every cry torn from Gloss.
Chaff looks like a shadow of his former self. Unlike the others, Chaff doesn’t watch Gloss’s plight. He watches the Peacekeepers. Eyes them hatefully, but Lilith doesn’t miss the twitch in his cheek when one passes by a little too closely. He had always been strong, not just physically but mentally too. Lilith sees the fractures in his strength. Years of muscle and booze belly have melted from him. His last remaining hand shakes and Lilith knows it’s not just the torture the Capitol is inflicting on him. He’s sober, forced to be. His eyes are yellow and bloodshot. He licks his cracked lips every few seconds, biting his lip until blood wells.
When Gloss finally stands, Lilith slides next to him. She tucks herself under his arm, letting his weight fall onto her. He resists at first, groaning his discontent.
“Let me help.” She whispers. Eventually, exhaustion wins and Gloss lets himself slump against her shoulder. The sigh of pained relief makes her own pain worth it. Chaff moves to Gloss’s other side, keeping him steady.
“Anyone know what the hell is going on?” Gloss rasps. No one responds.
The lights dim. Caesar Flickerman, still heavily dyed, steps into a bright spotlight. He gestures to the side and Lilith is forced forward into the view of the cameras. She almost falls, barely catching herself to keep Gloss upright. Chaff moves with her, keeping the District 1 Victor propped between them. The camera lingers on them as Caesar introduces them each, by name and thanks them all for joining them. Five large white thrones are brought out, each of them told to sit. An Avox walks in front of them, carrying a large purple cushion.
Lilith bites her tongue as her Victory Crown is jammed onto her head. It’s the same as she remembers. Dripping in diamonds and crystals and shining silver. She can feel it tightening over her scalp. Each of them wear their respective crowns. Peeta’s half crown, his half-victory. Johanna’s is simple bronze. Gloss’s is bright gold, with rubies encrusted around it. Chaffs' is gold too, but with a red cushion part in the middle.
The cock of a gun behind her tells Lilith they will not be allowed to leave their thrones.
A large hologram spawns behind the cameras, large words scrolling across it. Caesar suddenly ducks his head, nodding as though deep in thought.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Caesar begins mournfully. “These have been trying times for Panem. Each of us hopes for the rebels to surrender any day now.”
Caesar begins to recite a list of alleged crimes the rebels have committed. It’s long, purposefully vague as Caesar goes through each District in detail. Her forehead creases when he skips over District 12. Caesar eventually finishes, holding his fist to his mouth as if choking back tears.
“The actions of these rebels have shown their willingness to destroy all we hold dear, in their quest to destroy us.” Caesar reads carefully to not miss a single word. Lilith shakes her head. It may be Caesar’s voice, but those are Snow’s words. She would recognise them anywhere. “Which makes it all the more painful, when ones we have loved have turned their very backs on us.”
Behind Caesar, the stage moves. The curtain pulls back, revealing rows and rows of people kneeling on the floor. Black hoods cover their heads, arms pulled tightly behind their backs. Peacekeepers march between the rows, pistols in their hands. Lilith feels her crown burning into her forehead. They’re restrained arms make them seem dangerous. The hoods make them less than human, just bodies who represent the Capitol’s wider hatred.
“I’m as angry as all of you. Angrier. I know some of these people. I trusted them. I loved them. But they betrayed us to those that plot against us.” Caesar sighs deeply and for a moment, between the flickers of light, Lilith catches regret in Caesar’s eye.
“And thus, we must protect our city and our great nation.” Caesar swallows thickly and smiles a wide smile that is all too forced. “But first, a few words from our dear President.”
The Capitol anthem blares. Caesar steps back to make room for the new hologram that appears. Snow’s face blasts into view, perfectly hidden away in his Manor while he preaches to the masses.
“People of the Capitol,” Snow begins. “I thank you for your attention tonight, to witness the beginning of the end of this war. I ask you to look to the side, at our beloved Victors.”
The cameras point to Lilith and her ratty group, sitting prisoner upon their thrones. Lights blind them and she doesn’t bother to smile. Just stares at the rows of people on the stage.
“These Victors have been kind to us. Stood with us in this terrible war. We thank you for your allegiance to Panem.” Snow smiles in mocking thanks.
“It is with great sorrow to say that others have betrayed us to these rebels. Those we have loved. Treasured.” Snow’s voice grows stern. “Our own have betrayed us. Some were your friends. Your family. I urge you to remember what they were willing to take from you. Your safety. Your lives. Our very existence as we know it. They are not your family any longer. They are no longer your friends. These people are traitors, and must be treated as so.”
Snow patiently waits for the applause to end before the hologram is removed. Caesar immediately takes his place centre stage, a stack of cards in his hand. There is a faint tremble in his fingers. A Peacekeeper drags the first hooded figure forward, stopping a few metres past Caesar. They rip the hood off and a tiny, shivering woman is revealed. Her eyes are wide and wet and begging. She’s clearly Capitol. Bright yellow skin, gems implanted into her forehead.
Caesar begins to read from the card. “Genevia Fendalton. Found guilty of transmitting Capitol citizens' information to rebel camps.”
She sobs. She pleads her innocence, swears it’s a misunderstanding. Her pleas fall silent when the bullet fires through her skull. A few moments pass. The Peacekeeper drags her from the stage, and the next victim is brought forward.
Lilith swallows. The lump in her throat won’t move and she swallows again.
“It’s an execution.” Chaff mutters, low enough for the cameras to miss it.
Caesar reads card after card. Bullet after bullet is fired. Most of them, Lilith doesn’t recognise. Some are faintly familiar to her, but she’s unsure where from. It’s only when Vanity is called forward that Lilith finds herself pitching forward. A hand on her shoulder keeps her pinned to the chair. Vanity is a snivelling mess as Caesar reads her card.
“Vanity Everglot. Guilty of associating with rebels.” Caesar’s voice is void of his usual excitement.
‘It’s me. They mean me.’ Lilith screams internally. Johanna whispers furiously in her ear.
“You can’t save her, kid. None of us can. Look away. Just look at me.” Johanna hisses. She tries to twist Lilith towards her, but Lilith refuses. She can’t ignore Vanity’s eyes, already locked on her and begging for help. Lilith will dignify her death. She will not look away.
“Lilith, please. Tell them I wouldn’t. I would never.” Vanity begs. Lilith opens her mouth. Her jaw snaps shut when the gun fires.
There’s a twisted order to the executions. Regular Capitol citizens first. Now, they seemed to move on to the Prep Teams from the Games. Lilith sees Peeta’s Prep Team. Each tearful and begging for mercy. Johanna flinches at the next three who each call her name and beg for her to save them. Dozens of others. All accused of associating with rebels.
It’s the stylists next. Portia is first. Peeta begins to twitch on the stage, shouting and screaming. He is quickly dragged from the stage. Johanna reaches back for him, but he is gone without any more fuss. His chair is quietly removed. Lilith knows the cameras will have tactically avoided that moment. A few more are brought forward. Chrome, Axel’s stylist, makes tears leak from Lilith’s eyes.
“Turn away.” A sharp voice hisses in Lilith’s ear and she gasps as Axel appears over her shoulder. Gloss watches her out of the corner of his eye with concern. Lilith watches as Axel stares at the stage with fury in his eyes.
“Don’t watch, Lily.” He begs her. “Save yourself this memory. Just look at me.”
Lilith ignores him. She refuses to listen to the words of a stranger with Axel’s face. She watches because she has to. For Chrome and for Axel, the real Axel. She doesn’t flinch at the bang of the bullet. She ignores Axel’s sharp breath.
“You always do that.” Axel sighs. “You always make it your problem.”
“Fuck off.” Lilith tells him.
“Lilith?” Gloss says weakly. He’s looking at Lilith nervously.
“Him.” Lilith jerks her head over her shoulder, but when she turns back, Axel is already gone. She curses under her breath and drags her eyes back to the stage. A handful of others are brought forward.
“Pixie Crawley.” Caesar reads.
“No.” Lilith cries. Caesar’s eyes flash to her, the only sign someone had heard her.
Pixie does not cry. Her eyes are dry and her head is held high. She kneels with poise, looking as elegant as she always has, even in the face of death. Her eyes find Lilith’s.
“My Diamond.” Pixie mouths and smiles. Lilith wails. Her tongue is sorrowful and her lips quiver with all the words unsaid. Nothing could be said to describe how pained she feels to see the light fade from Pixie’s eyes and her poise flutter away.
Caesar subtly wipes his eyes.
“People, people.” Caesar raises a hand to the crowd, urging them to quieten. It takes a few minutes for them to stop, still eager to see other traitors executed. But the stage is empty and there are no cards left in Caesar’s hands. “We have lost loved ones tonight. We share the same pain. But it is important to remember the strength of the Capitol, and we will all stand with her.”
Caesar walks down the stage, pointedly avoiding the large splatters of blood that line the stage.
“This is a reminder that many fall victim to rebel propaganda. Even the strongest of us.” Caesar’s eyes find Lilith’s. “This is a reminder to all of us. We must remember who the real enemy is.”
Lilith inhales sharply and the camera cuts. Caesar releases a shaking breath and adjusts the collar of his suit. His eyes dart around the stage, fear disguised as post-performance nerves. Caesar avoids Lilith’s eyes, hurrying off the stage. Lilith presses her lips together tightly, to hide the smile threatening to form.
An ally, in the most unexpected place.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lilith sits in Snow’s rose garden. Not-Haymitch had brought her. Straight from the stage while the others were dragged away. Her crown is still on her head, tangled in her hair. She sits in his rose garden, at an ornate table. An elegant chess set sits in front of her, the pieces scattered in an abandoned game. The roses suffocate her, burning her nose.
Snow arrives later. He wanders in, stopping to admire his cultivated maze of flowers. He hovers over a bush of blood red roses, snipping one off. He places it gently in front of Lilith before taking a seat.
“My apologies for the delay, my dear.” Snow starts. He gestures to the chess board. “Do you play?”
Lilith takes a moment, her throat dry.
“Not well.” She admits. Snow chuckles as though she’s made a rather clever joke.
“Then let us play.”
It’s a long, drawn out match. It takes Lilith longer than she cares to admit to remember what all the pieces do. Even the act of sliding one of her pawns forward is exhausting. Snow waits patiently for her to complete her turn, scrutinising the board like they were war plans.
“Chess,” Snow settles back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Is a game of many layers.”
He takes Lilith’s rook and holds it up, inspecting the black paint.
“It takes skill. Control. An understanding of when to act, and when to wait.” Snow stares at her, his eyes cold. “Do you understand me?”
“You play your opponent, not the game.” Lilith remembers Haymitch teaching her the rules, and can’t help the way she cringes at the memory. Not because it was painful, but because she remembers his face, sitting in her living room and all of a sudden he’s turning the lock on her cage door. Lilith moves her knight to take a pawn.
“Indeed.” Lilith almost mistakes his tone for approval. “But there is more than that. Chess demands sacrifice.”
Snow slides his bishop across the board.
“In any game of chess, there must be casualties. It is up to you to decide exactly what you are willing to sacrifice.” Snow smiles. “Do you understand me?”
Lilith’s knight takes his bishop.
“I understand,” Lilith says, and she truly does. They were all players on this chess board, fighting to take the other side out. She could see it all now. Snow, the white king, protected by all sides. Lilith, a lowly pawn, thought herself strong to be on the front lines, when she was always meant to protect the more important pieces behind her.
Like Katniss.
“It must be so confusing for you, my dear. Mister Abernathy was a father figure to you, correct?” Snow takes her knight. “Yet he abandons you, in favour of Miss Everdeen.”
Lilith presses her lips together tightly and moves her queen to attack. Snow counters with ease.
“Sacrifice,” Snow knocks her queen down. “Is a necessary part of war. Check.”
Lilith slides her bishop to protect her king. Snow doesn’t pay any attention to the board.
“It is the things we love most, that destroy us.” He spits. Lilith swears she can see the flash of rainbow tulle in his eyes.
“You’re right. Sacrifice is necessary.” Lilith’s throat scratches and she desperately wants water. “I’ve come to peace with mine.”
It’s almost the truth. She knows they can not kill her, but they will never let her leave. Snow will keep her here, tortured and starved and crazed until the war is over. Who knows what will happen after.
“How noble.” Snow mocks. “But what of theirs?”
The holograms show the others, slumped in their cells. Their execution clothes have been removed and they are once again dressed in thin smocks that don’t hide their skeletal frames or bruised skin. Lilith swallows painfully.
“Pieces in the Game, are we not?” Lilith dares to smile. It’s a thin smile that makes her lips crack. She hates it, but there’s truth to it. All of them, except for Peeta, were aware of the dangers. They had accepted the risks. Snow nods.
“Exactly. You learn quickly.” Snow praises and Lilith wants to ram her king in his eye. Snow changes the image on the screen. “But what of the others?”
Lilith stills. Since she had been waterboarded with the hose, she always seemed to be cold, but she had never been as freezing as she was now.
She distinctly remembers there had been fifty-nine living Victors before the Quell. Effie had sent them the tapes from the Games, so they could research their potential opponents. She had only sent the living Victors tapes. The Games killed fifteen of them. Five of them were trapped here, and Lilith could only hope Haymitch had gotten the other Victors in the Quell to District 13.
Lilith sees the other Victors on the screen, at least twenty of them. They were in their home Districts, lined up in front of their respective Justice Buildings on rickety wooden platforms. Each of them had thick rope around their necks.
Lilith swallows painfully. The remaining Victors stand defeated before the Districts. River and Greta from District 4 whisper soft reassurances to Annie, who screams around a tight cloth tied behind her head. Taonga has a gaping wound in his head, his eyes hazy. Augustus Bruan, from District 1, looks ashamed as he watches his fellow Victors stand on the stage. His neck is free of rope, the symbol of Panem proudly worn on his chest. The people jeer at him, spewing their outrage at his betrayal. Kea from District 6, shaking alone on the stage. Brutus is the only one on stage in District 2, although none of the other Victors watch. District 12 is absent from the screen, no Victors left to execute.
“A long time ago, I offered you a choice.” Snow watches her carefully, enjoying every second of her agony. “A choice, in your own arrogance, you refused.”
“I will allow you to pick three. Three who will no longer be required to service my people.” Snow reclines in his chair.
“No, all of the Victors will be exempt.” Lilith’s voice rises in volume and President Snow matches her.
“Three and no more. Defy me again and I will make it one.” Snow gives a self-satisfied nod.
“I am a generous man, Miss Silverwood.” Snow smiles devilishly. “And so I will offer you the same now. Choose three. I will allow them to live, should they swear their fidelity to the Capitol.”
Lilith sweeps her hands across the board, scattering the pieces everywhere. She rises from the chair, anger burning through her. She clenches her hands tightly, itching to wrap them around Snow’s frail neck. She relishes the idea, aching to feel the thrum of his pulse slowly stop beneath her fingertips. Snow clicks his tongue and shakes his head in disappointment.
“Sit back down, you insolent child.” Snow doesn’t raise his voice. The soft, almost condescending tone makes Lilith angrier. “You are testing my patience.”
Lilith hesitates for a moment. The temptation is great. But she understands the meaning behind his words and the slight raise of his hand sends her back into the chair. Snow smiles in delight. She understands him perfectly. He will kill them all and make her watch, or she can do exactly as he tells her and she can save three of them.
Only three of them. Lilith swallows thickly. Snow stares at her expectantly, impatience burning in his eyes.
When the ropes snap, Annie screams. She screams and screams, clawing at her own face as Taonga tries to calm her down. Brutus stares around the crowd in confusion, his chest heaving.
“I’ll send for their retrieval at the earliest convenience. Thank you for your assistance.”
As Lilith is dragged back to her gilded cage, she cannot help but think she has saved three from death, only to condemn them to something far, far worse.