.{dès le premier jour}. <sky>

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how does a heart love if no one has
noticed its presence and where does it go?
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Once had been awful enough. Twice had been absolutely grueling. But three times? A monstrosity. Why was she back here again? Did she not have any sense at all? Shouldn't she be avoiding this place at all costs? It only brought back horrible memories, nightmares that left her trembling under the covers of her precious sleeping bag as she awoke abruptly in the early hours of the morning in a bed that didn't belong to her. After all, they couldn't make her do this, could they? Except yes, they could.

They could make her do anything. More often than not, Topaz Ross felt as if nothing was her own anymore; not her body, not her thoughts, and most definitely not her will. They controlled everything, now that she won. They controlled who she saw and what she said and how she felt and whether or not she was miserable enough to need to go out and get hopelessly drunk so she could forget everything, even if just for a few hours. She was the puppet, and the Capitol was the master. Perhaps it would've been easier if she wasn't such a prized victor - but in the wake of a series of unexpected, underdog District Twelve winners, Capitolites clung to their strong, stable, (or seemingly, at least, because in reality she was far from stable) exceedingly social champion from their favorite district, One. She was more familiar to them. And they were more familiar to her. They liked how she didn't look at them like deer in headlights, or with gazes full of anger, fury for what they'd been put through. They liked her, because she appeared to like them back.

But did she? When Topaz asked herself this question, she was surprised to find that the answer was yes. She'd never hated the Games like those from the lower districts - still didn't, really. So what reason could she possibly have for hating their vapid, narrow-minded supporters? She didn't. They were fun, friendly, and rarely asked her questions that made her squirm or looked her over searchingly, expecting some deep confession or something, like the people back home did. She could enjoy herself with the Capitolites. She could be someone else, someone the old Topaz had desperately wanted to be, and someone the new Topaz only liked being because it gave her an escape. So she liked them. She liked the Capitol. There was one place she still loathed, though - and just her luck, she was there.

The redhead let the door of her room in the Training Center close behind her with a small click as it locked itself automatically; she didn't want anyone else in there. Obviously the tributes would be too intimidated to pry, but Carmel - who was still the District One escort, and was always prying into things - was still as annoying as ever. The Capitol woman still acted surprised whenever Topaz ate anything nowadays, considering as a tribute in training, the Career had taken to starving herself out in hopes that she would get used to hunger by the time she actually went in the arena. The attempt had been futile, though; it was impossible to grow accustomed to such a horrible, gnawing feeling, so a few days after leaving the arena she'd begun trying to eat normally again. After she'd accepted that she was back in the real world, and she wasn't going to die. Though sometimes she wished she had.

The tributes. She'd watched the dynamic duo of cousins, Anastasia and York, get picked off fairly early last Games in their unforgiving wasteland of an arena, which hadn't been heartening at all. You mentor someone, and then a few days later watch them die a horrific death, without even a chance to put your advice to good use? Now that was far from fair. If she'd had the choice, she would absolutely choose to never mentor again. But she didn't have a choice about anything anymore, did she?

They weren't that impressive this year, though. Soyala and Allen, their names were; she'd never heard of the girl before the Reaping, but the boy she most certainly knew of. How could she not, after hearing the last name? Hearst. Hearst, Timothy Hearst. Allen's brother. Her district partner, from the 56th. The one her alliance had so brutally murdered in the Bloodbath. How could she possibly look his brother, his twin, in the eye after doing that? So she'd been avoiding him. Perhaps it wasn't fair, to favor one tribute so blatantly over the other, but Topaz was far from caring. She wasn't going to put herself through those kind of accusations if she didn't have to; she'd rather deal with the tribute she didn't have any sort of prior connection with.

After stopping in the dining room to grab a piece of lightly buttered toast from the platter that had already been set out, Tope slowly made her way to the sitting area where she had told Soyala she'd meet her that morning, to discuss things. The arena was very, very near - only a day away. Though she didn't particularly like it, she assumed it was her job as a mentor to assess her tributes capability to deal with it, with the maelstrom of fear and emotions that came with being thrown into that death trap. So that was what she intended to do, and she did so as soon as they were both seated in front of the fireplace that was roaring with flames, even though it was definitely not cold in the room to begin with. Swallowing her last bite of toast, she gave the small, skinny fifteen year old a long look. "How do you feel?"

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trembling hands play my heart like a drum
but the beat's gotten lost in the snow
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She trembled.

Her knees shook more than they normally did, her hands seemed as if they were trying to pop off the rest of her arm, her calves repeatedly moved up and down, as if it were a piston in an engine. She had an alliance, and it was more than just Gage. There was Aenor and Seah along with him, and she felt safe. They seemed to be the alliance to watch out for, but did that make them a bigger target for the Gamemakers?

The nights in the Training Center never got easier. Each night she had nightmares filled with blood and tears and dirt. Each night she'd stay up for hours and hours, pacing beside her bed, trying to block out all the talk from the voice. And the first night, she sobbed. She had literally went into the corner of her room and sobbed until the she saw the sun come up, and then she had made herself lay in her bed and sleep. To say the least, the first night was the worst for her, and it was probably the worst for everyone.

But it was the third day now, and she'd been asked to meet her mentor in a sitting area in the Center. She was terrified of what would happen; after all, she'd never been much of a people person, but she had convinced herself it would mean a greater chance of survival. And she was confused that Allen, her District partner, hadn't been invited to the meeting as well. But she had forgotten about Timothy, Allen's brother. Topaz and her alliance had destroyed him.

Soyala was truly intimidated by Topaz, being in the presence of a Victor sent chills down her spine. It was strange to know that the person before her had killed and was open about it, but she also knew that no one hated her for it. It was necessary. She wanted to live just like everyone else did and happened to be the one that had the opportunity.

After she'd sat down, Topaz chewed and swallowed her toast, staring at Soyala. She was unsure of what to feel. She felt like she were being examined, she felt like she were a piece of meat. She felt like she was the deciding factor in buying that cabbage or that cabbage, and she didn't like the feeling. Her hands had only slightly calmed since she'd began to walk towards the room.

"How do you feel? Topaz asked. Soyala was unsure if she'd even watched the Reapings. Anyone that had would know that she was terrified, that she felt like she was already dead. She'd puked on stage, and had tears streaming down her face with it. As if they didn't know that the puke wasn't because of a stomach bug.

"I feel confident, I guess. I want to be like you." She'd lied, but that's only because she didn't want to disappoint.

[Lulu]

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my wing tips waltz across naive
wood floors they creak innocently down the stairs
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Perhaps what irked her the most - even scared her, to an extent - was that everything was exactly the same. The furniture remained in the same places, there were no new paintings on the wall, the fire still blazed as brightly as ever. The view out the numerous windows was still exactly the same. The same avoxes came to serve them. Clearly, Carmel was still here, as were the same stylists and their prep teams. Maybe this wasn't unusual, considering it had only been two years since the 56th. But Tope had always been shocked by continuity since she'd left the arena; she had changed so much, so shouldn't everything else change as well? Predictably, though, that wasn't the case. Everything in this dreaded Training Center remained the same since Topaz had walked through here as a contender herself; the only thing that had changed were the tributes...and, obviously, their mentor.

Two years. How could it possibly have been two years? There was no way it could be that long; if she pinched herself, she'd wake up in her bed back in One only a short month after her victory, entangled by her sleeping bag, sweating and breathing hard from frequent nightmares. Because it couldn't have been longer than that, could it? There was no way the 57th Games had happened yet, let alone the first stages of the 58th. It couldn't be - she would wake up. So she pinched. Nothing.

Two years, and there was a new victor named after a bird in her spotlight. Two years, and her Nash was still gone. Two years, and she was about as close to loving again as Alkin Fletcher, first dead with a severed head in the 56th Bloodbath, had been to emerging victorious in her place. Good - she didn't want to love again. Ever. It was far from worth it, when she could seldom be touched by someone else without wishing, praying that it was Nash, to the point where she'd have to drown out her memories of the brown-eyed District Two schizophrenic with alcohol in order to enjoy herself. Two years, and Topaz's heart was mending...but it was far from healed.

Two years, and she was now a mentor, expected to serve as an example for a boy whose twin she had assisted in annihilating and a scrawny girl who was obviously scared out of her wits. Although it was true that they were probably better than the cousins from last year, York in particular. Anastasia had been agreeable, but him? More often than not, the victor had a strong urge to tear all the hair out of her head clump by clump after dealing with him - and he clearly hadn't liked her either. So as long as she avoided Allen, who probably was brainstorming ways he could kill his murderous mentor in her sleep for revenge, she had it pretty easy this year. Well, as easy as giving advice to children who were mere days from being slaughtered could possibly be, anyway.

"I feel confident, I guess. I want to be like you." Lying. Soyala was lying - she could see it in the teenager's green eyes, in the way she tried to hide her tremble. It was a respectable lie, of course, on that prompted Tope to think back to the showy, overconfident tribute she'd forced herself to be prior to the arena, attempting to conceal fear because it didn't look good on her. If Soyala wanted to lie just as Topaz herself - practically every other tribute in the Games - had, then let her. She wouldn't question it, not at all.

"Good, then. Confidence is good." It most certainly was, but it was also something exceedingly difficult to have on the eve of your potential demise. "Be confident. But you don't want to be like me, I promise." No one wanted to be like her. Sure, they wanted to stay alive, to be 'win' life as she had - everyone wanted that. But who wanted to be a shell of their former self, drinking all their problems away because they didn't think they were strong enough to handle them? Who wanted to lead a life ruled by the cameras and the Capitol, pretending to be thrilled by all the fame and fortune? Who wanted to kill the one they loved? Who wanted to live with that for the rest of their life? Certainly not Soyala. Certainly not anyone.

But this wasn't a time for dwelling on her own problems; Topaz spent plenty of time doing that, and it would be a relief to focus on someone else for once. "Do you have a plan?" The tributes had had a lot of time in the training center to prepare, to think, to get to know the strengths and weaknesses of their fellow tributes, decide who might be a valuable ally or who they'd best steer clear of in order to avoid a knife in their back. She'd done all that herself, not too long ago. But she was so different now, so different from the cocky tribute who had handpicked her allies, blissfully ignorant of the fact that she'd be murdering two out of three of them, including the one she'd fall in love with. Two years, and Tope was someone new entirely.

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you have set your heart on haunting
me forever from the start it's never silent
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