— 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐚 —

━━━━━━ ☽【❖】☾ ━━━━━━

When Caius stormed away, I was hurt to say the least, but I couldn't claim it was undeserved. What many didn't know, is that Caius and I knew one another long before we were victors of the games. It was a scandalous secret that was buried with my family.

No one remembers the name Demetria Rye. Only because the elderly woman didn't satiate the Capitol's hunger to pry into the private lifestyle she kept once she won the fifth annual hunger games. So her name was tarnished and forgotten, covered by the dust of the ages to pass. She was sixteen when she won her games... but only a child when her innocence was taken like the rest of us. She was district nine's first victor... and she was my grandmother.

My grandfather was equivalent to nobility in district two. Only a step down below the mayor. And while my past isn't a pleasant one, I don't fear enough to feel the need to sugarcoat the truth. My mother was born out of wedlock from a torrid affair that my grandfather paid for; however, she was raised as if she wasn't illegitimate and never came to know the truth until after my birth. Of course, she blackmailed my grandfather into acquiring permission to visit the distant district to meet her mother, bringing me along as a safety net. Which is where I was introduced to the fledgling before the games hardened his once soft soul.

I'd disguise my scandalous visits to district nine as seeing my grandmother, but it didn't take much for my own father to see through the act. We both knew too much of the other's secrets to ever approach the topic. I knew they thought less of the boy from district nine, but I was a child in love... so it was no surprise to me when I uncovered that the reaping ceremony of the fifty-second games had been rigged. But the little falcon was more resilient and stubborn than anyone anticipated. He fought and won for me. I foolishly hoped this might change the way they looked at the boy, now that he too was a victor.

And then the fifty-eighth games rolled around. It was my last year to be eligible, and I'd planned to silently sit back and watch some other poor sap die a violent death. My father wouldn't hear it. He insisted that he'd invested too much into my training at the academy for it to all be squandered by fanciful feelings. He refused to let history repeat itself and risk our family secrets coming to light, so he threatened to break the falcon's wings. And against the falcon's wishes, I volunteered and became a twisted nightmare that the Capitol celebrated.

In his eyes, Artemisia died before ever stepping foot on that train... and he was right. Nightlock poisoned the veins of that once sweet girl, and it accidentally spilled over into the cups of those closest. Now, I was only a shell of myself: utterly alone and mangled beyond repair.

"So what's our next play?" that dolt, Silvanus, asked as he joined my side at the bar entrance. "Gaining sponsors, yes?"

My expression hardened with a glare of ice as I removed the hand he'd placed on my shoulder. "I'm going to get another drink. Unless you can convince Crane to stop sending mutts after the brats, I doubt there's much left to be done."

Silvanus's duplicitous eyes shifted to stare down the empty street while his lips twisted into a malicious grin. "Has Sokolov gotten under your skin again? Or have you finally managed him to get under something else?"

I remained stone-cold. He wouldn't have the satisfaction of bristling a single hair on my head. "Atticus. I mean this with all offense. You're the absolute worst."

I turned on my heels slinking back into the bar, knowing his eyes never left my figure once. He was a lecherous man, and it had always been poorly concealed ever since the first moment I laid eyes on him. He might have dressed well, but that was simply to mask his lacking personality.

"Did the Falcon head back to brood in his nest?" Haymitch Abernathy jokingly asked as he ran his fingers through his hair to pull the strands from his eyes. From the pool of liquor resting on the bar, it was evident he hadn't been conscious long and it likely wouldn't last either.

"I've tried to tell him he's predictable," I agreed, "But he says he'd rather sit in silence than listen to another one of these Capitol birds sing."

"I can't blame him," Haymitch huffed, tapping the counter to signal the bartender that he needed another glass. "They're unbearable, this lot. So I suggest he drink more to dull the pain, but you know what the sick bastard says back? He says he likes to remember. Sokolov's more demented in the head than we give him credit for."

"Obviously," I didn't hesitate to agree. "Look at who he keeps for company."

Haymitch chuckled bitterly under his breath as he glanced around the bar. Odair and Mason hadn't stuck around long, and they'd only accepted the invitation because they weren't naive enough to turn down a free drink. Afterall, liquor was the easiest and quickest solution to blur the remaining days together for a mind-numbing experience. But aside from the occasional drink during the duration of the games, it was odd to see any mentors spend so much time in another's presence.

I preferred to remain in isolation myself, but Caius and I could both appreciate one thing about Haymitch and that was his drunken honesty. It might have been the only thing we agreed on anymore.

"I'm sorry about the kids," I said quietly, taking a seat on the stool beside him.

"Don't start lying to me now, Floros," Haymitch denied my false sentiments. "Our honesty is the only thing we've got left since dignity and sanity died."

"I don't have the cleanest track record with honesty," I countered, reminding him how I won in the first place.

"Nightlock doesn't," Haymitch agreed. Then he shook his head as his eyes seemed to peer into my very soul—something I'd forgotten still existed. "But I'm not speaking to her, am I, Floros?"

"I'm not so sure anymore," I admitted. "Sometimes I like to think that Artemisia is living a quiet life out there somewhere instead of waking up in the seventh circle of hell every morning."

"Could you put the philosophy mask down, Professor," Haymitch sarcastically asked. "Have a drink and ease the pain. You might even join me in the third circle."

I rolled my eyes, laughing under my breath as I called the bartender over and requested whatever Haymitch had been given, knowing it would be the strongest substance sold in the place.

"They didn't stand a chance anyway..." Haymitch sighed then finished off the drink he'd just been handed. "Not when facing the wolves, and especially since they didn't have anyone looking out for them."

"Do you remember all of their names?" I asked.

Haymitch shook his head and tapped his empty glass. "I've got a little memory problem."

"And just when I trusted you as the honest one," I scoffed, yet a remnant of a smile remained on my lips.

"Alright, fine," Haymitch corrected himself. "I've got a gaping hole where memories are whisked away to be forgotten."

My expression didn't change, but I didn't correct the second lie. Whether we drank until liquor flowed through our veins or trained until our sweat was blood, there was no forgetting. Those images of the games would haunt us for the rest of our lives. There was no escaping the shell of scarred children that had started our eternal lives in purgatory.

"How much longer do you think this will go on for?" I asked.

"I think we should've been home weeks ago," Haymitch replied. "But they want to drain this thing for every last ounce of blood they can."

"Any predictions on this year's victor?"

Haymitch paused, contemplating the question. "After all we've witnessed, most of the Capitol's money is on district two."

"I'm not asking the Capitol, Haymitch." I accepted the drink that the bartender extended, but then it over to Haymitch after changing my mind. "What have you seen?"

"District One is distracted. They're treating the games like... well a game. Four is tired and freezing, I don't see him lasting much longer in this weather," Haymitch quickly spouted off his observations as if racing to the end. "Six, Eight, and Eleven are all injured. They've recovered some due to sponsors, but let's be realistic you can't regrow a hand or a new set of eyes. District Nine has been a wildcard. It's been a real tortoise and hare situation because Queen of the Heavens sounds pretty, but they've been struggling every step of the way. Now Two has some pretty decent odds. They've got the training and the skill, but they also want to slit each other's throats. Your team is going to take itself out."

"And Ten?"

"The duo everyone has overlooked," Haymitch nodded his head. "We watched that kid decapitate the district seven tribute without so much as batting an eye. He effortlessly cut through skin and bone as if it were butter. And that little girl might be deaf, but she's resourceful. With the exception of the brief flooding incident, they've looked comfortable in that arena. I wouldn't ignore that."

I slowly nodded my head, processing a perspective I hadn't considered. "You always bet on the underdog?"

"Only those who wear the mask of one," Haymitch replied. "Even you proved that tactic efficient."

"Thanks for your time," I excused myself from the counter, patting Haymitch on the shoulder as I left the bar.

I wasn't the most involved mentor, but it goes without saying that most tributes from District Two weren't looking for advice when they volunteered. They were looking for glory. I'd seen it in both the current tributes eyes when we first met. However, I'd noticed a subtle change in Romulus that Rena had not exhibited.

While the girl was flashing a smile for popularity, I saw a glimpse of myself in the boy. He had ulterior motives for volunteering to waltz into that arena, and from the way Sikvanus constantly hovered over his shoulder, I could tell it was something familial. That the boy had been pressured into volunteering for a hidden reason similar to myself. That he wasn't trying to bring fame, fortune, and glory to himself, but his family. And although it didn't sway me to favor the boy as he remained just as foolish as the girl he'd allied himself with, I could sympathize. And with the fresh perspective I'd acquired from my conversation in the bar, we'll just say it would buy some valuable information from Silvanus to satiate my curiosity.