64th Victor Presentation Ceremony

It had taken a week to clean up the battered, bruised girl. And even after a week of intensive medical treatment she was still feeling the effects of what her body had suffered. Most of all was the pain that came and went in her chest when she looked down at the place where a strong sturdy leg had once been. Never again would she do gymnastics, never again would she flip, turn and twist. I can’t even run anymore, let alone tumble through the air. She had survived the last week, eyes continuously roaming downwards, as though some phantom itch begged to be scratched on the airless space that could have once been filled by a fine, healthy leg. Opal Shore was hardly one to complain though, and after days of self-pity she had eventually agreed to forget, knowing that the leg was going to be gone forever. She took it in stride, slowly coming to some form of comfort and understanding by using the missing body part as a way of remembering, especially as a way of never forgetting the boy that had claimed it. She was not one to be angered, or feel any inkling of hate towards Xanthus for getting rid of such a vital organ. Instead, two nights ago, she had spent almost an hour rubbing wary, scarred fingers of the ending, mind flashing back to the fight and eyes filling with unwanted tears. They had not been your normal tears, one’s top be expected, but more along the lines of the fact that the loss of her leg had come with the loss of Xanthus life and so she was determined to always think of him and see him in her mind whenever she felt saddened by the unmoveable bit of plastic that had replaced it. It would be her way of remembering him, just as her aching heart would be there to remind her of Locust.

The doctors had, however, given her a range of options of a fake one, some of which had been just horrid, others had been completely disturbing and by the end it hadn’t been that hard a choice –well with the few decent ones left, of course. Opal had accepted one that had fit perfectly, the shape, as expected, was perfect, the length almost exactly the same as her last one, just a tad bit longer to make up for the massively scarred area. The Capitol doctors had offered to make it the same colour as her own skin, but she had refused, finding it a rather unpleasant sight, and instead favoured a pale grey, almost white, but less bright. It didn’t hurt my eyes to look at, but it wasn’t some fancy colour that stuck out like a wolf in a herd of sheep. On its surface held her favourite things, a chain of flowers of all sorts had been carved into the smooth surface, painting their way down its entire length. The first time she had used it had been only yesterday, the doctors treating her had refused to let her out of bed up until yesterday night. The first steps she had taken had been as ungraceful as her skill with people and she had fallen, her face almost slapping against the ground, had her newly re-constructed hand not saved her. The Capitol doctors had done a remarkable job with her useless hand, the gloves had saved it enough that they had managed to re-attach I, although it was stiffer than before and the nerve endings had been almost destroyed, meaning she could cut a finger off and she’d feel no pain whatsoever. At first that hadn’t bothered her, but when she realised that it also meant her sense of touch had been dulled in her hand she had quickly become annoyed.

Finding herself in the position of being unable to feel most things in her hand was difficult, as it meant that doing things with it was hard. It meant that when once she could touch every leaf, plant and flower and know what it was from the mere texture she had to rely on her other skills – and well her other hand. It functioned perfectly, and for that she was incredibly grateful, part of her hoped, however, that with time her sense of touch would return. And maybe it would, maybe the nerve endings just needed to fix themselves, or maybe in time the Capitol doctors would come up with something to help it. Hoping they would was hard, though, she didn’t want to get anything from them anymore, the pangs of wanting to go home had settled in the night she had started to walk again. Opal was eager to return to her district. It wasn’t my family that made my heart race, but rather the plants and the trees and the flowers that had gone too long without my attendance. After stumbling about for over four hours she had finally gained a little bit of control of her new limb. Her gate was heavily impeded by the fake leg and she had to limp. She looked old and extremely ungraceful, part of her was embarrassed by the shambling gate, and yet she refused to do anything but walk (the doctors having offered a wheelchair instead, that had been met with a crude reply and cold eyes, she was capable of walking, her family would mock her if she did anything, but walk).

A week after being rescued from the arena Opal was deemed fit enough to make an appearance in front of the Capitol. That morning she was thrusted from her hospital room, groomed, brushed, plucked and prodded. Her skin was scrubbed and her body was cleaned. Scowling she watched, distastefully as they scoured her body, the dirt being painfully removed. When they got to her hands she almost snatched them away, but resisted as they cut her broken nails and re-shaped them. After what seemed hours they finally nodded, as though she was as clean as she was going to get. It took little to no time for her to be re-introduced to her stylist. They shook hands, and Kaiser hugged her and then she was thrown into her dress. They stuck her fake leg on and she climbed shakily to her feet. The dress touched the ground, long and elegant it fit her perfectly. It wasn’t too long, to the point where it dragged on the ground at her front, that would have ended with her tripping. Instead it ended with only a centimetre or so before touching the ground. The back, however, held no such reserve and touch the ground, pooling at her feet. At least I won’t trip over the back.. The dress was imply shaped, hugging the curved of her body that hadn’t been as badly destroyed by hunger and malnutrition, and leaving other parts with a wider, more free look. It was a long white dress, and it stood out against her tanned skin. Opal gazed at herself in the mirror finding the flowers that danced down the left side as every bit impressive as those on her fake leg. They started at the top of the strapless dress, on the left and moved downwards in a diagonal way until they had wrapped themselves around her.

Her hair was down, framing her face, it reached to the middle of her back, which surprised her somewhat, not having known it had grown so long. Opal stared at her reflection, at her face, with the lightly done eyes, mascara, eyeliner and some eye-shadow. She then looked over at the earrings that dangled from her ears, as every bit elegant as the dress. Smiling slightly she looked away and at Kaiser, nodding her head with approval. He grinned at her, clearly pleased at her appreciation. She looked good, Opal could admit that easily. I look far more… satisfied, then I had ever looked back in district one. Is it pride? She could not say, whatever it was made her glow, it made her smile with more genuine joy then she had felt back in district one, unless she was around her plants. It’s confidence. Gasping slightly she stepped back, because it was just that. She felt confident with what was in front of her. And even though she was embarrassed by her leg, it wasn’t because it was fake; it was because she couldn’t use it properly. But after the Games had passed, after everything she had been through she had escaped with confidence in herself. She looked healthy, and she felt better than she had felt for weeks. Not even the pain of what she had been through over the past few weeks could stop herself from being pleased with the outcome, or even prevent her from being happy with herself and everything she had achieved. Grinning broadly she turned towards the doors as they opened to reveal her escort. Carmel, like any Capitolite was an eccentric lady with a bright attitude to everything. She was instantly talking as she saw Opal, eyes sparkling as she praised Kaiser, letting the entire building know how pleased she was with that high-pitched, shrill squeal of hers.

Sighing inwardly Opal allowed herself to be dragged out of the room by the bubbly woman. It took only a few minutes to reach their destination, a small little place under the stage. It was dusty and ark, and only made her unease grow. Biting her lip she eyes the ground beneath her, focusing on her breathing she forced herself to relax. The dress she wore was thankfully not too tight, she could breathe with ease and comfort, and standing on her fake leg put little pressure on its stump, thanks to the Capitol’s design. Peridot had congratulated her, as had Topaz Ross. Seeing them had been an odd form of comfort, part of her hadn't wanted to leave.

”And now, may I present the victor of the 64rd Hunger Games… Opal Shore!” Suddenly the quite was shattered by the roar of the crowd and the booming voice of non-other then President Snow. The plate beneath her feet began to move as she was lifted upwards. Breathing deeply Opal put on her most charming smile. With a flash of blinding light she was on the stage. Blinking rapidly she fought against the overwhelming nerves that pressed against her and instead smiled brightly, eyes sparkling, shoulders drawn back. Her confidence echoed throughout her and with a wave of her hand she strode onto the stage. Even though her movements were slightly out of place, and limpish she strode onwards, unwilling to let anyone see the weakness behind her eyes. President Snow greeted her with a slimy smile. She tried her best to not shudder as they shook hands. After that he stepped backwards as a plush cushion arrived, the glint of gold and jewels caught her eyes. To say she had been expecting what she saw was an understatement. What time had there been to spare a moment to think about a crown? Only a day ago I was struggling to walk. Opal had barely taken more than a single minute to think what her crown would look like, and the one before her was beautiful in every way. It glinted brightly in the lighting of the stage, and there was only a few jewels it the very tips of the three spikes at the front. If she didn’t know any better it would seem they almost resembled fire. Grinning broadly – in a moment when she believed she would be doing anything, but that – she accepted the crown, allowing the President of Panem to place it on her head. As she was led away and towards a chair by the stage she felt her stomach twist in painful knots.


This was the part she dreaded. There had been years when victors had loved what they had seen; there had been times when others had cried. Determinedly she sat down, Opal would not cry, not now, and instead she forced her eyes up to the already moving screen. She tried not focus on the carnage of the bloodbath, or the pain that was so clearly written on her face when she was hit. Within the first few minutes she found her eyes glued to the screen, her story being displayed before her was far more intriguing than it should have been. So she watched, all evident of emotions crossing her face. She saw once more the death of Cleo. She saw the way Akasha’s body burst into flames with her attack. She saw Sierra crying and Luciana trying to comfort her. By the feast the story took a dark turn and Opal found herself as angry as ever when Drace turned his blade onto her. She’d never forgive him for that and she’d never honour him for being in her alliance. Maybe she was handling it like a child, but she did not care. She had suffered too much to care. After her battle with Drace she saw herself walk into the arena. The scenes moved, and then she was on the ground. Tears of pain and anguish slipping down her cheeks, Locust’s dead body lying in front of her. Opal Shore clenched her hands, forcing herself to not cry. After that traumatic scene she was thrown into the memories of another. This time she was faced with the battle in which she killed Xanthus Grimm. Blinking rapidly she fought herself harder to not let herself cry. But by the end of the fight, and by the time her screams had begun filling the room it was impossible.

The recap ended with the finale, but by now Opal Shore was not paying attention. The crowd cheered, signalling the end of the recap video, and that was the only sign she needed before getting up and walking off stage.

I stood for nothing, so I fell for everything
You held me down, but I got up
Already brushing off the dust
You hear my voice, you hear that sound
Like thunder gonna shake the ground