{ dissimulation; a rewind } anyana&attend . blitz

a n y a n a

"It's easier," the girls with tongues in their mouths still say under the clicking of half a brothel worth of heels on the capitolite pavement, "easier than being desirable." One of the others respond with something like, "I'm always desirable," and the others snicker while I scoff at it. And then one of the girls lay out the procedure for us again once we reach the door; carnival masks plastered on our face as we hand out cakes and drinks while the rich party to the fresh winds of the 69th games arriving; my heart kicking into overdrive as the marble doors open for us. 

As much as I've been around meaty men, these people I should be used to serving. 

The air is thick as I take up the first tray, a frilly black dress on my body to match my mask, it's easier. Nothing's easy when everything has to be perfect, I breathe. I don't know how to serve these people, after the few years I've been in a brothel, and even after the twenty years I've been nothing short of excellence and proper I've never had to sell anything other than me. But for once, I'm not bare, a mask more so fabric than the one I wear in that brothel - it's so much easier to hide in this one.

Minutes later, I place the tray at the other end of the counter with only few drinks missing, and I slip into a vacated corridor alone. Alone, alone, alone, alone - I haven't been in so long. 

It's easier.