quell moray | district thirteen | fin

q u e l l;  

B e t r a y a l - the word burned in her throat and tasted like ash in her mouth. The first and last words that came out of the mouths of her fellow Peackeepers was betrayal. 

"Betrayal will not be tolerated in the eradication of threats of rebellion and dissent in Panem."

"Quell Moray, you have been accused of treason, dereliction of duty, and above all, betrayal."

She no longer wore white - clad in black like the void in her heart, this was war. This was taking back what was theirs. 

Her family had been killed - retribution and collateral damage for her actions, but they had never been the type of people to express sentiments. She was cold steel and hard edges. She was fire and iron, forged in the flames of war and created from the ashes. 

They called themselves Peacekeepers, but they made the war. They made the problems while wrapped in the flag and armor of the Capitol. They were snakes lying through their teeth. 

It took her far too long to reconcile the things that she had done in the name of the Capitol - war cries erupting from her lips as she squashed dissent that was actually just living. It took her far too long to shed the white armor that protected her body, the false prophecies of a fallen god could no longer bring sernity to her mind. 

She escaped - somehow, that part is still hazy. But now, now they fight for everyone who can't. Now they wear black, cloaked in secrecy and wrapped in a prayer that any small effort can move the compass of time, swinging their way. She leads the squads that go above ground - the insurgents, the grounders, the rangers - their names passing the lips of those in the district in whispers. 

This is the birth of a rebellion. This is the birth of a new nation. Panem burning but remade from the ashes. This is a revolution.