Cut and Opened Up {Stella/Izars VT}

The dream ended the same way it always began - with blood. Only sometimes did the blood actually belong to her. The rare moments that she would suffer the pain rather than seeing her friends, allies, or adversaries fall. The gashes that she had suffered at the hands of Raven, Aeson, and Euley never healing, her hands coated in the warm ichor. Stella’s heart beating slowly as she stumbled through the streets of District Twelve, invisible in her pain. Each tip of the spear and spike of the crampon digging into her flesh and slicing through in never-ending pain.

They never told you about the pain after you won. They never told you that the Capitol would stitch you back together with parts that no longer belonged to you. A body made of flesh, muscle, bones, and ivory that was not yours any longer. Property of the Capitol stamped on your smile. Chaos covered in roses and the gods could not save you now. They were suffering in their own right. A tyrant with a rusted crown. A derelict body of a beating heart turned dark.

Stella stumbled out of bed in the train car that was her own for the tour, clad in shorts and a black tank top. The gashes on her legs completely healed, the muscles in her calves as good as new. Better than they were before. She was better than she was before. Part human and part of the Capitol - they had made sure that their dancer would play the part on the Victory Tour.

Glancing out of the window, District Eleven streamed past and Stella could not properly focus on the enormity of the fields flying by. She had spent the night previous curled up on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, unable to sleep until the sun had started to poke through the darkness of the night. The reds and oranges and pinks battling with the blacks and purples and blues for dominance. The light always winning. The darkness banished for the day before the struggle began again. The nightmares could not come if she did not sleep, she reasoned. Again, her stylist grabbed her face and pulled at her eyelids. They were getting better at concealing the dark circles.

“Nightmares again?” her stylist asked as she pulled a piece of toast closer to her and grabbed some raspberry jam. Stella rolled her eyes as she bit into the bread. It tasted like cardboard. “You’re lucky we brought enough foundation,” the stylist continued.

“I know. I didn’t ask for all of this, you know,” Stella replied, her voice lacking bite. She was not mad at the stylists or the people paid to be around her. She felt bad for them. Poison - she was poison. And they had to follow her around for the duration of the trip. A prison sentence for all of them.

District Eleven meant meeting the families of Gabriel Izar and Mercy Woods - two tributes by whom Stella had played a hand in their fall.

Mercy - Mercy had been a opportune moment for Stella, seeking to strike during the ski race the mountain. She had never meant any ill will towards the girl and Mercy just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, struggling on her skis like the rest of them and Stella saw a moment.

Gabriel - Gabriel had been different. Moments before his death, he had struck and killed Stella’s ally, Eva Tidestone in a torrent of sparks and flames, the smell of the burnt flesh lingering in her nose for days. Rage, rage built up in her heart and Stella and Finley struck out at the boy, punishing him for his actions, but in the end, it was all just self-preservation. It was never about anger - it was just about getting out alive. Her crampons dug into his chest and Finley’s spear was coated in his blood and when he fell, Stella thought only about keeping her allies safe. Not about the lost life that was fading away as she ran.

She prayed with the same hands she used to kill - bloody fingers clasped together that could still touch as softly. Hands that could weave together songs and symphonies but could hold a spear and clasp a knife. Part girl and part monster - she was not sure who she was anymore, and this Victory Tour only served to murky the waters. Relive the deaths all over again and pay homage to the lost tributes. This tour was not for her - it was never for her. It was for the families.

Had it been designed to elicit remorse? Or was she just on display as she had been for the past week in the Capitol. Look, see, the girl who survived this year. She was dressed and made up by the stylist - her request to wear black had been honored finally. Soft colors did not feel right anymore. Black would do. 

District Eleven's mayor, someone who's name she was struggling to remember, talked on and on about their agriculture and their role as the breadbasket of Panem. She nodded dutifully, eyes scanning the crowds.

And when she heard her name leave the lips of the woman addressing her as Stella spoke with the mayor and other dignitaries of the district, she felt her blood turn to ice. She knew what was coming. Her ribcage was filled with flowers but they were dead, dead.

Dread pooling in her stomach - why was she afraid? She had faced the wolves and the villains. She had seen worse than a mother grieving over the loss of her son. That did not make this any easier.

“Yes?” she answered, turning slowly to face the woman, jaw set and unwilling to show the dread she felt coursing through her veins. The woman was not alone - there were too many of them to count, but the look was unmistakable. She was cornered by the Izars.

“You must be Gabriel’s family…” She trailed off. I’m sorry for your loss stuck in her throat and tasting like ash. It would sound hollow, hollow.