keep your proud heart {{rade+moon}{vt}}

When I awoke, it was almost like a gunshot. A beam of sunlight fell through my window. Too bright. 

 I had been dreaming of the Hunger Games, and I was about to become a Victor. The arena was forested with gems twinkling on the trees. The final cannon went off, and I threw my knife into a thick, soupy sea. It hit the last tribute, a faceless girl, in the eye. Her skin shriveled off in pea-green peels, and her skin turned to feathers, and I realized she was a mutt. And then I woke up. 
It was the date of the annual Victory Tour. Katelyn Persimmon, the tribute girl from 11, would be gracing us with her presence. I have to admit I did not think she was going to win. My friends who bet had money on Mason, and I had seen Quartz before. I had never talked to her, of course. She was from the community home. Now she was gone. I didn't have to talk to her. 24 mouths moving, only one left to sing. That's the way it is. It's real life. You can capture glory in a fistfight but the souls will slip through your fingers. 
My hair was freshly dyed. I tinted it a shade more saturated than usual. I like to think my head will turn heads. I pulled on my clothes: a light blue dress over tights and boots. There were soft crystals embroidered around the neckline in the pattern of ice and snowy mountains on my sleeves down to my elbow. I did my makeup, including the white eyeliner I flicked into a cat eye. As a final touch I snapped on twin silver cuffs. It was my little secret that pressing the right combination of gems at one time would reveal the three throwing knives and two daggers hidden within. The hilts contained matching jewels so I could pair each weapon up with its hiding place. 
My parents were gone to the Games square. I got there just before the beginning of her speech. It was short, seeing as she had no allies in One. Katelyn in person seemed softer than on the television. This may have been because the cold  of the arena sharpened everything. I strode through the crowd down to the Training Center, where she shall be welcomed as the heroine she has proven herself to be. 
There was lunch there. Thank goodness. District One's finest was set out before the snow queen. There were huge pies with various berry fillings and kebabs and pastries (both savory and sweet) and for dessert, macarons and fairy cakes and petit fours. They had even set out my favorite punch, the one that changes colors with temperature. The iced punch in the bowl was bright green, but cups sitting aside had already begun to turn blueish green and some were even yellow. Across the room there were Capitolites, most likely 11's escorts. They matched the food as I did. It gave me a little shot of happiness. 
Lunch was coming to a leisurely close. Now it was time for the dance. I was looking forward to it. In the training center, Tawny had spent the scraps of time between our fights wordlessly going over the moves, almost like the dance version of humming a tune. I had ordered flowers for after the performance. It would be beautiful. Soon, Tawny, soon. I wondered what the Victor would think. No, I couldn't wonder. No matter her opinion, it would be impolite to show her dislike of the dance they worked so hard on. They had different manners in 11, perhaps? Wilder manners to match the sprawling fields? 
I heard the door behind me open with a creak. There was a brief pause, and the music started. 
It took me a few moments to understand what was going on. A circle of dancers surrounded Tawny, swaying with a practiced rhythm. She took her place in her spot and the music cresecendoed. It reminded me very much of the tributes descending into the arena.  It was very much like the Hunger Gam- oh. That was what they were trying to portray. That made sense. Were it not impolite, I would have punched myself for my stupidity. 
Tawny was on fire. Her limbs were like weapons. Her arm movements cut and hacked swiftly, noiselessly. It almost brought tears to my eyes. The other dancers were wounded and fell in a beautiful, fluid way. The dance ended with Tawny and another girl, moving around the stage, trading blows. The other girl tumbled to the ground. Tawny stood alone. She was the lone Victor. 
My first thought was that I probably should have bought more flowers.
A spotlight fell on her and she curtsied. The dance was over. She flurried over to meet Katelyn. Oh dear, I thought. I maybe should have brought Katelyn flowers too. Do they exchange flowers in 11?'
Tawny couldn't help herself from beaming and babbling. I was as honored as she, but I was just better at hiding it.
I approached Katelyn.  She had a lovely figure, if a bit scrawny and lanky.  Her eyes were pale blue, but hollow. The cameras couldn't capture the hollowness. It should have been replaced with the joy of being a Victor. She wasn't ungrateful, I reminded myself. Just tired. 
"Hello,” she said. "Your district certainly is... colorful." 
Colorful? Colorful!?   They have colors in 11, probably. The crops are likely green, the apples likely red, the sky likely blue as in my own district. Then I remembered she had been in the arena. The only color she is used to besides white is the red of blood. 
"Hello." Good manners, introduce yourself. "I am Adaira Lynsen. It is an honor. You have met Tawny?" I gesture to her. Her face is flushed with happiness. The answer is yes, of course. 
Just then a man stumbles in. He is dull compared to everything else in the room. He gestures to me to come over. I realize he has Tawny's flowers. 
I take the bouquet and put it behind my back. With a comforting smile, I offer it to Tawny. I don't hug, but I have an urge to go and embrace her. "I hope these are nearly as lovely as your performance was. You were fantastic." 
I look at Persimmon, still unsure of whether or not they exchange flowers in 11.