It All Starts and Ends With Death

The air is cold. An icy wind blows through my hair and freezes my arms in a shivering motion. I sigh to myself, and a little white cloud appears in front of my nose. The hot breath from my lungs is swallowed up within seconds by the cold that seems to consume everything around me.

The focus of my eyes shifts and my gaze slides to the endless landscape of grass and trees. The individual blades of the lawn are encased in frost and have a silvery green glow in the bare light provided by the cloud-covered sky. When I shift my weight, I can hear the ice crystals crackling under my shoes. The meadow looks deserted. Nothing but nature as far as the eye can see. I stand on the top of a hill and stare down into a valley of white and green. What am I doing here?

"Euphemia." The voice sounds cautious, somehow dissatisfied. I lift my head and tilt it a little to the side to meet my mother's ice blue eyes. She looks changed. Exhausted. Worried. Embittered.

My mother is wearing a simple black dress that just barely touches the frozen blades of grass on the ground. Her natural, blonde hair falls smoothly down her back and is combed back in a strict hairstyle. The face is free of makeup. How out of character this appearance is for her. The last time I saw her real hair was decades ago, as was her bald face. I open my mouth to ask her about it when I notice the expression that seems to be stuck to her features like wallpaper. The sorrow in her saddened irises automatically makes me take a step back.

"What happened, mother?" I must have been standing here in the cold for a long time because my vocal cords sound stiff and rigid.

My mother forces a smile on her lips that barely reaches her eyes. I can count on one hand the times I've seen Lyssandra Trinket sad. Actual sadness. Often enough, however, my actions and decisions were the result of a look that on the surface might have looked a little like sadness but was actually just disappointment. So what happened to make her look at me with this look of suffering?

"I am glad you came," my mother says, and the frost crackles as she takes a step towards me and squeezes my arm. "I was afraid we had lost you."

I raise my eyebrows and turn my head to stare out into the icy expanse again. "What makes you think you lost me?"

"The war forced us on different sides. You have been out of the picture for so long that we were worried we would never see you again." My mother's voice sounds frightened, as if the last few months had taken a lot out of her. "We were overjoyed to hear you were alive."

"I'm glad you're alive too," I say, but the words have a strange aftertaste. "Everyone's fine, aren't they?"

My mother is silent for a long time. When I can't stand the silence anymore, I look for her gaze. She has bowed her head. A single tear runs down her cheek. It throws me off. For an eternal moment I feel like I'm falling. Even though my feet are firmly planted on the ground, the world around me is spinning so fast that I feel like I'm going to collapse at any second. I force my eyes to focus on something, to hold on to something. The black of her dress seems to attract my eyes like a magnet. My brain works so slowly that it takes several minutes for something to click in my head.

"Why do you look like you're going to a funeral?" My words float in the air between us. This time, the cold seems to have no interest in attacking the warm vapors of my breath. As if it was teasing me by watching the words cross the distance to my mother and collide against her pale skin.

"You know why," is all she says and suddenly she sounds like the woman who has trained Aurelia and me all these years to meet the needs of this world. No matter what.

I instinctively shake my head and feel the panic rising within me. "I don't know anything."

"I do not believe you, Euphemia." The anger in her voice raises every hair on the back of my neck. She takes another step forward and grabs my wrist. This time she holds it in a tight grip, as if she's trying to stop me from running away. "You worked with these people for eleven years. They took you to their Rebel-District. Your victors were the reason for this war. Now it is over, and you just reappear as if you had not disappeared for months. And you do not know anything?"

I feel my mother's demanding gaze on me. Her eyes bore into my face; it feels a little like I'm looking in a mirror because our irises are so identical. She wants to hear an answer. What should I say to her? She thinks I'm in cahoots with the Rebels. She doesn't know that for most of the war I wasn't that far away from them, in one of the prisons here in the city. Or does she know? In the end, she must have known.

"It is too late now," my mother whispers. "There is no way to undo what has happened."

"What do you mean by that?"

My mother smiles a sad smile and suddenly looks at me apologetically, as if she wants to beg for forgiveness. Like she finally remembered that I saw her die. "Promise me you will find it."

"Find what?"

"The life you have wanted for all these years. The life your father and I could never give you because we were trapped in the one you wanted to break out of."

I shake my head and blink away the tears from the corners of my eyes. The sky has become darker. Grayish clouds of mist float in from the distant forest. Behind the black-grey clouds the first stars are trying to catch a glimpse of this earth. Do they like what they see? Or are they happy that the clouds are sparing them a destroyed, rotten world?

"I don't understand what–" My voice falters and finally trails off as I turn my head back to my mother. But there is no one where she was just standing. I look down at my wrist, where she was holding me just a moment ago. The ghost of her touch is all that remains, and I wonder how long I must have imagined the pressure of her fingers.

My feet start moving and my back turns to the valley. I freeze as a new image begins to form in front of me. My body starts to shake.

I stand on the edge of a cemetery. In the darkness, the many candles are a sea of dancing flames. The air smells of fresh earth, as if someone had recently dug here. Far away from the other graves, right at my feet, there is a wide, black gravestone. Our family name is set into the marble in gold letters. Below, there are several names in an order that raises questions. The order of death? I can't say exactly because all three have the same year listed.

I force myself to read their names one by one. Burning the image of their golden letters into my brain. This is your fault. But you couldn't have prevented it.

Marcus Trinket. Lyssandra Trinket. Aurelia Canville Trinket.

oOo

A sigh escapes my throat as I stare down at the burning candles. The only lights in the darkness. Far away, behind the walls of nature, the skyscrapers of the Capitol sparkle, but their glow has also lost its shine. Everything here has lost its luster since I returned. As if the truth has finally managed to worm its way into my consciousness. Like I'm now seeing the Capitol in its actual light. I regret not being on the same wavelength with this city anymore. It no longer feels like the home where I once felt so overjoyed. Not even the memories I have created here can cover the bad aftertaste that always accompanies me. No matter where I go, something always reminds me of the Hunger Games or Haymitch or one of them.

I look down and press my lips together to keep my composure. In my mind's eye, I see that one smile from my mother that I will never forget. I love you. "I love you too," I whisper into the darkness, with no hope of an answer.

So many new graves. So many lives destroyed. Their tombstones join the silence of the rest of the cemetery. A comfortable, peaceful silence that tightens my throat. The thought that their bodies aren't here because even the Rebels never found them tears my heart apart.

"There you are," a quiet, sniffling voice comes to my ear, and I turn my head away from the grave. Aurelia tries to give me a smile, but it's no use trying to cover up the truth. I reach out a hand to my older sister, and she grabs it, her warm skin a balm for my cold limbs.

"What do you think?" I ask, pointing to the tombstone with my chin. It looks exactly like it did in the dream, only fortunately her name isn't listed among our parents'. The gold letters reflect the candlelight and I have to take a deep breath to hold back the tears.

"It is beautiful, Effie," Aurelia whispers, squeezing my fingers. She has wrapped herself in a thick, black fur coat that almost reaches down to her ankles. A pair of simple, leather-colored high heels appear underneath. "I am sure mother and father would be utterly happy with your choice."

I nod, grateful for her words. From the side, I peer up at her face for a moment to read the emotions there. To my surprise, her sea blue eyes are already on me. Aurelia forces another smile, and I can see that she doesn't care whether I can see through her crumbling facade or not.

"I am so glad you are here," she says, leaning her head against my shoulder.

"Me too, Lia," I murmur to myself and watch as my breath rises into the sky in white clouds. "Me too."

My trial is now almost two weeks behind me, and since then, a lot has happened in the Capitol. The trials are all over. As expected, President Snow was sentenced to death. His execution will take place this afternoon, the first execution that will pave the way for the others to follow. His entire governing staff and the remaining Gamemakers and sponsors will meet the same fate as him. No one escaped unpunished, but the sentences were more lenient than many would have expected. Caius and many other who didn't work directly under or with Snow escape death. Only those who were directly involved in the grievances in the Districts will lose their lives. Since Caius was only mayor for part of the Capitol, he is allowed to live. In return, like me, he loses all his property, which he has earned through the financial means of his position. Since Caius built his wealth solely on politics, he loses everything as a result. His father was part of Snow's outer circle, so he also loses any right to any inheritance. Caius is completely destitute and now has to live off what Aurelia owns and inherits.

Aurelia and I inherit our parents' property, all their possessions and other valuables. We only have to give my father's company and its profits to the state because it was involved in the construction of the new sponsors' lounge. All the rest, which is more than I would have expected before I saw the listing in black and white, is now ours. So, the loss of my apartment and my own money is pretty easy to bear. So far, we haven't thought about how we're going to divide it all up and none of us have much interest in it at the moment.

I've lingered too long on material values, thinking I could define myself in that way for too long. But now that my parents are both dead, all that wealth is nothing but a drop in the bucket. It doesn't change anything. I want to think back, remember moments with them when I was actually happy, but looking back, even that is difficult for me now. The Hunger Games were so intertwined with my life that now that they are finally over, they have eclipsed any fond memories I made during that time. Because the truth is that even though my life seemed like a dream on the outside, on the inside I was falling apart a little more every year.

"I should go," I then murmur into the silence of the darkness that surrounds us. Although it's not that dark anymore. My body is frozen as I turn my head to the sky. On the horizon, barely visible here on the ground, the first morning light of the sun bends towards the blackness of the night. It will take a long time for it to fully unfold, but I have to be back in the Presidential Palace by then. I may have been acquitted of my sins as an escort, but I am not yet relieved of my duties.

I squeeze Aurelia's hand one last time and then disappear among the tombstones, their inscriptions flickering thanks to the numerous candles, only to merge with the darkness again. My shoes crunch on the gravel path as I make my way out of the cemetery, out of nature and back onto the road. We placed their tombstone in our old borough, away from the hustle and bustle of the center. Here, where everything has always been peaceful and carefree, is the place where they should rest. Although part of me will never stop wondering where their actual final resting place is.

oOo

The sun has now managed to gain dominance in the sky. The snow is melting, and the baby blue of the horizon is not interrupted by a single cloud. This is the turnaround Haymitch was talking about. But I don't have an ounce of attention left for this one right now. All my focus is on the outfit that appeared on the bed of its own accord. I stare at it for so long, it's almost like if I look long enough it will disappear into thin air again. But nothing happens. The gray-blue dress doesn't disappear again, nor do the gloves of the same color or the blonde, puffy wig. My eyes wander deeper. I haven't worn shoes this high in months. Back in District 13, I was just hoping for the day when I could finally wear something like this again. Now I feel sick to my stomach, and I can't even say why.

Of course, I know why they've prepared this dress for me. I know my task for today. Preparing Katniss should feel exactly like the last two years. Everyone should know that the Capitol itself is on the side of the Rebels – that Snow has been betrayed by his own people. This outfit definitely ensures that. I have no time to hesitate. With every minute I waste, Coriolanus Snow's execution draws closer.

An hour later I look at myself in the wide mirror across from our bed. I stare and stare and can't stop. This is the old Effie. This is no longer me, is it? I feel like I'm looking straight into the past. As if the prison never happened, as if the Hunger Games were still going on, as if my parents were still alive. I stare and stare and the only thing that has changed is the expression on my face. The joy, the exuberance, the elation are gone.

At that moment the door swings open and Haymitch freezes in the doorway, the flask remaining at his lips. His stormy eyes widen and then he rubs his eyelids as if he were seeing ghosts. "I haven't actually drunk that much," he brings out painfully, as if the sight of me is tormenting him.

"They want me to wear it for the execution," I say into the oppressive silence and wait.

Haymitch staggers in, sits on the edge of the bed and pinches his eyebrows together. Then he shakes his head vehemently. "That damn woman," he hisses, gritting his teeth. He takes a drink from the hip flask. "God, how I hate this fury."

"And I hate it when you drink," I reply with a closed face, grabbing the clipboard from the dresser that contains everything I need to go over with Katniss before the execution.

"I'll stop," promises Haymitch after a long pause. "When this all finally comes to an end."

I whirl around to face him, angry at Coin for that outfit and angry at Haymitch because I know he's lying. "You'll never stop," I say through pressed lips. "You're a weak alcoholic. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't stop. I face my demons every day, while you took the first opportunity to run away from yours again."

I know I'm being unfair, at least to a certain extent. Haymitch grimaces, but I turn away from him before I can tell if it's anger or something else. My feet move towards the door of their own accord and even though I haven't spent a day in high heels in months, I feel like I'm floating as I storm out of our apartment.

Over the last few weeks, the soldiers have gotten used to my appearance. They knew who I was and at some point, they ignored me again. Now that I look like my public persona again, they hesitate and pause, just as they did when I arrived in District 13. I will never be one of them, no matter what I do. No. I will always be a Capitol, and now that I'm closer to the old Effie than I've been in a long time, I feel my chin lifting up of its own accord and the sublime look creeping into my eyes. Part of me is glad to be from the Capitol, whatever that may still mean today.

Katniss's eyes widen when she sees me standing in her room. I give her the most dazzling smile I can muster and immediately start preparing her for her last big, big, big day. After the fatal burns her body suffered, her physical recovery is quite advanced. The opposite seems to be the case with her psyche. Haymitch and I take turns looking after the children. Peeta continues to fight the effects of the Trackerjacker's poison, just as he did in District 13, while Katniss slowly but surely seems to be putting the pieces of the puzzle together. At least that's what Haymitch says. His connection to Katniss is a lot better than mine. She can't stop seeing me for who I once was, and I can't blame her.

Her preparation team has already done most of the work. I hand her the Mockingjay costume, place the pin over her heart, and check her makeup and nails. Then I leave her to her own devices for a moment as Gale walks in, only to be told by one of Coin's guards not to escort Katniss outside immediately.

Fifteen minutes later, I instead accompany the girl to Coin's office – or rather Snow's old office. The wide, golden double doors are open and to my amazement I can see the other victors, including Peeta and Haymitch, sitting at a round table. They all look confused, as if no one knows what they're doing here so close to Snow's execution. Haymitch's eyes rest on me as I encouragingly nod at Katniss and push her towards the office, but I ignore his searching gaze.

Instead, I turn to Johanna, whose laughter can probably be heard throughout the hallway. She pats me on the shoulders so hard that I have to grit my teeth. Then she links arms with me and together we take a few steps towards the office. I raise my eyebrows demandingly, but I already know the answer to my question. Johanna is completely drugged up. The same anger that gripped me with Haymitch takes possession of me again.

I grab Johanna's wrists as hard as I can and drag her in the opposite direction from Coin's office. "What on earth," I hiss, violently digging my nails into her forearm. "This is the moment you've been waiting for for so long, Johanna. Snow's death, do you remember?" My voice has taken on a desperate note as I think back to her cursing in our cell. How she swore she wanted to kill them all personally. When I look at Johanna now, I don't see any of that. All I see is a fragile, lost young woman. "You want to see him suffer. You want to see him croak. How do you plan to do that now, when you're drugged up like a stupid idiot?"

Johanna grins, but her pupils darken, as if she herself vaguely remembers those words. Then she giggles and rolls her eyes. She raises both hands in the air. "Snow is already history, Trinket. That bastard will burn in hell, and I'll take much pleasure in watching him die anyway."

I let go of Johanna and she winks at me before entering Coin's office. My next instruction is wait. So I wait. It doesn't take long. Ten minutes, at most. Then the double doors are thrown open again, but aggressively and angrily this time, and I instinctively step aside, only to be confronted with Peeta's furious face. He walks past me with shaking hands and doesn't even see me. Then soldiers from Coin and the other victors arrive one by one. Katniss is missing. Instead, I'm confronted with Johanna again, Haymitch in tow, but I ignore him. Johanna's crazed, psychopathic features are suddenly too much in my focus for that.

"Johanna, you should–" I don't get any further.

"You won't believe what just happened in there, Trinket." Johanna laughs a hysterical, heartless laugh and then pats Haymitch on the shoulders, who drills his gray eyes warningly into hers. "We just voted for the last Hunger Games." She says it so dryly, as if she just decided what she wanted to eat tonight. "One last time. But this time with children from the Capitol."

I stare at Johanna and every thought I had up to that point slips away. My mouth opens but there are no words. There's nothing but a growing panic in my chest. No this can't be. It's over. I am done with the Games. This country is done with the Games. President Coin, however, apparently is not. But then Johanna opens her lips again and I can see that she is enjoying my horror. That's why I know her next words will be another slap in my face.

"It was a draw. Now guess who made these Hunger Games a reality." Johanna pats Haymitch on the shoulders again. My focus shifts and I can't believe what she's saying is true. It makes no sense. After everything that's happened, he wouldn't want ... No, he wouldn't want any more Games with children from the Districts. But Capitol children?

"Is there a rational explanation for this, Haymitch?" I ask, my tone empty and distant.

Haymitch looks pained and scratches the back of his head. "Yes, I think so, sweetheart. The next hour will tell."

I nod and can't stop my eyes from filling with tears. Our eyes lock and Haymitch can see exactly what's going through my head. His expression clouds when he sees that I don't believe him. "Princess ..."

But I shake my head. "I really hope you didn't just decide based on some gut feeling," I blurt out, blinking back tears. "The Hunger Games, Haymitch. I thought you of all people would understand what that means."

Haymitch opens his mouth, but Katniss beats him to it. "The execution is about to begin," I murmur apologetically. "I have to get Katniss to her place." Then I'm gone.

How can they vote for another round of this horror? With Johanna it's clear. She wants revenge, no matter the cost, as long as someone suffers. Katniss isn't unlike Johanna in that aspect, although I think she would have made a different decision if Primrose was still alive; if she were mentally better. I'm sure Peeta voted against it. His reaction earlier was clue enough. Haymitch, on the other hand ... Even if his pain justifies the decision, I would have thought he was wiser.

At some point Plutarch appears next to us and discusses the final details of the upcoming event with Katniss. Katniss nods, but the distant look in her silver eyes worries me. Her fingers clutch her bow in a convulsive gesture. We exit the palace through the main entrance, descend the long staircase and find ourselves in the Grand Square, where the opening ceremony for the Games took place every summer. The place is packed. People are crowded together. District and Capitol are equally represented. Nobody wants to miss this event.

The Rebels begin to cheer when President Coin appears on the balcony of the palace, from where Snow has always addressed the citizens. This is my sign. I tap Katniss on the shoulder and nod at her. She holds my gaze steadily for a split second, then steps forward.

President Snow is dragged forward by his guards. The audience starts screaming. They tie him to a wooden post and Katniss raises her bow. The moment drags on. Snow smiles and Katniss stares back, motionless. Her arrow is aimed at his heart. The crowd appears to take a collective deep breath as their feet plant themselves on the ground. The thirst for blood overtakes the people, as if we're all truly swimming in blood. The same thirst that seized the people in the sponsor lounge year after year. I can feel the metallic taste on my tongue as Katniss abruptly raises the bow into the air and lets the arrow fly.

A second later, President Coin's body falls over the balcony into the crowd. The tip of the arrow protrudes from her heart and her blood flows down the white marble stairs.

Then time suddenly seems to run back to normal speed. The crowd screams, this time out of anger, astonishment and horror, and suddenly there is movement in the square. President Snow, still alive, begins to laugh. Now they storm the square from all sides and chaos breaks out. I stare at the scene, as do many others; we are frozen in place. At least until the first shots echo across the open space. Another massacre.

I snap out of my trance, whirl around and try to get moving. This isn't the safest place for a woman in full Capitol finery surrounded by Rebels and their supporters. Panic breaks out. People scream and start running, but the place is too crowded. My eyes fixate on the palace, which suddenly seems quite far away.

Then someone grabs my arm. I want to stagger back, but there's no room to get out of the way. Arms wrap around my body, and I want to scream when Haymitch's scent wafts towards me. I turn my head and there is his face, inches from my own. Now I lean into his body as his arm wraps around my waist and we move towards the palace. "Damn, sweetheart, you're always where you shouldn't be."

"Where is Katniss?" I call over the din.

"Her guards have her," Haymitch says against my ear, and when he removes his mouth from my skin and our eyes meet, I see the conflict flash in his stormy eyes. I realize he's scared. "I wasn't sure if she would go through with it. But this girl rarely disappoints."

"You knew," I manage. We reach the stairs and Haymitch's grip on my waist loosens to move up to my back. We turn around to face the mob, which the Rebel soldiers can barely stop from entering the palace grounds.

Haymitch nods. "Katniss knew that the parachutes that killed Prim came from Coin. Coin wanted Prim there in front of the palace when the bombs exploded. She was on duty as a paramedic even though she wasn't even close to being of age. She was too young to be allowed to help in the middle of battle. Katniss knew it was murder because Coin personally authorized Prim for the job. We voted for the Games because anything else would have seemed suspicious to Coin."

"That doesn't make much sense to me," I reply, but I press myself closer to him as we climb the stairs, past Coin's corpse, staring wide-eyed at the blue sky.

"You do realize that this just drags things out further, right?" I sigh in frustration, even though I don't feel sorry for Coin. My eyes rest on the floor as we enter the palace, where it appears the state of emergency has been reinstated. "It all should have finally been over."

"It will be, Princess," Haymitch says, pressing his lips briefly against mine before pulling away. "I promise it will be over soon. Just a little longer."

For a moment that feels like an eternity, we stare into each other's eyes. Then Haymitch grins his typical, indifferent smile, as if Katniss didn't just murder the next president of Panem. His hair frames his stubbly face with unkempt strands, as if he last looked in the mirror days ago. Sometimes I can't shake the feeling that he's no less crazy than Johanna. "Go check on Peeta, I'll take care of Katniss."

And so, the game begins anew. We are mentor and escort again. Again, responsible for our children. Again, trying to protect them from the big fish on the board. Let's see how we manage this round.

-

And here starts a new game again. I hope you liked this chapter. There's not really much to say. Next week will be the last official chapter. After that, there's just the epilogue. So enjoy as long as you can. This is coming to an end soon enough and I have mixed feelings about it ...

Let me know what you think in the comments! Also please leave me kudos/a like, it helps reaching new readers!

See you next week for the finale,

Skyllen