This was rewrote so many times--I honestly had not expected to write from Cassandra's perspective until my fingers just started typing and I swear to God, this is what came out. This was so not my intention. I love Cassandra and wanted her to continue to be a support for Scarlet :(

Hopefully you will come back after reading this. And if you start crying, just remember, you are not alone.

Kindly remember to vote.

Stay safe and take care!~ CANGEL

***

Cassandra Valentino

     Cassandra didn't know what she was doing anymore.

     When she had decided to be a stylist for the tributes, it had seemed like the best opportunity for her to stand on her own and build her own reputation, but now, there was a part of her that wished she'd never left her families generational designer business.

     As Verra sat next to her, completely focused on her work as she finalized the details of tomorrow's outfit for Crimson, Cassandra sat in the quiet, completely unsettled. The only thing that she knew was that if Scarlet died in that Arena, she wouldn't take a new tribute.

     Cassandra stared down at the finished drawing on her lap.

     She was supposed to be working on Scarlet's interview dress. She had most of it put together, but she had planned to finalize the matching details with Verra tonight, since Scarlet and Crimson still wanted to present themselves as 'the twins' to the Capitol.

     But tonight, her fingers didn't draw something that Scarlet would ever want to wear. Especially not here in the Capitol when she was fighting for her life.

     Cassandra traced some of the lines with her finger. The white dress would be made of a thicker material. Fur or hide of some kind. Cassandra could almost feel the fabric though there was nothing but paper underneath the pad of her finger.

     On the paper was a girl with thick, long curls that were a bit wild as they blew in the wind and across her face, completely bare of makeup. The girl was small and barefooted. Her curves were non-existent and her chest as flat as any child's would be.

     The dress she wore was designed for warmth, over beauty. A hood pulled up over her head, to shield her from the harsh winds of District 14.

     Her lips were curved into a smile, but not one that she always wore here. It wasn't wicked or daring or provocative. The smile on this face was soft and sweet.

     It was innocent.

     Her hazel eyes were bright and hopeful.

     And Cassandra couldn't help but wonder; was this who Scarlet could have been? If Panem—if the Capitol hadn't stolen her innocence by letting her grow up in the harshness of District 14. Is this who she should've been, if the Capitol hadn't forced her to be a tribute in the Hunger Games?

     Was this who she could have been?

     Cassandra's dresses for Scarlet were something that she wouldn't ever put on anyone under the age of twenty. And yet she was stuffing this young girl into a corset and heels and parading her around in front of the Capitol in outfits that were barely there.

     It was her job to attract the Capitol to Scarlet. Cassandra had done her job. In the beginning, she hadn't cared about anything other than the dress the girl wore and how it looked on her. In the beginning, she could be cold and distant. She could be selfish and only think about her reputation.

     But Cassandra knew Scarlet now. Scarlet was hostile, cold, distant, and she wasn't very likable. It was what had allowed Cassandra to do her job so efficiently in the beginning.

     But underneath the hostile exterior that Scarlet presented, was a girl. A little twelve-year-old girl who was fighting for her life.

     In the beginning, Cassandra had wanted her to win, because it would look good for her. Her own reputation linked to her own identity would finally be established away from her family's name.

     But then Cassandra had wanted her to win, because she hadn't wanted to see Scarlet die.

     Something else happened, then. Slowly at first, a budding hope grew inside her, then gradually that hope morphed into something else entirely. Belief.

     Cassandra had started to believe that Scarlet could win the Hunger Games.

     Now Cassandra believed that she would win.

     But what would happen to her after? When the Capitol saw this dark seductress and wicked temptress emerge from the Arena alive? When they got a hold of her and refused to relinquish their hold on her until the last of her innocence was claimed?

     What would happen to her when Alistair Paine got a hold of her?

     Guilt ate at Cassandra. It was her fault. If anyone was to be blamed for Scarlet's current predicament with Alistair Paine and impending doom, it was her. Cassandra had painted Scarlet as a warrior. As someone fierce. As someone older than twelve. She had done it to make her stand out. To make her seem like a competitor. But now, Scarlet would be left to face the consequences.

     "What are we doing, Verra?" Cassandra asked as she turned to face her lover. If anyone could help her settle the guilt churning inside her, it would be Verra, especially since Verra seemed to feel none.

     "What do you mean?"

     Cassandra could tell that Verra was only half listening as she continued to sketch in her book. Was it easier because Crimson was a boy? Or perhaps it was just dependent on the tribute. Cassandra didn't know how Verra could remain so level-headed. She wished she could be more like Verra at times like these, but she couldn't.

     Irritation sliced through her at being ignored. "Will you put that down and listen to me?" She shouted.

     Verra's hand stilled. Then she looked up, concern etched on her face.

     Cassandra grabbed her hand and leaned close. "Please, Verra. I don't know how to help her."

     "It's not your job to help her." Verra said with a frown. "It's your job to make her look beautiful. You've done it, Cassandra. Take a step back and look around, everyone who is anyone will be lining up at your door craving your designs."

     "Verra, she's just a child! I am destroying her! If she wins, the Capitol will see only the seductress that I've created!"

     "She's a tribute." Verra said slowly. As if Cassandra was crazy and she was trying not the startle her with sudden movements.

     "But I know her." Cassandra said helplessly. "She's not just a tribute to me. I can't see any of the tributes in the same way anymore. And the more I start to see them, the more I don't think I can do this again." Cassandra grabbed Verra's hands in hers and kneels down on the ground before her. "Please understand, Verra. Please understand what I'm saying."

     Cassandra's hands shook, and she didn't know if it was from her or Verra or from both of them.

      "I know that I love you, Cassandra." Verra responded finally, her eyes not able to hold Cassandra's.

     "I love you, too." Cassandra said back. She kisses Verra's fingers.

     "But you can't talk like this ever again." Cassandra stilled as Verra finally meets Cassandra eyes. "If you do, I'll be forced to report you."

     "W-what?"

     Verra pulled her hands away from Cassandra's and picked up her pencil and paper. "I have to think about my life. My career. Cassandra, I like it, a lot. I don't want my life to change. I don't want anything to change. I'm happy."

     A tear slipped down Cassandra's face.

     "What are you saying?"

     "I'm saying that if you continue down the path you're heading, you're going to end up dragging everyone around you down with you. I won't be dragged down with you, though. You might have more natural talent than me, but I have worked twice as hard to get to where I'm at now."

     "Verra..." Cassandra let's her lover's name fall from her lips one last time even though she's sure that everything that could be said, had already been said. What was left of them with everything out in the open? Had there ever been anything between them to begin with? Or was she just a steppingstone on Verra's quest for acknowledgement and advancement?

     No.

      Cassandra knew in her heart that what they had shared had meant something. She knew it in her soul.

     Cassandra wiped her tears away and stood up from where she knelt on the floor.

     "I can't stop. Because I'm not wrong, Verra." She whispered. "Panem is wrong. We are wrong." Saying the words out loud only confirmed it for her. She truly believed it, deep down in her soul. 

     The Hunger Games were wrong. 

     "But I can't force you to open your eyes to what's in front of you." She grabbed her sketch pad off the couch. "I'll leave now, and I won't drag you down with me." Cassandra leaned down and pressed a kiss to Verra's cheek. "Don't stay blind forever, Verra Pietra."

     Cassandra wiped the tear that rolled down Verra's cheek away and walked out of her home, shutting the door firmly behind her.

***

     She was halfway to her own home when she was approached by two peacekeepers. A pit grew in her stomach as they stopped her.

     "Cassandra Valentino?"

     "Yes. That's me."

     "You are under arrest by order of President Snow."

     Shock and numbness warred inside her as the words of the peacekeeper ring in her ears on repeat. Under arrest? Her? She hadn't done anything though. She couldn't be arrested, could she?

     The only thing running through her mind, was Verra. Did she report her?

     Cassandra refused to believe it. She refused. Verra...loved her. They loved each other. Even if Verra didn't agree with Cassandra...even if they were breaking up...she loved her. She wouldn't...

     She didn't protest when they cuffed her hands behind her back or led her to the back of the sleek black car parked in the road next to them.

     On their way to the car, she heard her name called out. She glanced over her shoulder.

     None other than Finnick Odair stood frozen in place, his eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. "Cassandra?" He repeated, before meeting her eyes. 

     Haymitch stood next to him, or what could be counted as standing. He leaned against the wall of the building, squinting at Cassandra as if trying to place her face. Cassandra would rather that he not place her anywhere in that filth ridden brain of his.

     "Stop causing trouble Fick--shit--what's your name, again?" Haymitch slurred as he spoke. "You don't know her..."

     "I do know her. She's Scarlet's stylist!" Finnick argued. "Cassandra!"

     "Finnick." She called out, trying to turn around but only really managing to look over her shoulder as far as her neck would twist.

     "Finnick!" Haymitch's voice called out excitedly. "That's your name!"

     Finnick's feet started moving, but she could tell he'd spent the night drinking by the way he stumbled on the sidewalk. She saw and heard Haymitch retching on the sidewalk behind him. A shudder runs up her spine.

     "What's happening?" Finnick asked.

     "I'm being arrested." She called back.

     "I can see that." Finnick rolled his eyes, nearly toppling over sideways. "For what?" he asked, as he recovered.

      Cassandra didn't know. She didn't know! "It doesn't matter." She knew she only had a few seconds before the peacekeepers would pull her away. They were approaching the car rapidly. "Finnick, tell Scarlet what happened—but not until after the interviews, okay?" She blinked away tears. "And tell my brother...tell him I love him."

     Finnick shook his head. "This can't be happening." He looked at the peacekeepers. "Hey, this has to be a mistake. She's a tribute stylist for Panem's sake. Let her go."

     "Mr. Odair, you are clearly intoxicated. Go home. Sleep it off. Or we will arrest you as well."

     Cassandra could see that Finnick was about to explode on the peacekeepers. At sixteen, his life as a Victor and beloved darling of the Capitol had seemed to make him forget that even he could be punished for defying President Snow.

     "Finnick, it's okay." She rushed out quickly, trying to stop him from doing something stupid. "I'm sure it's a mistake and I'll be released in a while."

     Haymitch's arm landed around Finnick's shoulder, keeping him in place. Cassandra has always found Haymitch repulsive. His looks were a horror story to any designer and stylist with his long dark curls that were always greasy and unwashed, and his skin layered with dirt. Ripped and wrinkled clothing, stained from nights of drinking that she bet he didn't remember. All that and he seemed to be followed by a wafting smell of urine and vomit.

     But Cassandra was glad that he was here right now. She was glad that he was with Finnick. They watched her as the peacekeepers opened the door and pushed her inside.

     She could tell that Finnick knew she was lying. Perhaps Haymitch still thought Finnick might do something rash as he muttered over to the young boy, "Come on, Finnick. The only thing you can do is cause more trouble for her."

     She could see that Finnick didn't want to listen to his drinking companion. But he had to know that Haymitch was right. There was nothing that they could do to help her.

     Finnick was just as helpless as she was.

     "Help her, Finnick. Help Scar—" The door shut, cutting off the rest of her words. She stared at Finnick through the thin pane of glass. Help her. Don't let her be alone.

      After a few minutes of idling in the parking spot and the smell of exhaust filling the car, the car pulled onto the road and started driving.

     She finally found her voice again. "What are the charges against me?"

     "Treason against the Panem Nation and trying to cause dissent among its faithful citizens'."

     Cassandra blinked away tears, taking deep breaths. "Who—" her voice cracked, and she swallowed, her throat dry as sandpaper. She cleared it. "Who is accusing me?"

     The peacekeeper turned around and looked at her from the passenger seat of the front of the car. "President Snow said to tell you that you already know who the accuser is."

     Betrayal clogged her throat, stopping her from responding. She leaned her head against the cool glass of the darkened window.

     Tears fell down her cheeks in rivets.

     Verra.

     She wanted to hate her. She wanted to hate her so desperately, she physically ached.

     But she couldn't hate her.

     Because she loved her.

     One day, you'll wake up, Verra. One day you'll wake up. I hope it's not too late.

     Cassandra stared out the window at the starry stars that lit up the sky. She wondered if she'd get the chance to see another one. Cassandra wasn't ignorant. She knew that being accused of treason and being arrested for it was the same as being convicted. 

     There would be no trial. There would be no second chance.

    Cassandra's grand and promising life in the Capitol was over. Whether or not she continued any type of life would be up to President Snow.

     She didn't know exactly who she prayed to in that moment or if it was even a prayer or just a wish from the bottom of her heart.

     Let Scarlet continue to be brave. Let her continue to be strong. Let her survive all the coming trials. And let her grow into the woman I see. Fearless. Boundless. Endless. Let her bring change to the Capitol. Let her right our sins and cleanse our souls.

     And please let her brother escape punishment for her treasonous deeds. Let Cinna grow up strong with his bold creativity and unparalleled passion. Keep him far away from the Hunger Games and all that they entail.

---------

I'm not crying. You're crying. Cassandra!!!!!!! :...(

Okay. I'm crying. 

Time for honesty. The reason that I kept making changes was because I could not let her go. I'm so sorry to Cassandra. I don't know why it had to go this way. I wanted you to so badly shine in the light. 

All I can say is that I don't think Scarlet would be who she had become without you, but I don't think that she will become who she has to, to survive after the games with you there to help her. You are too good, and she is bonding too hard with you. 

Kindly, I ask you to Vote and comment. Tell me what you thought of this emotionally charged update! Let me know how I'm doing with this story! 

As always, take care and stay safe! ~CANGEL