Thank you so much for all your support! 

I look forward to hearing from you in the comments!

Stay safe and take care~ CANGEL

***

Scarlet Wolfe

     It hadn't taken long for Scarlet to understand what Finnick meant—that she would be the Wicked Wolfe forever. It wasn't just her face or her hands that the Capitol had changed to embody the name, but entire persona.

     Scarlet hadn't questioned why Verra—Crimson's stylist, of all people—had been assigned to be her new stylist. She didn't need to. It was a punishment.

     It seemed a bit too pointed to be accidental. Just the sight of the stylist stung. A sharp and bitter prod into a still festering wound—a reminder of the many people she'd lost along the way here.

     Now she found herself trapped in a golden corset, wrapped in a silken red dress that draped so low so low that her belly button was near exposed. Pinned to her corset and held in place, it wasn't really revealing—just enticing—according to Verra.

     Red and bold. Just like you. She had told Scarlet. Chosen by President Snow himself, her meaning crystal clear. It wasn't up for debate.

     Scarlet had resolved to embrace the changes thrust upon her. She hadn't voiced a single objection, but it didn't make the unwanted choices any easier to accept.

     In fact, it had been nearly impossible, as Verra's prep team had finished her make up. Her skin had been made flawlessly smooth, a concealment that blended into her pale complexion, expertly hiding the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her cheeks now had a reddish hue, giving her face life and energy and her eyes were surrounded by black, emboldening her already bold golden wolf eyes. Her lashes had been coated with black and her lips had been painted red.

     The makeup, though unnecessary and a waste of time and effort—if she were ever asked—was expected and anticipated. But what was not, was the metal mask, they intended to strap across her lower face.

     Her instinct was to swat the mask away—an impulse formed in District 14 and honed in the Arena. Protect yourself. Her brain whispered. Don't let your guard down. But she forced her hands to stay at her sides, gripping the silk of her dress so tightly that a small part of her was worried her new nails might rip through the flimsy material.

     The prep team fussed with the prop adorning her face, their fingers brushing too close, making her skin crawl beneath the metal. The mask pressed against her skin like a second skin, its weight pulling at the back of her ears. Her breath fogged the inside, turning the cool metal damp and stifling. The heavy air trapped beneath it made every breath feel like a struggle.

     Verra touched the front a bit, and Scarlet forced herself not to move away. It was weird, to see Verra's hands moving and working so near her face, but not feel her fingers brushing her skin.

     Finally, fresh air rushed in and some of her heated breath escaped. It was better, but she desperately wanted it off.

     She wasn't sure what to expect, as she looked in the mirror, but it certainly wasn't what she saw. A predator stared back at her, more monster than girl.

     The mask was indeed metal, golden in color, that contoured perfectly around her cheeks and over her nose and mouth. A small black nose hung out further than where her own nose sat hidden under the metal. Golden, gleaming, terror striking fangs gleamed from the designed open-mouthed snarl. Grey fur surrounded the nose and mouth, leaving little question as to what it was supposed to be. A wolf mask. Paired with her golden wolf eyes and the furry little ears that had already been pinned in place atop her head.

     Scarlet really was the Wicked Wolfe of District 14. She was beauty and death wrapped up in a pretty little warped package.

     She was a dark temptress. Don't get too close, or you might end up dead.

     She was only twelve, but no one seemed to remember or even care. No one would ever see the child that they once had—the one too young and small to ever leave the Arena alive. She had resented them then. But now they would only see the monster—the wolf—that she was now.

      Before she'd become a tribute—before she'd come to the Capitol—before she'd entered the Arena—Scarlet had never wanted or felt a desire to lie to the people around her. Maybe only once or twice to Cadmium when she felt he needed comfort over a harsh truth, but Scarlet herself much preferred the truth.

     Maybe she had been a bit over exuberant in her daring and bold attitude coming to the Capitol, but everything she'd said and done had still been her.

     Only since leaving that Arena—becoming a Victor, had she truly felt as if she were pretending to be someone else.

     It was better this way, though.

     If they feared her. If they thought that she was a monster. Then they would stay away from her. She didn't want to be fawned over and adored like Finnick, or beloved like the Victors from District 1 and 2.

     Like she had told Finnick, she wanted to be alone.

    It was better to be alone.

     Cassandra. Crimson. Scarlet's Wave. Cadmium's Crest. Even Crimson's Tide. They were all dead. Because of her. Eleven tributes, including her brother had died because of her.

     This was her penance. This was the cost of her life. If she failed, then there was hardly a point to her surviving the Arena at all.

***

     As Scarlet sat across from Caesar during the Victor's Interview, she watched the highlights of the 67th Hunger Games, as they flashed on a large screen above them. The Capitol audience in front of her were mesmerized, terrified, and horrified as they watched the screen, frozen in their seats.

     She sat with her arm against the back of her plump, perfectly cushioned chair, body relaxed. Her lips—hidden completely beneath the metal mask—were curved in a smile, out of habit, rather than necessity.

     Proud. Satisfied. Victorious.

     Monster.

     That was what the Capitol would see when they looked at her. That was what all of Panem would see.

     She noticed right away that the highlights all showcased her embodying her new title. They all showed her as the Wicked Wolfe.

     From the very beginning, they showed a culmination of scenes, pitting Scarlet against Crimson.

     A strategic and bloodthirsty Crimson versus a heartless and ruthless Scarlet.

     From her killing Dawson, to sacrificing Lilian, to slitting Wolver's throat—her most brutal and ruthless actions were projected for all of Panem to see.

     But all of that faded, as a sudden, eerie quiet formed. Goosebumps spread across her arms and a shiver raced up her spine. A camera shot inside the Arena appeared on the screen of the sun peaking up over the woodlands. Quiet. Peaceful. Beautiful. Scarlet recognized it instantly. The dawn of the fourth day in the Arena.

     The last showdown between the two final tributes.

     Between a sister and a brother.

     I hate you.

     Those were her last words to her brother. Or that was what the Capitol would see. Even now, Scarlet wasn't sure if those words had been for her brother, or for herself, or if the 'you' she had called out was for anyone and everyone that had watched, or for all of Panem and the Capitol, for putting her in that damned Arena.

     Most eyes were on the screen. A few would be watching her. Even with her heart pounding and her stomach twisting, and her brain barely able to accept this as reality, she made sure that outwardly, her expression never faltered. All they would see was a ruthless, heartless, monster, who showed no remorse or regret, even as she watched herself beheading her twin brother with razor wire.

      It hadn't been as quick as it had felt in the Arena. It had been a slow, agonizing death for Crimson—it had taken minutes, upon minutes, the metal biting deep into his flesh, cutting into his skin, his veins, his trachea and esophagus. He had died long before the wire had cut completely through his throat, but for every minute that he had survived, it had been a torturous hell.

     Before the highlights had started, Caesar had teased her lightly at the way her last interview had gone down. She had laughed along playfully, gesturing to her much different costume choice. She'd wagged her black tipped nail in the air at him, teasing that they shouldn't ever try to put a wolf in kids clothing.

     He'd discussed the new changes to her appearance, noting her claw-like nails, her eyes, and the mask. She'd played along like she'd had a say in the matter, playfully snapping her teeth at him as she asked, "why bother pretending to be something that you aren't?"

     There was a brief video shown from back home. Since her family was too large to do individual interviews, they had opted to do a large sit down with everyone crammed together in their tiny home back in District 14. Scarlet noted that either the Capitol or her family had attempted to spruce up their home to make it appear more inviting.

    But nothing could hide the stark, rundown walls or the threadbare floorboards and broken windows and the way breath clouded the air when anyone spoke, even when inside.

     The video was taken some time on the third day in the Arena. When it was known that the Victor would come from District 14, more specifically, from the Wolfe family. And maybe that was why they had let her and Crimson have that final peaceful night before the final bloody battle.

     Her family had been teary-eyed and sad, yet bravely wishing Crimson and Scarlet the best of luck. As long as one of their children came home...her mother said before breaking off sobbing. Her father grunted a lot, looking big and bearish in his chair.

     For once, Scarlet was glad for the mask that covered her face, because she couldn't help the sneer that formed on her face as Auburn and Violet had their moment in the limelight as the two siblings that Scarlet and Crimson had volunteered for. Scarlet didn't pay attention to the questions they were asked or the answers they gave.

     Instead, her eyes scanned the crowd. Like a beacon, her attention caught on him—why did she always seem to be able to find him? Finnick. Sat relaxed in a chair near the front row. More Victor's surrounded him, some faces she had seen before, others she didn't recognize. But none of them held her attention like he did, especially as his green eyes found hers, as if he'd felt her golden eyed stare even at the distance between them.

     For a moment, she wondered if he saw past her smile and predatory wolf eyes, seeing the storm welling underneath? But then she remembered—it didn't matter—he was playing his part, too.

     The images of the screen changing pulled her attention away from Finnick's green eyed stare. Her crystal pendant seemed to burn against her skin. Her fingers gripped the back of the chair tightly as the camera focused on the small boy standing in the far back corner of the room with his curly black hair and sad hazel eyes.

     Her spine stiffened and for the first time that night, she felt her hackles raise. Her defensive walls slid into place, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something atrocious.
She didn't want him anywhere near the Capitol—even if it was just a video of him playing and he was still back home in District 14.

     Cadmium.

     He looked so pale and gaunt—was he eating enough? –dressed in worn clothing, though she could tell they were Auburn's old ones as they hung loosely on Cadmium's body—at least there were no holes. She'd only been gone a short while, but he looked so much more worn. Tired. Her brother looked a bit dazed, his lips pressed into a line as his eyes flickered around the room.

     She watched as Cadmium's hazel eyes shifted to the camera; his attention drawn by whatever question was being asked.

     His lips curled upward, but she can see the disgust written all over his face. His lowered brow and tightened fists. It was impossible not to see the pain in his face that he was trying so desperately to hide.

     Out of everyone there in that little house, Cadmium would be in the most pain. Brother and sister. He loved them both—she knew he did. Not only would one have to die, but one would have to kill the other.

     He watched me kill Crimson.

    Will he hate me?

    Will he see me as a monster too?

     "She'll win." He said, his voice pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts as he walked closer and closer to the camera before his body cut out of the camera view. He knew she'd win. The flickered of surprise by his undoubted belief in her was quickly washed away as Bash began to rise, shouting at Cadmium to get back there, his hand automatically reaching for the birch branch hidden in the side of his chair—always within reach.

     The video ended abruptly before anything more could happen. Worry tugged at her insides. Had her father beaten Cadmium? Had he escaped their father's wrath with the presence of the Capitol in their home?

     Pulling her attention away from the now black screen, Caesar commented that Cadmium had been right on the money, before moving quickly on to other topics. The questions were light and teasing and she realized that they never focused too long on her feelings, her emotions, or thoughts. Every question was surface-level or focused on her brutal actions in the game.

     It was during the highlights that she had realized why—though she should have realized much sooner. In every respect, they wanted her to be seen as the Wicked Wolfe. The tribute who had no softness or hesitation. The tribute who killed her allies with a kiss and a smile before collecting their gear and moving on. They did not want anyone to pity or feel sorry for her, to see her as the young girl she was.

     When the highlights ended, she turned her attention to Caesar, waiting for what would come next from his mouth.

     "There has been a lot of talk about the Hunger Games this year, which is so surprising, considering that we just watched probably one of the shortest highlight reels ever..." He paused, angling a bit toward the crowd. "And yet, so much happened, it's hard to feel upset."

     Scarlet didn't answer right away, as she didn't know the best way to respond. He hadn't really asked a question, but it was clear by his waiting pause that he was expecting a comment. Still, it was hard to wrap her brain around. They were upset because the games hadn't lasted long enough?

     She chuckled a little, letting it fill the pause as she tried to think of an answer. A reason. An excuse?

     Her eyes locked on him. The Capitol Darling. The golden boy, sitting front and center in the crowd. He was watching her, just as the last time she had looked there, but now, instead of a simple smile adorning his face, he raised a brow, as if in challenge.

     Challenge.

     Her challenge to him made in her last interview flooded her mind.

     It was the excuse she needed, though she did have to push a slight twinge of guilt at the fact that she was using Finnick. She didn't have a choice.

     She looked back at Caesar. "Well, I made a promise, didn't I?"

     "A promise?" Caesar leaned in, all charm and smooth words, but Scarlet could see the glint in his eyes, and the gleam of his teeth made him seem almost as threatening as she did. Caesar was far more intelligent than he let on—and she supposed he had to be. He had a job to do and the Capitol to protect. And right now, he was really like a wolf on a trail, waiting for her to speak, to drop a juicy bit that he could feed to the hungry masses before them. He sat there, ready to spin and twist her words however he needed too, and it was tempting—too tempting—to spout out something completely atrocious, if only to watch him turn it into something amusing, or charming.

     She shrugged her shoulder, as if her words weren't a big deal, though inside her heart was thudding. "Or a challenge. I suppose."

     He nodded his head, and she couldn't tell if his eyes actually lit up with excitement, or if he had just changed his expression to make it appear so. "Ah yes. The challenge you made to Finnick Odair." Caesar scanned the crowd. "Now where is he?" On the screens, she saw a shift from her and Caesar's face, to the Finnick's, out in the crowd tonight. "Finnick!" Caesar called out, and she thought that she saw genuine emotion in Caesar's eyes. 

     Graciously, Finnick stood, smiling and waving to the crowd before nodding up at her and Caesar on the stage. 

     "How do you feel? Two years ago, you became one of the youngest Victor's ever to emerge from the Arena and now the Wicked Wolfe has emerged at only twelve years old."

     Finnick smiled, his teeth gleaming under the Capitol lights. "I'm sure I'll find some way to console myself."

     Caesar and he exchanged pointed looks as the crowd around him goes completely wild. "Yes, I'm sure you will."

     Unlike before, it hadn't bothered her nearly as much, the sway that Finnick held with the crowd. The more attention that was on him, the less the attention was on her.

     Caesar turned back to her, almost reluctantly—and she could for once, say she felt the same as him. She wished he had spent longer talking to Finnick, if only so she would have to say less. "If I recall correctly, you said you would end the games in less time than he had. And kill more than he had." It felt like her words were thrown back at her, smacking her in the face. She regretted them deeply now. How she'd boasted about how many tributes she'd kill. Monster. Caesar smiled back at her. "I think it's safe to say that you succeeded." The amusement in his voice and approval made her sick.

     Still, she smirked back at him from under the mask, even though he couldn't see it. "Was there ever any doubt?"

     "You had us right on the edge of our seats." Caesar laughed. "The way all those tributes came at you in waves on the second day and then jumping into the icy river to escape the pack of three. I thought for sure you were going to be lost to us. My heart was pounding the entire time, let me tell you!"

     She wondered if that was true. How many times has Caesar said that very line to a new Victor sitting right where she was sitting now? "Mine too."

     Caesar and the audience laughed at her words. Scarlet wished she could get up and leave. She wished she was still the girl she was before the Arena—that girl would have left; consequences be damned.

     But this girl knew better.

     When the audience settled down, Caesar leaned forward, his face suddenly serious, a knot of worry formed in her gut despite herself and she found herself leaning closer, anticipation of his words growing as she waited for his next words. "So, did you go into the Arena knowing you weren't going to have any lasting alliances?"

     The knot of worry untangled, the question surprising easy to answer with a simple, "yes."

     "You seemed to develop a habit of cleverly using your allies for what you needed and then getting rid of them as soon as you no longer needed them."

     Scarlet knew she could defend herself against Caesar's comments. She'd never made or agreed to any alliances before the games or during them. So, she couldn't've killed her allies.

      But Finnick's words flickered in her brain.

      She was the Wicked Wolf with a Kiss of Death.

      That was who the Capitol saw her as. This was who she had to be.

     So, instead of defending herself, she added fuel to the fire. "There was no need to keep them around if they could no longer help me. If they chose to trust me, then that was their mistake. I was there to win."

     Caesar smiled, though the rest of his face remained serious as he nodded. The crowd didn't laugh or cheer at her answer this time and Scarlet was glad. She had reminded them of what she was capable of. Of what she was.

     Wicked. Ruthless. Deadly.

     "Now, tell us about the wolves. Please. Everyone is dying to know about them."

     Now Scarlet had to actively fight the urge to stand and walk away. Her fingers clamped the edge of the chair so hard that cramps had started to form. There was no part of her that wanted to tell them anything about the wolves who had appeared in that Arena. But she knew that she would not be able to get away without sharing something.

     Reluctantly, she answered. "There's not much to tell, Caesar. District 14 is surrounded by a woodland wilderness. We trap animals of all types and use their fur to make clothing." She started, common knowledge there, but Caesar nodded along, patiently waiting for her to continue. "My brothers and I had found three pups that had wandered into District 14 a few years back." She blinked her eyes innocently at Caesar as the next words came from her mouth, "though it was tempting to kill them—you know how hard it is to get sent them back into the wild." She paused a moment as her eyes stung, threatening real tears. Fighting against them, she continued. "Them ending up inside the Arena...that was truly beyond my wildest imaginations."

     "Our hearts broke for you to lose them all. We could tell they meant something special to you. In fact, President Snow wanted me to give a gift to you. Something to remember them by."

     A person walked out onto the stage, carrying a large box in their arms. They set the box in front of Scarlet on the table. The box itself looked harmless. Plain and unadorned. Gold in color, but that was to be expected of anything in the Capitol. As Scarlet stared at it, a sinking feeling settled in her chest. She knew she wouldn't like what she found inside it. She knew.

     But she couldn't run away. And she couldn't lower her guard. Scarlet forced her apprehension away as she looked toward Caesar. He gave her a 'go ahead' nod and watched expectantly as she reached for the box, pulling the lid off.

     She paused as she stared at the contents inside of the plain looking box, horrified. Scarlet knew from practice that her expression wouldn't change, permanently fixed in her devil may-care smirk—it was all she could do to keep from flinching back as disbelief filled her. Anger pulsed inside of her, pushing at the bottom of her throat, trying to escape her.

     Scarlet pulled out black fur from the box. Its familiar sight terrified her as she recalled the feeling of his sharp teeth tearing into her skin, trying as hard as he could to take her life. She didn't have to ask to know who it belonged too. Crimson's Tide.

     She glanced over at Caesar who was cracking some joke or saying some nonsensical thing toward the audience. Scarlet couldn't make out the words coming from his mouth. She felt dizzy as she glanced down at the remaining contents of the box. Because there was more.

     Scarlet set the black fur down carefully on her lap and pulled out golden fur next.

     She swallowed the scream that wanted so badly to escape her as Cadmium's Crests' fur hung between her black tipped fingers. Cadmium's Crest had saved her life, losing his own in the process—and now—

     Scarlet set it down on top of Crimson's Tide's fur. Just keep going. Don't think. Just do. She reminded herself as she reached inside the box with shaking fingers.

     Soft fur hits her fingertips. It felt soft, almost too soft, as it brushed against her skin. It was wrong. All wrong. She ran her fingers over the familiar texture, bile rising in her throat. She let out a purposeful, steadying breath through her mouth, knowing it would remain hidden behind her snarling wolf mask, as she attempted to calm her body and her mind.

     Scarlet pulled out the snow-white fur of her Scarlet's Wave.

      Holding the white fur out in front of her, Scarlet looked over to Caesar and asked, "These were from President Snow?" not caring in the least if she had interrupted him as his attention landed back on her.

     Caesar leaned forward in his seat, his eyes assessing her, and she could see the moment he realized how precarious this situation had become. "You had such a connection in the games that he didn't want you to have to part from them, even after their deaths." He said, attempting to reassure her, but it did nothing to ease the pain inside. It did nothing to dampen the fury that had awoken inside her.

     She carefully lay the fur down on her lap, overlapping the golden and black fur beneath her. She fingered the snow-white fur in her lap. She could almost feel Scarlet's Wave sitting next to her, her familiar weight pressing against her leg. Guarding her and protecting her. Scarlet remembered seeing them up in the sky, running free as she lay in the snow, bleeding out. They had been peaceful. Happy. Free.

     But now they were here. Skinned and showed off for amusement. Trapped in the Capitol. How could they ever run free when she held their skins in her hands?

     "This was done by someone in District 14?" She said, her fingers splayed across the furs as she pulled her eyes off them and back onto Caesar.

     "Only the best for you."

     Only it wasn't the best. She glanced down at the black, golden and white furs on her lap. The work was subpar and rushed. Probably in order to meet the two-week deadline from the time the Hunger Games had ended to this interview.

     Scarlet carefully placed all of the furs back in the box and covered the top with the lid.

     She leaned forward and gestured for Caesar to come closer to her with a curl of her sharp-tipped fingers. Caesar hesitated for only a moment, before following her lead, leaning in close to her.

     Scarlet carefully pulled the mask from her face, revealing her red painted lips for the first time that night. Her ears protested as she freed them of the heavy weight but she paid them no mind. She was on a mission.

     She had been determined to be a good girl. To play the part that they demanded. But this was too much. This was enough. She couldn't keep quiet any longer, pretending that this was all okay.

     Scarlet set her mask in the box on top of the white fur. She leaned forward, her painted lips brushing his cheek. Her Kiss of Death. Caesar's smile faltered, his eyes widening as the weight of her words settled in.

     "Pass along my eternal thanks to President Snow."

     He jerked back, one hand instinctively rising to his throat.

     There was no response to her statement, but Caesar knew what her words and actions had meant, but he was a professional, and he was damned quick on his feet as his hand moved to his cheek, acting surprised and shocked at her kiss instead of her words.

     She knew it wasn't smart. She knew she'd pay the price for her words.

     But she didn't care.

     Scarlet wanted to make him pay.

     He'd stolen the wolves' souls. He'd taken away their peace in death.

     She wanted to make him regret.

     The regret she wanted him to feel was a dream she'd never realize. He was the President of Panem and she was just a girl from District 14. So, despite what she wanted, she settled for a kiss on the cheek and a camouflaged threat.

------------

What do you think? Can we all just agree that Scarlet should never be angered, if for the sole purpose of avoiding her explosive and impulsive reactions????

My Dear, why oh why do you insist on making your life so much harder??

Comment and vote if you enjoyed~ STAY SAFE AND TAKE CARE! 

CANGEL