CHAPTER ONE
NO WAY OUT

current day

Arella had lost most of her sanity long ago, her mind scrambled with images of death and destruction from a life of unrest. She knows people talk about her, that those who live in her District don't even know how to approach her in fears that they'll set her off. The thing is, Arella would rather they left her alone anyway. Being a Victor has brought her far too much attention as it is, constant trips to the Capitol so that they can parade her around like some prized possession.

To the Capitol residents, she's a sweet girl who killed for their entertainment, whose hands are so slick with blood that she's almost forgotten what her skin looks like when clean. To District Five, their precious Victor is a shell of a person who has forgotten how to smile without cameras pointed at her face.

Surviving the Games is probably worse than dying in them, her actions in the arena do relay around her mind every time she closes her eyes. It's like some horrible nightmare that she tries to convince herself isn't real, that she hadn't totally lost her mind in that Arena. The beautiful blonde girl who she had left to bleed out in the snow, her halo stained red as the life drained from within her. Arella constantly tries to justify what she'd done, make it seem like it was a normal thing to do, but even she isn't able to warp her mind that greatly.

A monster, she'd accepted her fate years ago as had all those around her. The last remaining member of her family doesn't look at her the same as they once did, Arella doesn't miss the small frightful stares she receives at times. When she spaces out and sees her District partner's youthful face in front of her, reaching out to touch his cheek and comfort him as he cries, she just knows her sister believes that she has truly lost it.

Arella still sees him, his twelve year old smile forever immortalized in death, she hears his agonizing screams as she fails to protect him over and over again. A mere little boy, dead before he even got to live and here she is, a lost soul who wanders the Earth with breath in her lungs but death in her eyes. All she had done since meeting him, since seeing the terror strike his expression, was tell herself that he was the one who deserved to go home to his family — her sister would understand why she did it, why he needed to be the survivor. The pain of her death would pulsate in her heart with every beat but his beating heart would cement her legacy as a girl who was pure to the core.

With his lifeless gaze came the end of her kindness, her mercy for those who only wanted to live. Each and every person who crossed her path became an enemy, no tribute was safe from the wrath of the devil who had expertly disguised herself as an angel. Her touch light and gentle but the blade of her weapon sharp and cruel, the innocence in her eyes a mere facade that many struggled to see through — quite often, that had been their untimely downfall.

A trail of blood had followed after her in the arena, the crimson dripping from her blade into the white snow and washing away its purity — much like the Capitol had done to her.

Ever since then, she would seek out the cold, somehow finding a comfort in it that she can't explain. Even now, as she lays amongst the snow, Arella is questioning why she's even here. Almost every ounce of warmth has fled her body as she lays amongst the snow, limbs on the verge of freezing whilst the flakes continue to line her clothing. The odd part of it all is that Arella Sinclair feels more comfortable here than she has anywhere else for years. As District Five is a notoriously warmer place, she has hardly been able to sink into the cool that she enjoys so much. The Capitol, however, has its colder days exactly like today.

She had escaped from the Tribute Building a few hours prior, leaving her tributes to the stylists who would be getting them ready for the upcoming Tribute Parade. Arella couldn't take looking at their innocent faces, the fear in their gaze as their reality began to set.

There's chatter around her, guards watching as the young Victor stares up at the sky with a blank expression. This is simply just her these days, a lost soul who wanders through the snowy plains without a word spoken to those who follow after her. They don't trust her not to flee, or at least they don't trust her to not get lost, because a small group of Peacekeepers join her on every walk. Arella doesn't mind too much, they're relatively quiet and they don't bother her either, they simply just let her be.

"Miss Sinclair, you're needed back at the Tribute Building," One of the younger Peacekeepers calls out to her, his tone a little gentler than she is used to. Marcel she believes his name is, an older man who had been in charge of escorting her to and from her room when she was a tribute. "Your tributes are about to face the parade,"

Arella allows the snow to brush against her face for a few more moments, moments that she cherishes greatly, before slowly pushing herself to her feet. The numbness in her face is a comforting feeling, the cold nipping at her reddened nose as Marcel wraps an extra blanket around her. She doesn't fight it, there's no point really, the Capitol is far more concerned with her wellbeing than she is so they make sure the weather doesn't take her out. She'd been forced to put on several jackets when they found her, just enough that the hypothermia didn't settle in.

The girl continues to shake slightly, her body desperate for warmth that she doesn't want to give it. Arella had once thought that her body would acclimatize to the weather but it's objected all attempts so far. It's as if her mind is continuing to play tricks on her and torment her in ways that she still can't understand entirely.

They sneak her in the back way, like they always seem to do, in order to avoid the public eye. A much beloved Victor like Arella Sinclair could not be seen in such a state or there would be questions raised, questions she's not even sure she could answer for them.

"You have about ten minutes to get ready before you're expected down stairs," Marcel speaks as they reach her room, the man nodding towards her wardrobe.

Arella walks into the room and closes the door behind her, trudging over to the dresser and pulling out a pair of dress pants and a button up blouse. She's quick to get changed, slipping into a pair of boots as well. Standing before the mirror, she slowly combs a brush through her thick hair, making it look at least somewhat presentable.

It's unfortunate for them but Arella knows that her tributes will likely be dressed up as something to do with power, just as she had been — a stereotypical representation of District Five people by a group of Capitol residents who take the hard workers for granted. There's a small ache in her heart as she thinks about the two of them, neither of them even old enough to have a proper job, too young to make a life for themselves before it's ripped away.

Shaking her head, as if it'll make the thoughts go away, Arella puts the relic-like brush back onto her dresser and heads back outside. Taking a few deep breaths to compose herself, the young woman makes her way downstairs. As soon as the elevator doors fly open on the bottom floor, Arella puts on the most genuine smile that she can manage.

Several of the Capitol workers, more so the stylists than anybody else, greet her as she practically glides down the halls towards the Tributes. She doesn't miss the sidewards glances as she makes her way through the crowd, the children from the Districts obviously recognizing her. Arella has so much practice with this by now, not allowing her smile to slip for even the slightest of seconds.

Her tributes are having their outfits fixed up by the stylists, some last minute ramifications as they get ready to face the Capitol citizens. Finch and Argo, a redheaded girl and a dark haired boy — neither of them can be older than fifteen. Both are rather quiet as well, shy just as she had been, they seem almost too afraid to speak to her. Arella gets it, she does, her mentor had been a drunken man named Jack whom didn't really help her nor did he really help Malcolm when they were in the arena. She'd vowed she would never be like that, these kids deserve a chance to live.

Even if living with what you've done is often worse than dying.

"Finch, Argo," Arella greets sweetly, appearing before them. Her smile dims slightly at the sight of the terror on their faces, leaning forward she presses a hand to each of their cheeks. "You're both going to be great. Don't fret, they will love you,"

"What do we do?" Finch asks quietly, breath a little shaky.

"Smile and wave, they love it when you embrace them. Act like they're your friends," Arella advises.

Finch nods and she gets a slight look of acknowledgment from Argo. They get onto their chariot and when Finch sends Arella one last glance, the mentor simply smiles in encouragement. It's so incredibly nerve wracking to face thousands of spectators, especially ones who will happily be cheering for your death in a matter of days, but it's even worse to stand before the President. Arella remembers the first time she got a glance of the man in person, a shiver running down her spine as he smiled at the crowd. He was even more horrifying up close, eyes tinged with a sick pleasure when he placed the crown upon her head.

The roar of the crowd is the only confirmation she needs to know that the first chariot has made its way into view. Her tributes move out of view and she's left watching as the others pass by, her gaze lingering on the girl and boy from District Twelve who are dressed much differently than normal. The girl catches her eye and they hold for a second before flicking away.

"Arella,"

The twenty year old turns her head and sees Haymitch Abernathy walking over, greeting her with his usual wry smile.

"Haymitch, it's nice to see you somewhat sober," Arella replies, snark creeping its way into her tone. The District Twelve mentor doesn't seem the slightest bit insulted by her attitude — probably because he's used to it. "Did you need something?"

"No but I thought I'd come and see how you are. Jack has been telling me that you've hid yourself away again," Haymitch comments casually, as if he's not prying into her personal life.

"Jack doesn't know the difference between a potato and bread, the man is an idiot. Are you aware that you two gossip like a bunch of teenage girls?"

Haymitch chuckles quietly. "I'm just looking out for you, kid. It's good to see you. How's Mirabelle doing?"

The mention of her sister causes her body to sag ever so slightly, she's not quite sure whether the man picked up on it or not. The two girls have a rather strained relationship these days, it's like Mirabelle can't even look at her properly anymore. Her big sister, the girl whom she'd looked up to ever since she was a kid, was practically disgusted by the sight of her. Arella can pretend like it doesn't sting but it most certainly does.

"She's fine. Seeing some boy from the District and working on her art," Arella responds. The brunette is watching the screen in front of her, eyebrows raised as the two tributes from District Twelve have flames dancing over their costumes. "That's a statement. Looks like you've got a lively bunch,"

"You have no idea,"

Arella sits at the table across from Finch and Argo, to two of them scoffing down the food in front of them rather ferociously. They're practically skin and bone, the slightest of touches would break their fragile forms, not an ideal tribute for the Games — part of the reason the Capitol is so keen on treating them like celebrities. Nobody here wants to watch a Games where all the participants are dead from malnourishment, the Capitol residents would probably riot.

"You two start training tomorrow," Arella states, gaining their attention rather effectively. "It's not fun, it'll be a bit scary, but you need to learn. Not just the weapons either, survival skills. How to light a fire, what berries you can eat and what ones you cannot. Death doesn't always come at the hand of another in the Arena,"

"They watch us, right?" Argo asks quietly, tilting his head to look at his mentor as he questions her. "The Gamemakers?"

Arella nods. "Yeah, they'll be watching. Whether you choose to show them some of your strengths now or later in your individual assessment is up to you. Do either of you have any special skills?"

Finch and Argo look at each other for a few moments, almost silently communicating, before turning their attention back to Arella. "I tested pretty high in school, teacher said I had an above average IQ. I-I'm pretty good with survival skills," Finch speaks.

"Okay, that's good. Argo?"

"I mean I have a bit of strength but nothing else," He shrugs solemnly.

"That's okay, that's what these next few days are about. You learn new skills and you stick with the ones you're good at,"

Arella had stressed this with her tributes last year as well, desperate to make sure they stay alive. The duo had been a lot less skilled than what she's hearing from these two and they seemingly didn't find anything to excel in — she lost them both in the initial bloodbath, something that still haunts her mind to this day. The young girl being shielded by her older District partner, the boy desperately swinging his sword only for one of the Careers to come along and slit his throat. The girl barely had time to scream before she was gone too, body landing on her protector as the life drained from both their eyes.

Arella had been sitting not far from a District Four victor when it happened, the man had leaned over to gently touch her shoulder as she shook. Finnick Odair may have been many things to those around him but she will never forget the compassion in his eyes as he tried to comfort her, knowing exactly what it was like to lose those who have trusted you with their life.

"I'm going to head up to bed," Arella speaks softly, hands trembling slightly as her thoughts race. "Please make sure you get plenty of sleep, it will be a long day tomorrow,"

Neither of them question her abrupt exit, waving goodbye whilst she practically flees the area. The sound of her heart racing in her ears, lungs struggling to fill with the oxygen they so desperately need, it's all way too familiar. Stumbling into her room, Arella leans over to one of the panels and turns the air conditioning on. Lowering it down to as low of a temperature as it allows, she falls back onto her bed and lays her head on the pillow.

The feeling of her entire body trembling at the rush of cold air is enough to help calm her down, eyes closing and allowing it to start to lull her into a deep slumber. There she dreams, her entire being surrounded by the snow as she settles into her safe place. They call her Snow Angel for a reason, so acclimatized to the freezing sensation that it feels like her natural environment.

Arella Sinclair knows that in a matter of days she'll likely lose this too, huddled up in one of the viewing rooms as she tries to keep her tributes alive. There will be no snow, no cold, she will be so far out of her comfort zone that her mind will race again. Finch and Argo, they matter more than the noise in her head, she can try and deal with that later. She will help them before she falls into the emptiness that she hides within, Arella will keep it at bay until she can't anymore.

Finch or Argo have to walk through these halls again after the Games are over, they have to. Arella isn't so sure she can deal with the aftermath again, the disgust that she feels with herself maximized.

Arella will have a winning tribute this time, she couldn't possibly live with herself if she doesn't.

NOTE!

Hi! Welcome! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! The next one will jump back to her Games and they will likely alternate continuously until this Part is over.

Thank you for reading! I hope to see you next time!