What it is, where it stops, nobody knows
The train that takes them to the Capitol has become familiar, like a visit to a place you used to hate with a burning passion, but now only makes you feel hollow.
Every year, Airelle watches as two young people walk the same path she once walked, and every year, she sees their faces pass her by in a whirlwind, blurring into each other, never stopping for a minute. She doesn’t remember most of their names-but no, that is not quite right. She knows the names, but they mean nothing; they are faceless. She does not remember what Reina Alton looked like, if she had long hair or short, if she was skinny or well-fed. She doesn’t remember how Surrey Hale died, which of the Careers’ weapons found him in the Bloodbath five years ago.
They are always young, and they are always dead. What else is there to remember?
Most of them, they are dead before they even enter the arena. They’re dead with their fear and apprehension, so much so that even if she managed to secure all the sponsors in Panem for them -oh, and she tries. She may not believe but let it never be said that Airelle Henders does not try-, even then, if they had weapons and food and medicine, they would still die, frozen and scared and trying to run.
It’s enough to make anybody lose their mind. With every passing year, she speaks less and less, and she too tries to run.
Still, sometimes she can’t help it. Sometimes there’s a conversation, a comment, maybe even a glance that causes her to hope against hope, against odds, against every instinct that tells her it won’t work this time, either. She tells herself he odds had not been in her favor and yet she won all the same, but for the past eight years her shadow of a hope has failed to bear fruit, cut short before the roots have even sprouted.
An hour into the train ride, she makes up her mind. Her steps are heavy as she makes her way to the dining car, and her mood apprehensive, but she knows she must do this. Just once. Just one conversation, and then she can step back into the shadows and deal with sponsors on her own. This year won’t be any different.
With a sigh, she enters the car and sees them both there, her new charges, her new deaths.
“Airelle,” she says as she finds a chair next to them, dispensing with all manner of introductions. She eyes them both keenly, hoping to find a hint of survival. “How do you feel?”