IT WAS SLOWLY BECOMING more difficult for Reeve to mask her anger about the Games as a whole. But she had to remind herself that anger might get her or anyone she cared about killed.
She looked dead ahead of her as her prep team fretted over her and ripped away hair, washing her down, and making sure she was utterly perfect for the Capitol. She felt trapped as she sat on the table, letting them do their work. Once they had left and she was waiting in the empty room for her stylist, the reality came crashing down once again.
She didn’t break down, but a few tears made their way down her face. This would not be acceptable with her stylist if they had known she was crying - it was not a traditionally attractive look. Quickly wiping away the tears, the door opened and her stylist sauntered in.
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He didn’t say anything at first, just sitting down in a chair beside her and they sat like that for a few moments; in silence.
“Reeve, darling,” Sarrel broke the silence suddenly. He put his hands over her folded ones that sat on her lap, looking at her in reassurance. “You’re going to look beautiful.” That was all he said and she was fairly sure she knew why. If he said anything that indicated he was against the Games or against that she was chosen again, it wouldn’t bode well for any of