Snippet #2122892

They were back behind the doors, away from the screaming crowd. Avalons energetic stylist was thrilled with their performance and even Ostro gave a sly nod of approval. Slade seemed impressed too, his calculating mind ticking over. But despite it all, Vit felt wrong. Like he had betrayed his mother, like he had fallen into the Capitols trap. An angry scowl contorted his face, but it wasn't anyone around him that triggered it, but his own growing hatred of himself. The Capitol was already winning. But then he looked to Avalon, she seemed so innocent, she didn't deserve to die and Vit decided, she didn't have to. If that was something he could do to destroy some of the Capitols control in the Games, then he would do everything in his power to keep her alive.

She was strong, she would be able to survive. On the chariot ride, she had stood tall, rising to the occasion and that is what proved to Vit that she could be the Victor. He looked down at her, his features softening slightly and noticed that she was staring off into the distance. He followed her gaze and noticed the cause of her distraction. The arrogance oozed off the boy, from his get up it was clear that he was the District 2 tribute. He looked like the perfect psychopath, exactly the person that Vit needed to protect Avalon from. He felt her lean against him, urging them to leave. The others turned in his direction, saw the malicious glare and began to move in the direction of the elevators that would take them back up to the sanctuary of their room.

Back upstairs the others were still chattering about their amazing display, but Vit felt sick to the core and couldn't bear hearing any more. Everyone headed straight to the dinning table that was beautifully laden with food in celebration. Vit followed slowly behind and as everyone took his seat he stood, looking into the distance, a sudden need to be alone overwhelming him. He dashed away and as Monsharia protested he called over his shoulder.

"Not hungry."

He slammed the door of his room, anger fuelling him, causing him to shake. The Games were destroying him, like a helpless doll in the hands of a cruel child, they were pulling him apart. He was like an erupting volcano, the fury welling up inside of him, ready to explode. He stormed over to the beside where his mothers embroidery was delicately placed. With blurry sight he gently picked up the stitched phoenix. Why him? Why had his mother died? Why had his father abused him so? Why had he been chosen? So many terrible things and now he was being offered a chance for his death to be shown for all to see. He was lost in the darkness, being beaten from all sides and there was no escape. But he did have a purpose. Avalon. She didn't deserve to die, he on the other hand did. There was nothing left for him.