Hunger Games The Good Secretary

The last time I saw Caesarea Snow, she was still a little princess. I was President Snow's secretary during the last ten years of his presidency, and I saw his beloved granddaughter at various events, from government parties to private ones. Used to being in the limelight, she always smiled and waved and said charmingly childish things that ended up in the society pages. But unlike other Capitol girls, she wasn't overly precocious or pretentious. Caesarea Snow was always sweet and mild-mannered, clinging to her grandfather's hand and smiling up at him like he wasn't a stone-cold murderer. She would sit near my desk until he let her into his office.

Throughout my entire time working for Snow, I was working to take him down. Quietly watching the comings and goings of those who worked for him, looking for the slightest details, the slightest tidbits of disorganization that would enable his kidnapping, or his swift murder, or the snatching of someone close to him.

The thing was, I didn't know what I was looking for. The big-shots of the operation hadn't told me much, only to keep my eyes open for opportunities and report back daily, which I did fanatically. I was willing to give everything for this cause. Even my life. And, oddly enough, he was rather kind to me, the good secretary. President Snow asked about my family, my health, my pet cat. I replied charmingly, always with a smile, a perfect, dedicated part of his elite team through and through.

And so it went. Every day, I woke up fearing that someone would find out that I worked for the other side and I would die a long, painful death after a long, painful interrogation. Yet every day, I went to work on time and made his appointments and greeted him and kept his granddaughter company when she came to call.

So, for years, I watched him and his people. I made copies of his daily schedules, checked them for irregularities, and sent them to the other side. I watched the news carefully for signs from the rebels, and, finding nothing, turned to his other employees for the smallest sign of unrest in the district. I watched. I listened. I kept up the pretense. I watched those awful Games year after year. And then, that fateful year, Katniss Everdeen came along, and I had a lot on my plate. The rebels suddenly had need of their spies in the Mansion, and I had to report every single thing to them, every tidbit. The percentage of advisers who believed that they should simply murder Katniss, the possible ways in which it could be done and the calculated collateral damage. I listened in on his very phone calls and intercepted his letters, feeling so hopeful that his reign of terror was drawing to a close. Katniss Everdeen's Games rolled by, the anticipation of a strike from the rebels building, then the Quarter Quell. All Hell broke loose after the Quarter Quell. Snow grew snappish and crueler than ever; all of us who worked in the Mansion tiptoed around him, not even daring to make eye contact. And still his little granddaughter came around, and since he no longer had time for her, she was assigned to me.

We walked through his rose gardens. We read poetry in his libraries. I took her swimming in the Mansion's gigantic, pearl-floored pool. She began to confide in me about her absent parents and her love for her Granddad. Caesarea Snow spoke with an innocence befitting her eleven years, although she was undeniably clever for her age. She always had a kind word, was thoughtful and quiet, and her cerulean-blue eyes were usually alight with curiosity.

You have to understand, I was thirty-seven at the time, and solitary by nature. My life's work of rebelling against the government had kept me from settling down and starting a family. I come from a line of self-involved, oh-so-Capitol people that I could never relate to. So how strange was it that the only thing that brought me joy, aside from my work, was the company of this little Capitol princess, the granddaughter of the man I hated most? Despite her obvious adoration for President Snow, the child was everything I would have wanted in a daughter. In a matter of months, I had developed an unwavering affection towards her. I took pleasure in our walks and explained to her the things she longed to ask her parents. I tried to educate her about the small realities of the world. She took it all with wisdom and serenity, and I avoided talking about current events. Although, I was pleasantly surprised when she told me about her admiration for Katniss Everdeen.

"She's so brave, Miss Geneve," she had said, "And she fights for what she loves. I think those are the best qualities anyone can have."

I don't think I've been as proud as I was in that moment since I received the order to spy on Snow up-close.

So you can only imagine my shock when I saw rebel soldiers march into Snow's gardens as we were walking one morning. Caesarea began to scream endlessly and thrash as they picked her up and one tossed her over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" I screamed, "What is this? Put her down!"

"Ah," said one of them, "You must be Geneve Eldergin. The assistant, yes? Or should I say the babysitter?"

They had a nice laugh at that, and I couldn't help but frown. Weren't we on the same side? I had to have some weight.

"Please," I said, keeping my tone even, "I'm acting on President Coin's orders. Surely you know that. Please tell me what's going on."

"She's asked for the child," said another one, "We are to put you both aboard a hovercraft and bring you to Thirteen. You are not under arrest, but she sure is."

"Miss Geneve!" screamed Caesarea, "Please, help!"

I rushed to her side, prying her from the soldier's arms. I smoothed dark hair off her forehead and looked straight into her frightened, teary eyes. I remember those moments like they took place only yesterday. I'm still trying to make sense of them.

"Listen to me, Miss Snow," I said, "We're going on a trip, a little trip to District Thirteen. You are not to let go of my hand. Do you hear me, Miss Snow? You mustn't let go of me."

She nodded quickly, although I could tell she didn't believe me. Hell, I wouldn't have believed me. Still, she took my hand as the soldiers fell into line around us and I covered her eyes when we passed bloody bodies throughout the mansion. As we got closer to the hovercraft, all I could think about was the fact that President Coin had asked for the child. What could she possibly want with her? She was only a child. I held her hand tighter, even though I wasn't sure if there was anything I could do to protect her from whatever awaited her.

She was only a child.

A Snow, but a child nonetheless.

And still, they kept her locked up like a criminal for weeks while they decided her fate. Would she go into the Games? Once Coin died, they didn't know what to do with her anymore. During those long weeks while they decided, I went to sit outside of her cell every day. I was safe, granted immunity, and she wasn't, simply because she was related to that awful, disgusting man. I was issued a compartment and grey clothes and a job taking inventory, and she was issued a daily food allowance and a cell. I didn't apologize for that, since there was nothing I could do. Instead, I read to her, the very same poetry books we once read in her grandfather's libraries. She grew pale and thin, and hardly spoke. No longer a little princess, she now looked like a typical mistreated inmate. All of her beauty and brilliance gone to waste.

District Thirteen's new government took shape, and they finally released her. She looked feral, exhausted; she was so sick she could hardly breathe. So I sat through the medical appointments with her, and once she got better, I vowed to take full responsibility for her. She was assigned to my compartment, and I became her legal guardian in District Thirteen. Every last one of her relatives had been killed. There was no way she could ever return home. These were small realities of the world, but I couldn't tell her about them. I couldn't be so cruel. Instead, I helped her put on her standard-issue grey clothes, braided her hair back like Katniss's, and showed her to her bed.

"Welcome home, Miss Snow," I said.

She looked at me long and hard, and something lurked in those blue eyes. Comprehension that I had taken part in the effort to destroy all she had ever known. Resentment. Fatigue. And, most horrible of all, defeat. Caesarea Snow, Capitol princess, threw her arms about my neck and sobbed into my shoulder. And I, always the good secretary, the provisional baby-sitter, just held her tight.


End file.

Hunger Games, Friendship, Hurt-Comfort