Hunger Games 1. Beauty Hurts

__**Chapter 1: Beauty Hurts**

_Did I do it? Was it enough? Was giving everything over to you, keeping up the game, promising to marry Peeta enough? _

In answer, he gives an almost imperceptible nod of his head.

**Katniss **

Flavius entwines a single lock of my hair around his finger and quickly releases; it bounces back up as if it were living. The fact that my prep team is immensely soundless, with the exception of Octavia and her shaky exhales, is rather abnormal. Submerged in silence for what has felt like eternity, I have been able to narrow the motives down to two. One, they are so tangled up in the sentimentality of the event that they were left speechless. Or two, they are purely determined that I look my finest; the attentiveness temporarily muting them. Either way, and I'm quite sure it's both, I can't decide if I'm grateful or slightly dissatisfied. For on most occasions I pray for a moment of peace, a slight pause in their constant chattering. Yet today, above all, I was almost looking forward to the distraction. Though it's extremely irritating listening to their Capitol gossip, it certainly takes my mind of things. Like the day's agenda. Listening to them wail on about body jewelry and the shade of the month is almost comforting, ridiculous, but comforting. I find that in silence I begin to fret over things, make up outrageous outcomes to the day ahead. I find myself doing that right now.

Fortunately Venia's warm, dewy breath rouses me from my trance. I realize the need for lipstick, as I have become fairly familiar with the product, though I'd prefer if she applied it at a distance. After she has prudently painted my lips with the pale pink gloss she moves an inch closer, her nose almost brushing my cheek, as if to examine her work. I can feel my fists tighten, though I only let out a hefty exhale as she sashays away. My want to explode at the oblivious team quickly arises again, as one slowly plucks my eyebrows while another rhythmically yanks at my nails. After a few more minutes of this torturous procedure, my eyelids are screaming and my head fuzzy from the polish fumes. It's the last tug of hair that really makes me jerk. I know it's my own fault for not taking better care of my appearance, but this is ludicrous! I can feel a surge of heat run through my veins, boiling in my stomach. I needed to yell or throw something; I was aching to let off some steam. Conveniently, the moment I feel myself breaking, Cinna walks in. All the rage and heat evaporates immediately, leaving me more frustrated than before.

As my stylist strides closer, I become aware of what he is holding. I feel my stomach lurch; twist in a series of knots. That must be _it_.


	2. The Sea of Snow

**Chapter 2: The Sea of Snow**

**Katniss **

He cautiously lays the obscure garment bag onto a vacant chair. Though it's virtually impossible to make out the contents of the sack, I can't help but stare. My heart has gone from a slow, steady pace to a rapid flutter. It's as though this article of clothing has brought me out of my stupor. Not the few seconds of daze I feel ever so often, but that dream that I have been living in for the past few months. The dream, nightmare really, that I haven't been able to shake; haven't been able to wake from. Until now. Everything hits me like a ton of bricks. Slaps me in the face: firm and repeatedly. As my prep team begins to pack up and make their way out, I nearly squeal. Bark at them to come back, to continue to rip out hair and poison my brain with harsh chemicals. But now I'm the one on mute; unable to form any words let alone sentences. So I just sit there, watching my last hope of sanity frolic out the door. My bizarre, flamboyant Capitol friends my last hope, of rationality at that. I think my lucidity is already starting to disintegrate.

Though Cinna has been a consistent comfort to me in the past, today I think of him merely as the man who brought me back to reality. The last place I sought to be. He glides toward me prodding my hair gently with his fingers. Flavius has done a marvelous job; each small ringlet of chocolate hair has been intricately weaved into one extravagant bun, a few additional curls framing my face. Though sour, my face itself isn't half bad either. The simplicity of the make-up: insipid pinks, earthy hues, a light coat of bronzer; all fashion a look of humble, natural beauty. Clearly, this was Cinna's concept. I couldn't picture any member of my prep team yearning for a look so modest. If it were up to those three and the rest of the ostentatious Capitol there's no doubt I would be dyed aquamarine, covered head to toe in gaudy tattoos and piercings.

While my appearance seems practically flawless to me, Cinna continues to make minor alterations and touch-ups. Not that I'm complaining; for the longer he takes to perfect Venia's work, the more time I get to pretend this is all a hallucination. However, he is done in only a few short minutes. Cinna treads back over to the unnerving container that embraces my fate. Well, my apparel. The rattle of the zipper makes my body cringe. I can feel the burn of stomach acid on my tongue but I only gulp it back, refusing to retch.

"Cinna," I squeak. He lifts his head, grasping my eyes in an empathetic gaze. He needs only to nod and I immediately feel the slightest twinge better; the smallest bit of ease. No words are required, just his presence and compassionate nature. I drink in a mouthful of sweet air and take my stylist's hand. He helps me dip into a sea of snow. The white silk devouring me: consuming almost every inch of skin. With a few tender pulls and tucks, I am seamlessly incased. I look up at Cinna and let the tiniest grin slither onto my expression. Then I'm instantaneously immersed in a pool of black.

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><p><strong>Hello! Thanks to all that have read so far. I'm sorry for the short chapters. Originally, this was going to be a one-shot but I decided breaking it up into small chapters would be a lot easier, longer and definitely more detailed. I will try my best to update frequently. Happy reading! <strong>


	3. Forcing A Smile

**Chapter 3: Forcing A Smile**

**Katniss**

Diminutive flecks of light gradually penetrate the darkness. With a few excessive blinks, my vision clears; I find myself in the arms of a flabbergasted Cinna. The realization that I have awakened swiftly washes over him, his tranquil façade immediately returning. He sagely leads me back to my chair; judiciously positioning me down. Without a single word, he slips out the door; leaving me fairly jumbled and disoriented. I cradle my throbbing head between my hands. Not only does it pound, but it's sizzling. Heat radiates off me in waves, perspiration oozing down my face. I have endured the Hunger Games, slaughtered animals and humans alike, and defied the Capitol; all with a straight face. Sometimes even a smile; a forced one, but a smile at that. And now I'm collapsing, sweltering, and frequently on the verge of heaving; all because of some idiotic wedding. Yes, it's a marriage ceremony that is hacking me apart; grinding me up into minuscule, temperamental morsels.

I thrust myself up; fueled by my hatred of self-pity. Once I have steadied myself, I make my way over to the extensive wall mirror. I let my thumb trace the edge of the glass; soon my curious fingers slide along the surface, leaving streaky trails behind them. I sprawl out my digits; making a picture-perfect handprint, on the now murky reflector. I sluggishly peek at my replication; my frail, papery skin and misty, comatose eyes are almost an insult to my attire. The heavy white silk: tightly bound around my waist, slowly flowing out into a frothy waterfall. The sleeves, which drop from my wrists to the floor, are swallowed into the material below. A perky collar snuggles the back of my neck; a low neckline; and pearls. Everywhere pearls. Sewn all over my dress and wound around my throat.

Fine! I'm collapsing, sweltering, and frequently on the verge of heaving; all because of _my _idiotic wedding! It's _my_ marriage ceremony that is hacking me apart; grinding me up into minuscule, temperamental morsels!

**Peeta**

Portia tucks a few golden strands of hair behind my ear, before stepping back to admire her work. She looks me over; a satisfied grin stretches across her face. It instantly falters, and soon vanishes, the moment she meets my eyes.

"Nervous?" She probes, adjusting my bowtie.

"A little," I puff out, biting onto my lower lip.

"Naturally," Portia continues, now smoothing my lapel. I only respond with a small nod, not knowing what else to say. At this point _nothing_, not even Portia's soothing persona and reassuring words, can alter my mood.

I hear distant footfalls; their owner must be quite distressed. Shortly afterwards, a flustered Cinna comes before us, dragging Portia away. However, not _that_ far away: for I can make out most of their dialogue.

"She did what?" Portia's anxious voice echoes.

"Fainted; fell right into my arms," Cinna mutters, his exhales coming out long and shaky. My stylist's answer is stifled, but I can easily detect she's concerned. Cinna carries on:

"I know. She's not ready. She's not ready to get married." Married; Katniss; _not _ready. The fragments rapidly piece together in my head. Okay, so maybe something _can_ alter my mood.

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><p><strong>Hi! Hope you guys enjoyed it. Please leave me some reviews. I love to hear your thoughts and ideas. Thanks!<strong>


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Hunger Games, Drama, Romance