Chapter Text
At the crack of dawn, Ilsa and Alanna reconvened beneath the Hanging Tree according to their plans to escape up North together. The sky was still a gradient blend of pink and orange, the blinding sunlight still emerging from beneath the clouds.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Ilsa said softly, touching Alanna’s hand gently.
“I wish I could’ve done something,” Alanna replied, fixating her gaze at the pinecones and muddy wood chips at her feet.
They trekked deep into the woods towards the North, where the sweet smell of pine served as a refreshing remedy to the coal and pollution in 12. It was in these rare moments with Ilsa when she found fleeting solace in between the madness.
Ilsa sighed, “Sometimes, I feel like I still have one foot in the arena. I’m not going to lie, the Games messed me up pretty bad. It must be nice, not to have to kill anybody else up North, though, huh?”
“Three’s enough for me,” Alanna joked half-heartedly.
Suddenly, Ilsa stopped in her tracks. “Three? Who’s the third? I only know about two, do not lie to me. There was Kurt Hendricks and Solomon Lane, who was the third ?” she demanded.
Alanna simply leaned into Ilsa’s ear and whispered, “My old self,” and planted a light peck on her cheek. “I killed her so I can be with you.”
“Right,” Ilsa murmured, averting Alanna’s eyes.
They continued walking deeper into the forest until the rain began to pour down, drenching their thin ragged clothes. Fortunately, there was a small log cabin nearby, where the local fishermen kept their rods and supplies. As Alanna lifted a loose floorboard to search for a fishing rod, she found a shotgun hidden instead; It was not just any ordinary shotgun, but the one with her fingerprints all over it, the very weapon that could convict her of the murders. This was Solomon Lane’s poor attempt at destroying the evidence.
“Once you get rid of that, you’ll be free. There’d be nothing else connecting you to the murders. Well, except me,” Ilsa said quietly, peering over her shoulder.
Alanna froze for a moment, the shotgun still in her hands. Ilsa was right; she could destroy the murder weapon and return to her old life in the Capitol, and everything would be fixed. The two greatest loves of Alanna Mitsopolis’ life were battling for her affection – power, or Ilsa Faust.
“But you wouldn’t tell anyone,” she noted.
“Of course not,” Ilsa forced a smile. There was an air of silence between them for a moment, until Ilsa reached for the door again. “I’m going to go gather some katniss roots down by the lake.”
“But it’s still raining,” Alanna pointed out.
“Well, I’m not made out of sugar,” Ilsa said coyly.
She gave Alanna Mitsopolis one last melancholic look, like and shut the wooden door behind her; this was the last that Alanna saw of Ilsa Faust.
By dusk, Alanna bolted into the woods, shouting Ilsa’s name into the endless landscape of tall trees. She searched along the lake, though the heavy rainstorm had washed away all traces of Ilsa Faust, and any sign that she was ever here.
She hiked along a path, until she found a light grey scarf that was once draped around Ilsa’s neck. Gingerly, Alanna picked it up with her icy fingers; to her horror, a spotted brown snake sprang towards her and bit her in the arm.
“ Ow!” she yelped as she shook it off.
The puncture was a sharp sting, like a pinch but it hurt nonetheless. Rather, it was not only this snake’s venom that hurt her, but another one…
“Ilsa Faust, are you trying to kill me?” Alanna yelled into the wilderness. “After everything I did for you?”
She fired aimless shots into the trees, scattering a few birds away. Then, she dropped to her knees and allowed herself to freely sob for the first time since the Games had started. She held the soft fabric of the scar up to her face, desperate to find the lingering scent of Ilsa Faust, but there was only mildew and rain.
What was all of it for then? Everything she had risked for Ilsa’s sake – the people she killed and betrayed for her… everything had been for her.
But I never asked you to do any of that for me, she heard Ilsa’s voice in her mind.
Alanna whirled around, but there was nobody behind her. In the trees, and through the breeze, the jabberjays sang the tune of Ilsa Faust, echoing into the night.
In the short time that Alanna spent mourning Ilsa Faust, she almost forgot about the third life that she took. She rifled through Grace’s belongings on Denlinger’s orders, and paused on a single dog-eared photograph of her and Grace, both in blood-red Academy uniforms. There was a knock on the door, and she quickly wiped away her salty tears.
“Ms. Mitsopolis, there has been a change of plans. You are to be escorted back to the Capitol at once, as per Dr. Sloane,” Head Peacekeeper Denlinger said.
Dr. Sloane was waiting for Alanna at her lab, surrounded by new muttations in glass cages and tanks. Otherwise, not much had changed in here, except for Alanna herself.
“Welcome home, Ms. Mitsopolis,” she said. “Your post as Peacekeeper is over effective immediately, and you will be studying under me directly at the Capitol University. As well, you don’t need to worry about tuition; Grace’s family has made you the sole heir of their estate, for being such a good friend to their daughter.”
Alanna maintained a cool composure, and replied, “I see.”
Though, inside, she was bursting with joy at the news. Grace’s fortune would restore the Mitsopolis legacy to their former status.
“Of course, they don’t know just how good of a friend you were,” Dr. Sloane winked. “I didn’t tell them about your little recording. Anyhow, the President is impressed with the high viewership this year, thanks to your idea. I’m sure your mother would be proud.”
“Thank you, Dr. Sloane. I look forward to learning from you,” Alanna smiled proudly.
On her way back, she passed by Dean Kittridge’s office, who did not seem all too amused that Alanna had returned.
“Congratulations, Ms. Mitsopolis. Dr. Sloane has been praising you nonstop for your efforts in increasing viewership for this year’s Games,” he said as he approached her.
Alanna flashed her Capitol-perfect smile. “Thank you, Dean Kittridge. Though, it’s all thanks to you for inventing the Hunger Games in the first place.”
Kittridge raised his eyebrows, “Did your mother never tell you? I may have been credited as the creator of the Games, but really, it was Max who took my idea and submitted it to Dr. Sloane. The assignment was to come up with a brutal punishment for the rebellion, but I- I was drunk, I never meant for it to happen.”
Her smile faltered, and she was prepared to leave before the Dean grabbed her arm.
“By the way, I have intel on your little friend, Ilsa Faust. My contacts have informed me that she’s disappeared from District 12. She’s nothing but a mystery now. Tell me… was it worth it?” he taunted.
Alanna bit her lip, as if she were deep in thought. She had finally gotten everything that she wished for and more; the Mitsopolises were on top. A few sacrifices along the way were surely inevitable.
“Yes,” she replied, “Yes, it was.”
With that, Alanna walked briskly out of his office, the bottoms of her white heels clicking on the marble floors while Eugene Kittridge took his final sip of coffee, blissfully unaware that it was laced with a certain spider’s venom.
Alanna Mitsopolis stared at her reflection in the full length mirror, admiring her new creamy white dress custom-tailored with the finest silks the Capitol had to offer. The days of recycling old tesserae tiles into clothing were over. The Mitsopolises were restored in their ancestral home, in the Capitol where they belonged.
She caught Zola in the back staring at her from the breakfast table full of fresh organic fruit and crispy croissants prepared by their new personal chef.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he replied in between sips of coffee. “You look just like Mother.”
“Thank you,” Alanna replied with a proud grin.
She frequently saw her mother’s reflection when she looked in the mirror; she was proud of the Mitsopolis blood running through her veins. However, things had changed ever since the 10th Annual Hunger Games. Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, she would imagine that she saw Ilsa or Grace behind her, reaching out to her with hollow stares. Only, whenever she turned around, they disappeared like smoke in the wind. There were times when she would hear Ilsa’s song, sung by the birds in the forest or manifesting in a corner of her mind. Alanna did not let them bother her; it was a small price to pay for her sins. You’re a Mitsopolis, act like it . And so she did, and excelled with flying colours.
FIN