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porcelainandsteelIt wasn't meant to happen this way. None of this was meant to happen. The Capitol is meant to keep them safe, and even though she's stood in the crowd for the Reapings three times now, she's never really believed she would be the one called to pay for it. That isn't how it's supposed to go. You keep your head down, you follow the rules, and the Capitol keeps you safe. Of course there's a price, and it has to be paid - but some part of her was always sure that the people who paid it had done something to earn it. Even the ones she'd known, part of Sansa had always been able to find an excuse for why it was them. Something they'd said, something they'd done, something she might not even have known about...
But she'd played by the rules all her life, and it had still been her name that had come out of the bowl. It had still been her who had had to smooth her dress and neaten her hair and force herself to hold it together as she went up onstage. It had still been her saying what she knew perfectly well had to be her last goodbye to her parents, to her sister and her brothers; still been her taking the little carved wolf necklace from her mother and knowing it would be on her when she died.
It still happened. And she still can't believe it.
She'd cried a little when she said goodbye, but she was careful about it. They show the goodbyes, sometimes. She didn't want the whole of Panem to see her red-faced and puffy-eyed. Being pretty and composed and likeable was all she had now. So she cried, but only a little, and she waved and smiled when they got on the train - it's only once she's on the train, settled as much out of sight as she can from the Escort and Mentor and from Eoin, her fellow Tribute, that she lets herself cry for real. She curls up in the corner, puts her head in her hands, and cries until she can't cry any more, in great gulping sobs that aren't at all pretty or perfect.
By the time she rejoins the others, ten or twenty minutes into the journey, she's finished crying. She's washed her face and neatened her hair, and the only sign of her earlier distress is the red rims of her eyes. Still, she smiles brightly and apparently genuinely, sitting down opposite Katniss. She's a little afraid of the grim-faced older woman, but she isn't about to let that make her standoffish. "I'm sorry. I had to go and clean up."
But she'd played by the rules all her life, and it had still been her name that had come out of the bowl. It had still been her who had had to smooth her dress and neaten her hair and force herself to hold it together as she went up onstage. It had still been her saying what she knew perfectly well had to be her last goodbye to her parents, to her sister and her brothers; still been her taking the little carved wolf necklace from her mother and knowing it would be on her when she died.
It still happened. And she still can't believe it.
She'd cried a little when she said goodbye, but she was careful about it. They show the goodbyes, sometimes. She didn't want the whole of Panem to see her red-faced and puffy-eyed. Being pretty and composed and likeable was all she had now. So she cried, but only a little, and she waved and smiled when they got on the train - it's only once she's on the train, settled as much out of sight as she can from the Escort and Mentor and from Eoin, her fellow Tribute, that she lets herself cry for real. She curls up in the corner, puts her head in her hands, and cries until she can't cry any more, in great gulping sobs that aren't at all pretty or perfect.
By the time she rejoins the others, ten or twenty minutes into the journey, she's finished crying. She's washed her face and neatened her hair, and the only sign of her earlier distress is the red rims of her eyes. Still, she smiles brightly and apparently genuinely, sitting down opposite Katniss. She's a little afraid of the grim-faced older woman, but she isn't about to let that make her standoffish. "I'm sorry. I had to go and clean up."
