Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, all characters and settings belong to the genius that is Suzanne Collins. I only own Rosaline and any other OC's that may pop up.

Snowte: To all of the people who hate me for the spurt when I spread the word that SYOT's are illegal and was a part of District 14, please PM me your feelings instead of spamming my stories with your irrelevant and whiny complaints. That's hitting below the FanFiction belt.

Just a bit of background information: Rosaline is President Snow's grand daughter, and she is sixteen. This story is set right after the Districts win the rebellion against the Capitol.

Oh, and this fic needs a beta. PM me if you're interested. :)

Read and review. Constructive critiscm is always appreciated and accepted, but flames will used to be toast marshmallows. Flames can't melt this Snow Princess! :)

Thanks for reading!

Hugs,

-Snow

Rosaline Snow POV

I swear, the staircase that leads to the supposed "shelter" is more like the staircase to Hell.

Hell is better than my current situation, though. Icy drops of rain pelt down from above, as if the sky itself is weeping, and not even a sliver of light can pierce the dark storm clouds that smother the sky. The wind is howling, thunder is crashing, and white-hot lightning streaks the sky. The weather couldn't be worse if it was being controlled by a Head Game Maker in an arena from the Games. I clutch the soaked folds of my dark cloak closer to my body, attempting in vain to stop the cold that is cutting through it like butter.

"I can't go any further, Rosa. You're on your own here. Just pretend that you're one of the poor deprived orphan rebels, seeking warmth and safety. It's the only way you'll survive. I heard that the rebels have already kidnapped several important Capitol children. You're first on their hit list. You're the most important; the grand daughter of the very man who opressed the Districts year after year." My stylist, Calla, tells me. I blow out a long breath and snort. What kind of a poor deprived orphan rebel has diamond-studded eyelashes and glitter tattoos? "They'll never believe me." I tell Calla huffily, pulling up the cloak and gesturing to the shimmering tattoos that curl around my limbs and swirl on my eyelids. "Calla looks thoughtful for a few moments, before whipping a silver tub out of her cloak. "What's that?" I ask, studying the tub carefully. A thin smile pulls at the corner of Calla's lips. "'Capitol Couture' concealer. It's industrial strength. Hunger Games stylists use it on particularly unattractive tributes. Next to cosmetic surgery, it's the strongest thing around. Just one swipe and those glitter tattoos will be invisible."

The staircase begins to creak, and Calla looks panicked. "I have to leave now, Rosa. My duty is in the Capitol. I promise, I'll see you soon, when it's safe enough to rescue you. Take care." Calla says hastily, thrusting the tub of concealer at me. Calla picks up the long train of her oversized cloak, and starts to sprint away into the darkness. I still have so many questions I need answered, so many insecurities. What happens when you run out of concealer? If I'm caught? Will they torture and kill me? A thousand thoughts race through my mind, chilling me to the bone. I want to scream for Calla, plead for her to stay with me and answer. But it's too late- she's already disappeared into the storm.

Sucking in a long breath, I pull the cloak even closer around me and start down the staircase. It's dark and dank, and it smells musty. Each step is treacherously steep, ancient, and slippery. The stairs creak and groan underneath me, and my heart races. Why did you leave me, Calla? You left me with the stupid rebels. Psssh. I don't need their help. I'm starting back up the stairs when my foot gets caught in something sharp and metallic. I yelp in pain as it digs into my ankle. Agh! Okay! Maybe I do need the rebels' help! A light breaks through the surrouding darkness. "Who's there?" A voice demands.

My stiff fingers fumble as I struggle to get the tub of concealer open. The lid clatters off to who knows where, and I swiftly plunge my wind-bitten fingers into the tub of creamy concealer. Frantically, I slather concealer all over my eyelids and arms. "Who's there?" The voice repeats, and the beam of light darts around the room, settling on me just as I shove the concealer under my cloak. I'm caught, and have to think on my feet. "Rosalin-I mean Rosalie. R-R-Rosalie." I stammer out an alibi, turning around and squinting towards the dim beam of light. I hope the concealer doesn't wash off with the rain dripping my cheeks or with the cold sheen of sweat that is beginning to form on my forehead.

"Rosalie who?" The voice is still suspicious, but not as cool and calculating. Think of a District name, think of a District name! Surely Snow will give away my identity, let the rebels know that I am the grand daughter of the President that oppressed them and killed twenty-three of their children every year. My mind wanders off to the first Hunger Games I watched. One of the tributes was named Ivory...Ivory what? It started with an 'S'...Ivory Shinder? Ivory Shate? Ivory Shambler? No...Ivory Shine! "Rosalie Shine." I answer, struggling to keep my voice from wavering.

The beam of light, which I know see is a flashlight, illuminates the room slightly. A young woman is holding the flashlight. Her eyes are narrowed as she carefully surveys me. Her fingers rest on the handle of a gun defensively, but I can't do anything to defend myself. All I can do is stare blatantly into the light and hope someone frees me from the metal that is clamped around my foot. "Rosalie Shine, huh?" The woman asks, uncurling her fingers from around the gun and crossing her arms across her chest. There's a patch that says, "District 13" on the sleeve of her uniform. "Yeah, Rosalie Shine." I mutter, pulling off the drenched hood of the ill-fitting cloak and shaking water droplets out of my hair. The young woman gives a half-smile, half-smirk. "Well, your name fits. You look pretty shiny to me." The way she says "shiny" implies that it's meant to offend me.

Great. A grand total of one minute being here and these rebels have already gotten on my nerves. This is going to be a long while, I think. "It will all be worth it when it's over, though. They'll bash their heads against their wall at their own stupidity. Ha, the grand daughter of the snake right under their noses, in their own shelter. Rescued and swished away before they had an inkling that she was their fugitive." A tiny voice inside my head adds. Yes, it will indeed be worth it. The wait will make it all the more satisfying.

The young woman smiles briefly at her corny joke before her features revert to a serious mask. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm Andrea Cooper. We should probably get your foot out of there before it's sliced clean off. Of course, with wire that tangled, we might need to cut off your entire leg." My eyes widen, and my heart beats a little faster. My foot? Sliced clean off? My entire leg too? Ew ew EW! I think, desperately trying to free myself by trying to fiddling with the twisted coil of metal. Andrea permits herself a small, amused chuckle. "Relax, kid. I was just joking!" Andrea laughs, pulling out a pair of things that look like pincers straight out off a muttation.

Andrea clips the coil of wire, and frees my foot. The metal has dug tiny pink grooves into my ankle, and a few drops of blood slowly trickle out of them. I whimper, and Andrea gives me that amused look again. "You were well-off in your District, weren't you?" Andrea questions as she binds my ankle in a piece of sterlile white cloth. I want to scream, "Well off? I'm the richest girl in Panem! I am President Snow's grand daughter!" Of course, I don't. Instead, I nod, wincing as she tightens the cloth with the same grubby pincer-like things. Andrea laughs shortly again. "I thought so. No hardy District girl would act as princessy as you are towards a few tiny pinpricks."

I feel the anger flare up again. Obviously I'm not a hardy District girl! Have you seen my hair? I don't think hardy District girls have hair this soft, smooth, and shiny! I glare at Andrea, but she doesn't see. She's leading me down a dim corridor, and flings open a door. I'm surprised by what I see. District 13 is nothing like the dingy stairwell. It's modern, it's clean...it's like the Capitol!

Well, a Capitol without candy-coloured buildings and glorious luxuries everywhere you go. People in the same drab, unflattering uniform as Andrea all gawk as Andrea leads me down the neat hallways. One little girl even goes so far as to point at me, then exchange whispers with the cluster of kids surrounding her. Flourescent lighting gives the entire place a sickly glow, and the medicinal smell of antiseptic doesn't help. It's like going to the cosmetic alteration office without having the assurance you'll look even more amazing after you leave.

Andrea and I walk for a few more minutes until we reach a heavy metal door. Andrea punches in a few numbers on the keypad, and it bleeps and bloops in response to the numbers. Andrea runs her fingers through her dull brown hair while the door slowly opens, groaning as it swings. It reveals a squat hallway with a bunch of doors, leading to places. I feel claustrophobic in the tiny hallway that is so different from the rest of the underground District.

A dusty lamp flickers overhead, barely lighting the path. Our footsteps on the cold stone floor echo as we continue down the hallway, and a frightening thought strikes me. What if Andrea is on to me? What if this is a trick? If this is jail? Finally, Andrea stops at the end of the hallway. Using a large brass key, she unlocks one of the steel doors. She pushes it strongly, and it gives way. The interior is even worse than the exterior.

The room is small and enclosed. The floor is made of icy stone, and yellowing wallpaper is peeling off the walls. An outdated and hideous television with long antler-antenna things branching from it squats in the corner, and the only other piece of furniture is a heinous mattress that looks lumpy and uncomfortable. "Is this a jail cell?" I gasp, my heart pouding. Andrea gives a short giggle, and turns to me.
"Man, you really were rich in your District, weren't you? I swear, you're acting almost like a Capitol girl!"Andrea notices how I bristle at her comment, and she looks apologetic. "Sorry, you must have lost a lot. I wasn't thinking...anyways, just call if you need anything. This isn't jail, it's your quarters. I know it's not like the lavish room you have at home, but while the rebellion was still in the heat of battle, the Capitol bombed our main shelters. These were the only we had left, and they're already filling up really quickly."

"Breakfast is at precisely 7:00 AM, lunch is at exactly 12 noon, and dinner shall be served at 6. Please make yourself welcome. The television will show any mandatory viewing, and you can try to fiddle with it, but I doubt it shows anything else. It gets kind of drafty down here. There should be extra blankets in the storage room, just ask Jen. Oh, and I nearly forgot! We should have your uniform ready by tomorrow! For now, just try the one that's on the mattress." Andrea tells me, handing me the key and leaving the room. She's like Calla- leaving me when I still have so many questions.

I blow out an exasperated sigh as I flop onto the lumpy cot. I peel my damp locks off my cheeks and slip out of the drenched cloak, revealing my wet -but still utterly gorgeous- Capitol clothing underneath. Tears sting at the corners of my eyes as I slip out of the sequined halter top, blindingly white skinny jeans, and colourful cardigan. Unable to part with my last piece of home, I disobey Calla and shove the slightly rumpled clothes underneath my cot, creating yet another lump. Sniffling, I pull the ugly uniform on.

I'm sorry for ever feeling sympathy and looking past the glamour of the Games. I'm sorry for ever doubting you, Grandfather. You were right. These District pigs definitely deserved the Hunger Games.

Mother named me Rosaline because she said my life would be a bed of roses, lush and easy. Right now all I'm getting are the thorns.

A single bitter tear trickles down my cheek, lulling me into a restless sleep haunted by shattered nightmares.

Snowte: Okay, we're not getting to the fun stuff just yet!

As some of you know, this is a rewrite from my "littlemissmockingjay" account. When I posted the original, reviewers wanted to learn more about where Rosaline was staying and more about Rosaline herself instead of jumping to the announcement! I promise, only a few more chapters until we get to the excting things! Be patient and stick with this story, and good things will come your way. (I think. xD)

Sorry if this was boring. I guess I'll stop ranting now... :)