Lost and Found

Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye

- Love's Labours Lost, Shakespeare

Haymitch was there when they brought her in. She shrieked like a banshee, writhing and scratching at anyone within arms reach, wrapped in only a thin bloodstained sheet. It took four men to pin her to the bed, and a fifth to inject the morphling to calm her down. It was almost ten minutes before she gave up the struggle and passed out, a feral snarl still on her lips. He was strangely proud of her.

Now was a good time for a drink, if only he had one.

It takes two days before they patch her up enough to let her wake. The doctors strap her wasted wrists and ankles to the bed, a precaution, they say. He sits and waits. She awakens.

She struggles as he knew she would: stops when she hears his voice.

"Now now Princess, they don't want you hurtin' yourself after all the trouble we had rescuin' you."

She licks parched lips, tries to speak, voice cracking from the effort.

"Never told them anything," she manages to rasp proudly.

Haymitch nods, he knows, she was always too stubborn for her own good.

He helps her sit, unbuckles her, brings water to her lips. She surveys the bed, the restraints, the decor, nose wrinkling in distaste. Her gaze settles on the bandages around her feet. Her torturers took several of her toes, and he knows she is wondering if she ll ever walk in heels again.

She flashes him a nervous smile, bordering on hysteria. One tooth is missing.

"So how do I look?"

He really studies her then. Her body is starved, swathed in violent yellow bruises and criss crossed with bandages. Her face is bloody, one eye swollen shut, and her head is shaved. He notices what look like bite marks on her neck and finds his hands unconsciously clenching into fists by his side.

"Effie Trinket, you've never looked more beautiful."

And strangely, he finds he means it.

Not mine, but fun to play with. Let me know your thoughts - illyna x