Work Text:
Cashmere fell hard on her wounded shoulder, wheezing as it stole the breath from her lungs. She felt far too vulnerable like this - gasping for air on her side. She tried to move but he pushed her back down and her shoulder hit the ground, her head cracking down mercilessly as he gripped her neck.
Anger overtaking her fear, she was quick in her manoeuvre. She twisted around his arm and pinned him in the same breath. Looming over him, she pulled her knife from her holster and almost lovingly traced a sharp red line onto his cheek before sitting up and flicking her hair out of her eyes. “I honestly thought this would have been more of a challenge, y’know,” she said mockingly, before bringing her hand to his face to caress it.
She leaned down and pressed her lips to his and in the very same moment, plunged her knife deep into his chest. The boy reaches out, hands fumbling towards her, grasping only at air but still reaching out for something, anything. His eyes are filled with fear and tears and pain. His chest rattles and he wheezes around the stab wound, blood beginning to spill up out his mouth giving him a red smile.
Cashmere watched as the dying boy continued to splutter wordlessly, largely disinterested, before standing up, cleaning her knife off and holstering it.
Twenty-two down, one left to go.
She could almost hear the announcements. Cashmere, victor of the Sixty-Third Hunger Games!
There was only the Four girl left now, she reminded herself. One more kill and she would receive her glory. One more kill and she would see her beloved brother again.
She steadied her grip on her mace, – nothing like a pretty girl with a bloody weapon, or so the academy always taught them - bared her teeth at the nearest camera she could find and began tracking.