“this colour is sickly.” maysilee grimaces at herself in your mirror, pinching the sides of her top.

her blonde hair has a small plait in the middle of it, braided by your skilled hands. it's one of the only ways, other than her jewelry, that she can be different from her sister, merilee.

“change, then.” you offer, watching her from your bed.

being maysilee donner's best friend isn't easy. she's stuck up, and rude, a lot of the time. but the people who judge her too quickly don't know her. not like you do.

she's been forced into this box. she doesn't want to dress the same as her sister, she doesn't want to listen to her mother, and she certainly does not want to carry on her family name by working in that sweet shop.

frankly, she's sick of it.

“can't. my mom won't let me.” she says simply, but her voice is laced with disdain.

you grew up in the seam of district twelve, so you don't exactly reciprocate her struggles. yours are a lot different. your family scrape by for food, and clothes, and any other commodity you can get your hands on.

but you do feel for her. of course you do. it's hard not to, with her bright eyes and pretty face and witty charm.

her stacked up jewelry clinks together as she huffs and sits at the end of your bed. the thing is, maysilee isn't nearly as cruel as everyone makes her out to be. not once had she ever looked down on you for your family, or your lack of necessitities.

she's always loved you for you. ever since you were kids.

she was relentless. even in your friendship.

“the reaping is in a week.” she says, now looking a lot less like a confident and arrogant young woman, but more like the vulnerable and scared sixteen year old she is. “but we'll be fine, right?”