TW: mentions of injury, death, and poor mental health )) “The tooth can’t be put back in, I’m sorry.” All the handlers had seen it happen, but no one had seen the tooth fall out. Just assumed that the impact of the club was what caused Clover’s mouth to bleed. “My toof…” The pink-furred cat had tried telling them. But she had been spinning in and out of consciousness, there and not there. To the handlers, she had just seemed shocked. But the doctor had noticed. And by the time they found the tooth, it was too late to put it back in. Clover blinked up at bright lights. They brought her a mirror. She forced a closed smile. It looked perfect, her- even if the throbbing in her mouth wouldn’t subside. Even if every time her tongue passed over where her tooth had been, it felt empty. And then she opened her mouth. It was a beautiful smile. But it was wrong. It was crooked. It wasn’t Clover. It wasn’t her. Who had done this to her? A purple-furred cat… Some ally. The first cat who had instantly seen through Clover’s facade, and then broken her complete smile. “Would you like a replacement?” Yes. She would. Please. She didn’t want to think about what had happened. The talk with Chlorophyll, the fight with her… She had wanted it to be a simple spar. She had wanted Chlorophyll to believe her lies, sweet compliments. But the cat had seen through her terrifyingly quickly. Had opened up just as scarily fast. And Clover had accepted it. Had hugged her back, had listened, sympathized with her- What had she done? What was wrong with her? Clover, popular, kind and outgoing, friend to all. But in the end, she had only used her ‘friends’ for her own gain. And Mango had seen through it. Clover, lying, manipulative, apathetic. There were only a few cats that had managed to bring out the real Clover. But that had taken months. Chlorophyll only needed a few minutes. “What colors do you have?” The procedure had gone by in a blur. Clover didn’t remember much from it, except pain. Pain. So much pain. /The tributes who change themselves for the arena die./ Was it change if what she had shown Chlorophyll was her true self? What even was her true self? Because it seemed that the mask Clover Cranberry had worn for so long had become a part of her body. It had melted, over the years, forming the horrible, grotesque thing that was Clover. So who was real? Clover, the face with the sickly sweet smile? Or Clover, the face with the genuine, sad smile. Who was real? Which mask would she wear to the arena?
read above first! Clover was handed a mirror again. Looking at her own reflection, she smiled brightly. A single, fake blue tooth shone. Her tooth now. No. She couldn’t call it that. It wasn’t hers. It was fake. False. A replacement for what had been. But then again, wasn’t that her entire personality now? Fake. False. A replacement for a small, crying kit, clinging to her mother’s dead body. Clover Cranberry had been the faux tooth for a while. But now she hated it. Hated that stupid tooth. She had chosen it. She had picked the color. She had picked which mask she would wear for most of her life. She had told herself that she liked the color. That she liked the new her, that it would help her survive. But had it? She had lost Mango because she had shown her true self. She had lost Hearst because she had shown her true self. She had gained a good ally in Chlorophyll with her true self. But she has gained many friends in her district, all one-sided relationships based on a lie. Which would help her survive more? Be herself- what did that mean? What did that mean anymore? What could she do? What did she have to do? WHO WAS SHE SUPPOSED TO BE? She had cried, apparently, then screamed. Clover didn’t remember it. No one else knew about it besides the doctors and caretakers there in the room with her. And she was glad. Because no one else saw her break down. No one else saw her mask crack. She would keep it. Keep it up most of the time. Put it down when it suit her. Clover remembered a time, seeing a vendor in her district advertising capitol clothes. It had all been from an awful fabric that wasted away in days. The colors faded after one wash in the river. There was no real or fake side to Clover. She was just fake. Fake as the blue tooth in her mouth. Fake as the clothes sold by the District 7 vendor. And that was all Clover would ever be. Clover didn’t change for the arena. She didn’t change. She was fake, always had been. And now she was beginning to accept it. Clover was dishonest, she was honest. She was sweet, she was cold. She was sympathetic, she was aloof. And both masks were fake. There was nothing under them but a blank, empty stare. There was nothing. Clover was nothing. She was only the masks that she had worn for so long. Clover Cranberry, the phony.
