Phoenix Cullinan

Rayon Velour (brother, deceased)

Laine Velour (sister in law)

Serge Velour (nephew)

Berenice Merope (governess)

Olivier Cullinan (husband)

## Upbringing

Panem was not kind to those less fortunate than the elite.

Phoenix Velour was born into a poor family, factory workers in District Eight who left home when it was still dark out, and came back so late that she was usually already asleep. The loving hands tucking her in at night, the gentle voice speaking, telling stories until she could slip into a deep slumber did not belong to her mother or her father, but instead to her older brother, Rayon. Thirteen years younger than her brother, Phoenix had been an unplanned addition to an already struggling family, barely enough money but four stomachs that had to be filled, hollowing out Dotty and Rufus’ pockets.

Dotty and Rufus had been in the factory, one working the day shift, one just coming in for the night, when the accident had happened. Phoenix had been five, Rayon barely eighteen when the explosion and the crackling flames made them orphans. With no bodies left for a funeral, only haphazardly constructed sticks marked the honorary graves in their garden.

Rayon dropped out of school to take up a job for himself. Phoenix clung to his leg, begged him not to leave whenever it would be time for him to go to work, terrified he wouldn’t return one day. Forced to fall asleep on her own, her slumber was fitful and nightmare filled.

It was easier to feed two people than four, but to go a little less hungry, there was no money left to send Phoenix to school. Rayon simply repurposed his own acquired knowledge to teach his little sister whenever he was at home.

And then one day, her brother introduced his girlfriend, Laine. There was a wedding, small but nonetheless joyous. It did not take long for Laine to become pregnant and nine months later, Serge was born. For a while, they were a proper family. Then not long after, Laine was no longer in the picture. “Laine had to leave for a while,” her brother had said, and it was obvious he wasn’t being quite honest with her. Serge’s mother had never returned.

Growing up, the factories had frightened Phoenix more than the Hunger Games had. The Games were something she saw on TV, knew it was something to fear, but her own name was not in the bowl yet, and Rayon never outwardly showed fear of being reaped himself, even if, by the time he was twenty-five, his name was in the reaping bowl 52 times. He was counting on his luck, to be aged out soon and not allowing Phoenix to take up any Tesserae for herself.

## 100th Reaping

Phoenix’s first reaping happened at the fourth Quarter Quell. The crowd waited, quiet in their spots as the President was projected on screen in Eight’s square. To commemorate the 100th Hunger Games, there would be a twist to the reaping. There were two bowls on the stage. One bowl, the one with the least amount, contained the names of the youngest, newly eligible tributes. The other, the one halfway filled, held the names of those who were in the reaping for the very last time.

Rayon’s name was drawn first. Phoenix’s second.

Her brother was panicking as they were led into the government building for the goodbyes. Not for himself, however. For her, and for his five year old son.

## Time as a Tribute

The journey to the Capitol, the city and people themselves were wholly overwhelming. Glitz and glamour, over the top fashion and strange body modifications, Phoenix was wide eyed as her brother pulled her along. The Tower wasn’t far away from the train station, but the amount of people gawking at them, yelling and cheering slowed them down considerably. Phoenix had never seen so many people at once before. It continued like this, throughout being scrubbed down and lathered in lotions. Hair rid of knotting, split ends now silky to the touch. She enjoyed feeling taken care of, but she didn’t enjoy the looks, the barely concealed whispers. Twelve children, twelve grown-ups. Phoenix heard the stylists pity the children as though they were already dead.

During training, Phoenix found herself most capable at climbing. Scaling up the fake rock wall, pulling herself up on the net spanned across one side of the training centre. Some of her fellow tributes, other twelve year olds from the outer districts, oh’d and ah’d at her while most of the older tributes simply sneered or smiled indulgently. With her climbing skills, Phoenix scored a three during the private training presentations.

There was heavy focus on honor and sacrifice and representing the country in this historic edition of the Hunger Games. The big 100, fourth Quarter Quell, a reminder of the rebellion that had been squashed. Phoenix just thought it was terrifying as she spoke to Calix Crystal, thought it still when she left the interview stage and was ushered back up to the eighth floor to prepare for launch the next day. Unable to sleep, she found her brother in the living quarters, staring out the window at this strange and gigantic city, buildings so high they seemed to pierce the sky with their pointy roofs.

Phoenix had asked him if he was scared. Rayon smiled at her with a touch of sadness. He didn’t answer her. “Are you scared?” he returned the question instead, beckoning her closer. “Yes,” she’d admitted in a whisper. Rayon had immediately pulled her into his embrace tighter. Much to their escort’s dismay, they’d both fallen asleep on the common room sofa that night.

## 100th Arena

They were launched into a dimly lit, circular room. A pile of boxes in the middle as the countdown flashed on top. Phoenix felt herself shaking in her thick jacket, boots to match and a fuzzy neckline that almost swallowed her. Instead of running for the boxes, she ran the opposite direction, down one of the tunnels that lead away from the fight. Behind her, there was screaming, thuds and angry words, echoing even louder in the circular tunnels. At some point, she stopped at an indent in the concrete wall, cowering into it in the darkness. Rayon found her there, lucky that no one else had been quicker. One of his hands held a box, the other a knife, blood staining the side of his jacket. Rayon had quickly reassured her that the blood was not his.

Together, they ventured into the tunnel, a light at the end. It turned out, each of those tunnels led to a different laboratory, shiny equipment, elaborate notes and sterile lighting. The room they’d been launched into, where fights over boxes had taken place, was repurposed into standard living quarters. Cots and thin blankets, uncomfortable mattresses encased in a squeaky metal frame. The puddles of blood on the concrete ground remained. Outside the facility, a snowstorm raged.

They braved Gamemaker events together, blearing alarms, terrifying cracks in the windows that let in some of the cold air, a loudly broadcast advertisement of the developments the laboratory had made before it was seemingly abruptly abandoned. Mutts with longer teeth, more venom, curved claws and spiked, razor sharp fur. Details of what this venom could do to those affected by it; hallucinations, rage, immense pain. All a preparation for what would come later.

On their third day, Phoenix finally found out how sponsor gifts were delivered in this place. Right outside the door to the research lab they were staying in, a box unceremoniously dropped into the snow. Rayon braved the journey, trudging through the icy cold after they had unsealed the door. It closed behind him. Phoenix could still see him through the round, slightly fogged window in the metal door. He retrieved the box, and just as he turned, there was a flash of something dark. It collided with her brother, biting and scratching. Phoenix screamed as she watched from behind the door. Rayon was different, when he had reached her again, erratic, bloodshot eyes and a crazed look. For the first time, Phoenix was terrified of her brother. He yelled through the door, dull but nonetheless piercing, obscenities and insults as he begged. She didn’t let him back in.

Some of the younger outer district tributes found her there, shivering and crying. She stuck to them afterwards. Together they took out an older tribute, no match for a swarm of twelve year olds. Phoenix was hardened by the loss of her brother and it carried through all the way to the end. For the grand finale, the mutts outside the facility busted open the previously sealed doors, chasing all remaining tributes into the centre of the facility. After a week of the Arena, those in charge seemed desperate to see it end.

As one of the last few remaining, Phoenix was chased by a particularly nasty looking wolf, spiked fur and dripping teeth. He toppled her, teeth sinking into her leg as she cried out in pain. Things from then on were a blur. Phoenix wouldn’t truly come back to herself until later, surrounded by beeping machines and diligent nurses. When she was more stable again, she found out what had happened. The older tribute from Three had been devoured by a modified polar bear. When the hallucinogenic poison had spread through Phoenix’s system, she’d attacked the younger girl from Six, who had become a friend to her in their alliance.

Delirious, thrashing and in pain, Phoenix had been lifted out of the Arena, crowned victor of the fourth Quarter Quell.

## Life after Victory

Phoenix wasn’t alone when she returned to District Eight. At twelve years old, without a legal guardian, the Capitol provided one for her. Berenice Merope was stylish and eager to raise a victor, but the longer she lived in Eight instead of in the Capitol, the more the woman softened.

Panem wasn’t very kind to its elite either, she found.

Phoenix had been asking to see Serge once she’d returned, but she’d been denied. “Don’t be ridiculous,” her governess had said. “How could a child take care of another child?” Phoenix had retaliated and pushed back. In the end, she wouldn’t see Serge again until she was eighteen and Berenice had finished her duties as governess and left to return to the Capitol. Suddenly, she was no longer chaperoned wherever she went, be it the Tower to act as a perfunctory mentor, or back at home in her mansion. Suddenly, she had more money than she could ever hope to spend.

She started by finding her nephew. Pulling out all the stops, Phoenix didn’t rest until Serge, now eleven years old, had been returned to her.

Then, she turned towards fashion. Berenice had brought mountains of shiny fashion magazines from the Capitol while she had stayed at the mansion, and Phoenix had occupied herself with going through them, page by page. Wide eyed at some of the more outlandish designs, amazed at the gorgeous ones. Phoenix gradually began to fit into the circles in the nation's capital, dressing the part, but just the right amount of foreign to remain interesting beyond her status.

She wasn’t the best mentor, had never particularly been taught how, but she still tried to lift her tributes up, give them as much hope as they could before most of them would eventually go on to perish awfully early, or last long, but not quite long enough. It brought her no joy to send off tribute after tribute into the Arena, but she did her part when she had to, and turned to other matters when she could.

## Marriage

At twenty-seven, Phoenix met Olivier Cullinan. Charming owner of the most expensive hotel in the city, knowing just the right things to say to get her to fall for him, made her feel like this was finally her chance at a family of her own. A whirlwind romance and a lavish wedding later, those things were said fewer and farther in-between. Love dwindled when there was no longer the chase, the thrill of the conquest. Just like that, Phoenix was alone again. Not in name, but in every other aspect.