Amaline Crane

It's late at night in the Capitol, but Amaline can't sleep. Who is she, and what has awakened her? My entry to the Two Weeks in Panem competition.

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1. Amaline Crane

  The sharp night air swept over me as I rose from my bed and stepped out onto the balcony. Hours earlier, as I  crawled into bed, I had suspected I wouldn't sleep. But I had finally admitted it to myself only moments ago. I shivered and crossed my arms over my chest. It had been getting colder.
  As I leaned over the sturdy railing, the Capitol unfolded itself before me, and I could see almost every distant landmark that defined us. President Snow's mansion. The Training Center. The Arena. I cast my scattered mind back to the reason I had woken in the first place. My father. At dinner, he was frazzled and distant, looking over his shoulder, waiting for something. And now, judging by the muted clamor in his room, the something had arrived.
  Was he going somewhere?
  I pondered the reason for his sudden midnight excursion. My father had a prestigious position in the government, and often corresponded with important figures and officials. But never anything like this, as far as I knew, never secret meetings in the dead of night. Deep in thought, I almost didn’t notice footsteps behind me.
  "What are you doing up, Amaline? You know sleep is imperative to a healthy lifestyle.” He gave a tired smile and moved to stand beside me.
 "Father, you know we are on holiday during the games, and besides, I very well may ask you the same question.”
  He turned away from me, looking out into the sprawling expanse. “Business, dear.” He sighed. “It`s very urgent, apparently.”
  He looked at me. In his eyes, I saw desperation, and fear, and confusion.
  My mind was reeling. What was going on?
  "Amaline, everything I’ve seen... do you ever wonder... if we're wrong?”
  I knew what he meant. And  I knew what the right answer was. No, I had never asked myself if the Capital was in the right. Never questioned our judgement or our beliefs. Never wondered if we were wrong.
  He had begun to doubt the ways he'd lived behind all his life. But that was his question. Had I?
  Since I was small, I`d displayed the epitome of righteousness and virtue, always following the rules and coloring inside the lines. The Capitol was high society, especially with the social standings of a high placing family, and I had always known where I stood. But my father was the same, at least, he had seemed to be. But he had admitted his true thoughts. I would follow in suit.
  The words escaped my lips before I could reign them back. A whisper, a confession, one we now shared. My father shook his head and sighed. After a moments thought, he slipped something out of his pocket, fingering it as light flashed off its sheer surface. His identification card. I knew full well its significance in this moment. And even after his departure, when he kissed me goodnight and shut my door softly behind him, that small white card was still in his hand, shimmering and glinting. And there they were, the small printed letters I knew by heart.

                 Seneca Crane.

                 Head Gamemaker.
                   

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