suzanna-kollinz-acliq-oyunlari-1-hisse-eng

R-i-i-i-p! I grit my teeth as Venia, a woman with aqua hair
and gold tattoos above her eyebrows, yanks a strip of Fabric
from my leg tearing out the hair beneath it. “Sorry!” she pipes
in her silly Capitol accent. “You’re just so hairy!”
Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do
their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of
their sentences go up as if they’re asking a question? Odd vowels,
clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s . . . no
wonder it’s impossible not to mimic them.
Venia makes what’s supposed to be a sympathetic face.
“Good news, though. This is the last one. Ready?” I get a grip
on the edges of the table I’m seated on and nod. The final
swathe of my leg hair is uprooted in a painful jerk.
I’ve been in the Remake Center for more than three hours
and I still haven’t met my stylist. Apparently he has no interest
in seeing me until Venia and the other members of my prep
team have addressed some obvious problems. This has included
scrubbing down my body with a gritty loam that has
removed not only dirt but at least three layers of skin, turning
my nails into uniform shapes, and primarily, ridding my body
of hair. My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows
have been stripped of the Muff, leaving me like a
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