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

“Just give me a moment, all right?” he asks. He walks
around my naked body, not touching me, but taking in every
inch of it with his eyes. I resist the impulse to cross my arms
over my chest. “Who did your hair?”
“My mother,” I say.
“It’s beautiful. Classic really. And in almost perfect balance
with your profile. She has very clever fingers,” he says.
I had expected someone flamboyant, someone older trying
desperately to look young, someone who viewed me as a piece
of meat to be prepared for a platter. Cinna has met none of
these expectations.
“You’re new, aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve seen you before,”
I say. Most of the stylists are familiar, constants in the everchanging
pool of tributes. Some have been around my whole
life.
“Yes, this is my first year in the Games,” says Cinna.
“So they gave you District Twelve,” I say. Newcomers generally
end up with us, the least desirable district.
“I asked for District Twelve,” he says without further explanation.
“Why don’t you put on your robe and we’ll have a
chat.”
Pulling on my robe, I follow him through a door into a sitting
room. Two red couches face off over a low table. Three
walls are blank, the fourth is entirely glass, providing a window
to the city. I can see by the light that it must be around
noon, although the sunny sky has turned overcast. Cinna invites
me to sit on one of the couches and takes his place across
from me. He presses a button on the side of the table. The top
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