A/N: Hey everyone! So, I don't know if I'm the only one who was intrigued by Cashmere and Gloss in Catching fire. The fact that they are siblings just made me so speculative of their experiences on the field, and their relationship to eachother. In the book, they seemed close, as they were always together at training, and Cashmere was leading Gloss around by the hand. I was sort of sad when Collins killed them off because I think it could have made for an interesting dynamic, so I decided to write one myself. Hope you enjoy! Don't forget to review!

The Siblings that Drowned

Cashmere did not love many things. She loved the dull sheen of unpolished diamonds. She loved her frivolous possessions, her shoes, dresses, necklaces, mountains of them. She loved the hungry stares of men as she walked around District 1.

Unable to stop the haughty grin tugging at her full lips, she pulled her dress just a bit lower to reveal her cleavage line. The reactions were instantaneous, several pairs of male eyes shooting towards her chest tactlessly and sloppily.

They were so simple minded, these men. Cashmere could see in their eyes that they all sincerely believed they had the chance of winning her someday. They dreamed of carrying her home, a trophy wife. Their own little beautiful, crazy victor to show off to their friends.

Cashmere loved the attention, so she let them drown themselves in any fallacy they wanted: But she would never be theirs. Even if she were to marry, she would quickly become bored and murder them for the sport of it. While she thrived off the lustful gazes, Cashmere hated most human company.

Ever since the games, that is.

Before her time in the Hunger Games, Cashmere was admittedly still cold, rude, and widely disliked. However, she still did have her circle of superficial friendships which she enjoyed. But after the brutality of the games, Cashmere could not bring herself to reassimilate amongst other people. She hated everyone for not having undergone the same torture she had. Her bitterness was unwarranted, she knew. But she couldn't suppress her distaste.

Cashmere turned away from the hungry stares, into Victor's Village. Her face quickly broke into a less haughty expression. Victor's Village was a place where she could feel at home. People understood the Hunger Games here. She considered those in Victor's Village her equals.

"Hello Opal." Cashmere said, waving brightly towards a middle aged woman who sat on her porch, knitting a scarf.

The woman smiled and waved back. Opal had been Cashmere's mentor during the games, and now was almost like a surrogate mother to herself and Gloss.

They were orphans, had been since Cashmere was six and Gloss was five. Their parents had died when they inhaled too much of a new Capital issued jewel polish that turned out to be greatly toxic.

This was when Cashmere felt her first distaste for the Capital, simply because they had taken her parents away. But with each hunger games she was forced to watch, her simple distaste burst into an all out hatred. Of course, she never voiced her strong opinions out loud. Opinions could easily get you killed in Panem, and Cashmere was no brazen idiot.

Gloss understood though. He always seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, as if he were her other half. Though they were not twins, the siblings could easily pass off for it. Both had exquisitely chiseled features, and the same piercing blue eyes. Their hair was the exact same shade of soft blond, and held the same barely there wave.

Cashmere and Gloss were both beautiful specimens. Granted, they didn't have the raw, sexual magnetism that Finnick Odair of district 4 had, but they were beautiful and ethereal in their own way.

This superior beauty may just have been what carried the sibling through their respective hunger games. Like Finnick who won the games before them, both Cashmere and Gloss received endless streams of food and medicine throughout the games. While both were capable fighters and quick thinkers, the sponsors most definitely carried them through.

She had reached her home.

Adjusting a basket full of pastries in her arms, she fidgeted with her keys and stepped into her mansion.

Gloss was sitting on the windowsill, demurely reading a painfully long book that Cashmere shuddered at the mere thought of touching.

For as similar as they looked, Cashmere and Gloss were as different as fire and ice. Cashmere was fierce and confrontational. Despite having a reputation of being simple minded and mean hearted, Cashmere was more perceptive than most, and loving to the select few she chose. Above all, she was passionate in all aspects of her life, be it anger or love. Gloss was indifferently polite to everyone, and angered extremely slowly. Unlike his older sister, no one could possibly mistake him for being stupid. Rather, he seemed to be in a perpetual state of detachment. Only Cashmere was able to coax a smile from his usually stony face, and such a wonderfully kind expression it was.

"Come off that window, Gloss. I bought some pastries."

He climbed off the windowsill and reached into the basket, pulling out a vanilla crème braided bread: his favorite. He took a bite and chewed, still wearing that stoic expression on his face.

"I woke up and you were gone. You went to the market?"

"I wanted to buy sweets. Today is the day they announce the quarter quell, we can't allow this joyous occasion to pass without celebration." She said, acid in her voice. The edges of Gloss' lips rose as he picked up a knife from the counter.

"Do you want me to cut the strudel for you?" He asked, wiping the blade on his shirt hem.

Cashmere smiled. "Yes, thank you."

Gloss knew by now that Cashmere hated eating anything that was not cut into small pieces. As vain as this was, Cashmere didn't like food to stick to her lips. She felt it tarnished her beauty and made her look slovenly. Gloss pulled out the pastry and cleanly cut it into bite sized piece.

Watching her brother use the knife with such precision brought Cashmere's mind back to the weeks in which she watched him struggle through the Hunger Games. His weapon of choice had been a set of twin daggers he found at cornucopia, and he used it with such liquid ease that the careers had instantly recruited him, despite his young age of fifteen. With the careers, Gloss scoured the arena in search of other players. Cashmere remembered distinctly however, how even after mortally injuring others, Gloss seemed to always shy away from dealing the finishing blow. The other careers gladly finished the job for him, but he always seemed to have a stricken look of guilt afterwards. He was never one to smile or gloat about hurting someone, as the other careers did. In fact, the only direct kills Gloss ever dealt were that of the careers he was traveling with. He made his fame by slicking the career's water canteens with nectar from a toxic flower as they slept. The next day, all six of them dropped down dead within ten minutes of each other, and Gloss kneeled and covered his ears as the terrible cannon sounded off six times consecutively. Within the next few days, the remaining contestants died from starvation, or killed one another. Gloss won hand over fist, despite his nascent brutality. Gloss was famous for this act, and every year, a flood of flowers arrived on their doorstep from his admirers in the capital. Gloss, however, said there was something morbid about the tradition, and he gave all of them to Cashmere who wore them in her hair.

"Here you go." Gloss interrupted her unpleasant memories by sliding the cut up pastries onto her plate.

Cashmere stood and popped open a glass of wine, pouring them into elegant glasses. The siblings didn't normally drink, but on hunger game related days, they couldn't manage without nursing a glass of alcohol.

The automatic television flickered on at the exact time of the quarter quell announcement.

"Cheers." Gloss said, raising his glass with a rueful smile.

Cashmere met his glass with a clink, and the siblings turned to watch the announcements. As always, they gripped each other's hands like children to keep their demons at bay.