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ιη α ѕмαℓℓ wooden cabin in the middle of the forest, with no neighbors for at least two miles, a storm was brewing inside. "I'm not being selfish! After everything I've done for you and your family! I took you in, I cared for you! My husband spent every last cent just to make sure you survived, and you can't even grant me this one request?!"
Estella Perez, a 16-year-old girl with platinum blonde hair that fell just below her shoulders and eyes that could challenge the colour of a tree bark—though dulled by years of quiet suffering—sat silently at what could barely be called a dining table. She didn't respond as her guardian screamed, tears streaming down the woman's face, punctuated by flying objects that narrowly missed her thanks to poor aim.
Her gaze didn't shift from the cracked door behind the raging woman, where the woman's daughter stood silently, staring at Estella with concern etched on her young face.
"Aren't you even listen—"
"Mama?" The woman's head snapped around, shame washing over her as she realized her daughter had seen everything. Clearing her throat with a fake cough, she glanced back at Estella with a sharp look—a silent command to leave.
Estella rose without a word, offering the younger girl a soft smile before stepping outside. She let her feet carry her into the dense, green woods—one of the few places where her soul felt lighter.
Eventually, she reached the tallest tree in the district. Eyeing her worn beige jeans, oversized shirt, and scuffed army boots, she nodded in approval. Perfect climbing gear. With practiced ease, she ascended the massive trunk, stopping just high enough to see the forest stretch endlessly below her—yet remain hidden from anyone walking by.
There, in the solitude of the tree, the wind brushing her face, she opened her small journal, jotting down thoughts and sketching the view before her. Her peace was broken by the sound of voices drifting up through the trees—girls around her age, chatting as they walked the forest path below.
Estella's sharp hearing caught the murmur of voices drifting through the forest, though she hadn't meant to eavesdrop. She had simply been sitting in the crook of the tree, letting the wind tangle through her hair and silence soothe her mind when the chatter began to rise from the path below. The girls' voices—familiar in their cadence and tone—carried effortlessly up to her perch. At first, she ignored it, brushing it off as another group enjoying the woods. But then came the words that snapped her back to the grim world she lived in.
"Are you nervous? They're coming to our district tomorrow."
Those words, casual but heavy, tightened something deep in Estella's chest. The Games. The Reaping. The cold, brutal reality of what awaited every eligible child once they turned twelve. No amount of wind or tree bark could insulate her from that kind of truth. Her grip on her journal faltered for a moment as her ears tuned in more sharply, the serenity of her forest escape cracking around the edges.
