𝓕𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓯𝓵𝔂 - (𝓕.𝓞𝓭𝓪𝓲𝓻)

03.

vol i
☼ chapter three ☼

Theia had never had food like it; the taste, the textures—it was incredible. But the encompassing feeling of guilt was enough to hold her back from finishing the dinner. It was enraging to think this was how those in the Capitol lived their everyday lives. There were children in District 3 who were starving, with their ribs notably protruding and their muscles thinning.
They had more than enough metals, mechanical parts, and tools, but never enough food. It was hard to come by. They had to rely either on the small amount produced in the outer-lying areas or on food parcels delivered from other districts.

"Shall we watch today's recap of events?" Ambrose suggests dabbing his mouth gently with a napkin. Watch the other reapings, observe the competition—that is what he had inadvertently implied. Beetee and Evan follow him into another compartment, but Rafael stops Theia, motioning for her to sit again.

"Beetee wanted you. Could barely stop the man from rambling on; he claims you're some sort of genius." He's examining her, trying to find something in her eyes. "But I got first pick this year."
Theia couldn't help herself from rolling them. "Lucky you."

"I chose you, not because of your supposed intelligence, but," she raised an eyebrow waiting for his answer, "maybe it was naive; I hoped that you had fight in you, some grit, a will to survive. I know what your father does, you could have picked up some skil—"

She stood and leaned over the table, grabbing the carving knife. Rafael watches, eyes wide, as she spins the knife smoothly through her hands, stopping, positioning herself, and throwing. The blade flies past him, missing his ear, and lodges itself in the painting behind him, in between the eyes of Coriolanus Snow. "You'd be right."

Theia Marsden had been playing with knives since she was a child, much to the distaste of her mother. She would take her father's prototypes, sneaking them up into her room and practising. After Andreas realised that trying to stop her was futile, he gave in, handing over old training holograms for her to use. Probably a bad decision considering how often he'd catch his kids fighting each other, having to pry weapons from their hands. Call it bad parenting, but at least he knew his children could hold their own.

"There just might be hope for you yet kid."

~

Watching the faces of the other tributes gave Theia an immense feeling of dread. Only one of them would make it out of these games alive, and she had to give everything to make sure it was her.
A few stood out, mostly the careers her father had warned her of. They had all lunged forward to volunteer themselves, standing proudly on the stage with a satisfied smile on their faces. It made her skin crawl.

Watching her own reaping replay was horrific. They had shown her best friend clutching on to her in her petrified state, screaming for the peacekeepers to spare her. Her family is rushing to reach her as she is pulled further away from them. The commentators were unsure of what to say about the crowd's refusal to applaud. Jokes are made, obviously with damage control in mind.

Beetee winces, "I think that's enough; let's just try to get some sleep."

~

Theia is awoken by repetitive knocking at her door. Sleep had not come easily to her, the bed being much nicer than she was used to. She slips on a new set of clothes, checking that her pendant is still in place, and makes her way once again into the dining compartment.