𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 - 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

𝑰. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

The rain patters on the roof of the Blackthorn house. It's drearily gray and melancholic outside. But in retrospect, it perfectly fits. Today is reaping day. The one day every year when two children are selected from each district to fight to the death in an arena. Henceforth, the Hunger Games.

Every year, mothers and fathers alike send off their flesh and blood to what is basically a death sentence. There is nothing to be done about it. No way to prevent it. The Capitol has power above all else. And yet, they stand by in their lavish mansions, devouring rich food, living in comfort and safety while some of the districts starve.

District four is considered rich. A career district, where their tributes are trained from a young age for the games. Then they volunteer. A few of them, at least. While all the tributes are careers, most of them are unwilling to volunteer for the games. Nova knew that Mags Flanagan hadn't. She knew Finnick Odair hadn't.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of anyone willingly going into the arena. Did they have a death wish? Maybe. Or maybe they were just sick bastards who took pleasure in slaughtering others like pigs in a butcher shop.

Her mind races with thoughts of anything and everything. What will happen today? Will she be the one on the reaping stage, standing next to a snobby, posh, and overdressed Capitol official? Or perhaps it may be her sister. Poor, defenseless Ivana, who couldn't even squash a spider without feeling guilty. If her name was called, she wouldn't survive. She had almost no chance of even making it past the cornucopia.

She tried not to worry about that. Her name was only in there twice out of hundreds of other children. She wouldn't get picked. It was her second year eligible. There was no way.

Then there was her. Bryony Yearwood. A fisherman's daughter, and Nova's best friend. Bryony was sixteen, while she was fifteen. They had met as young kids in the training center and became practically attached at the hip.

Nova worried she might be picked, too. Her name was entered over seventeen times. She had more chance of getting her name drawn then Ivana, or Silas.

Oh, Silas. He was a young, freckled, ginger-haired boy. Only twelve years of age. He was friends with Ivana, who of course, insisted they were just friends and nothing else. But anyone observing the two from the outside, well, they could see that Silas had a big, fat, schoolboy crush on her. Not that he would ever admit to it.

The first time they'd met he had occupied her and Ivana on the walk home from school, and he hadn't shut his mouth the entire way. She had resisted the urge to tell him to kindly piss off, as she was already having a terrible day. Not a great first impression for either of them.

But as the days went on, and the Blackthorn family saw more and more of Silas, he didn't seem so annoying anymore. In fact, Nova had grown to care for the boy. He was so kind and innocent, his mind free from the horrors of the games and the Capitol.