𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 - 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

𝑰𝑰. 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃

"Now, before we begin. We have a very special film. Brought to you all the way from our very own Capitol!"

The children of district four turn their heads to stare at the giant screen, that plays the same film, year after year.

"War. Terrible war."

The almost bone-chilling voice of President Snow comes over the speakers. For the first time in several weeks, district four is completely silent, save from the film. Nova's eyes drift away from the screen, almost too bored to watch it. After all, they always play it at each year's reaping.

Her eyes drift over to Ivana, who looks like her nerves are through the roof right now, which is completely understandable. Then to Silas, who is at least a foot shorter than most of the other boys, and he looks terrified. The younger ones always do.

The older ones are very different. They've learned to keep their emotions in check, or at least hidden from others. Keeping on a blank face helps to conceal how they really feel sometimes. Like Bryony and Nova. Their faces remain blank, their mouths pressed together in a tight line.

Elira stands in the back with the other families. She's afraid for her children's lives. To be reaped is almost like to be executed. Twenty-four tributes go in. But only one comes out.

Nova's eyes drift away from the screen once more, this time drifting up to the other side of the stage. Where the mentors are. There are only two mentors of district four. Whether there was more a long time ago, she doesn't know. But now there is only two. Mags Flanagan and Finnick Odair.

She knew them. On a relative scale. Her mother was good friends with Mags, even now. Nova remembered Mags coming over a time or two to watch over her and Ivana when they were younger, and their mother was out.

Mags was very sweet, a kind older lady. Nova sometimes spoke to her at the market, or when she and her mother would have tea. Her mother said Mags couldn't speak because she suffered a stroke after winning her games. Nova had slowly learned to understand her signals and gestures over the years and was able to have full conversations with her now.

Mags would ask her about school, how her mother was doing, if she liked a boy, or even a girl. She seemed to truly enjoy talking to Nova, and she felt the same. Over the years she'd known Mags, she'd grown to see her as sort of a... second mother. She wasn't sure when or how Mags had won her games, but she knew it had been a long time ago.

She knew of the other mentor. Finnick Odair, the Capitol's golden boy, as her mother put it. Nova had only spoken to him once or twice, if he was with Mags, or happened to be asking about spices for cooking to her mother. She knew little about him.

She knew that he and Mags were close, that she had practically raised him. Mags had a truly good heart. Finnick was the same age as her. Fifteen. He had won the games last year by setting up traps and taking out other tributes with his trident. A truly smart tactic that had very clearly worked out for him, of course.

She vaguely remembered his reaping last year. They had called his name, and he had gotten up on the stage with a cocky and confident grin gracing his face. Nova had called it crap. At least, inside her head. That was something unique about her; she could always read people like an open book.

While Finnick may have fooled the Capitol and district four, she could see right through that arrogant smirk of his. He was scared. Frightened of dying, of being the cause of death, of not coming home. Which was only natural, of course. Nova couldn't think of anyone that wouldn't be scared going into the games. Except maybe the career tributes from district one and two. They were excited to kill.

Nova is pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of screeching feedback from the microphone, and the Capitol official clearing her throat.

"Don't you just love all that? The Capitol is truly generous and forgiving."

There's no response from the district. The tension in the air as they wait for the tributes to be reaped is palpable. And so is the utter disconnect between the Capitol and the districts.

"Anyhoo. The time has come for us to select one brave young man and one courageous young woman who will have the absolute honor of representing district four in the 66th Hunger Games! Out of respect, ladies first as usual."

The district waits with bated breath as the official reaches into the glass bowl and pulls out a paper slip. Bryony has her hand clasped in Nova's; they were just lucky enough to end up standing by each other.

The air around them suddenly feels tighter, almost constricting as the official finally, after what feels like an eternity, unfolds the slip and reads it, leaning forward into the microphone to speak.

"Novalie Blackthorn."

For a moment, it's like time has stopped in it's passing. Bryony's grip on her hand becomes vice-like. This can't be. But it is. She can barely hear through the ringing in her ears. They just called her name.

She's been reaped.

"Come on up, darling."

The Capitol official's voice creates a sour sound in her ears. She doesn't want this. But she has no choice.

She pulls her hand out of Bryony's grip and pushes through the other girls to get up to the stage. She can feel their glances, their stares of sympathy and pity. She tries to ignore it, as she gets closer to the stage.

She gets close enough to start climbing the stairs, and the Capitol official holds out a hand to help her up. She takes it, her throat dry and her heart slamming against her chest. Once she stands up straight, she looks out at the crowd.

Her eyes meet Bryony's first. Bryony looks like she's in disbelief. Her eyes have a shine to them, and her cheeks are slightly shiny as well. She's watching her best friend being sent off to what is most certainly death.

Then her sister. Ivana shows no signs of emotions, except for one thing. How hard her hands are clenched at her side as she looks at her sister on the reaping stage. Then it's Silas. He's completely heartbroken, and for some reason, Nova is only now remembering her promise to teach him how to hunt. Now it looks like she'll never have that chance.

Finally her eyes drift to the back of the district crowd. To her mother, who looks as if her entire world has just fallen into ashes. And in a way, it has.

"And now for the boys."

Nova's expression remains blank. Don't show fear. It makes you look weak. It makes you an easy target.

"Niccolo Mavros."

Nova's heart aches. She knows him decently well. They always sit together at lunch and talk about everything. But now one or both of them is going to die in the arena.

Nico swallows, hard. He slowly makes his way up to the stage, his palms clammy and his heart in his throat. It was already enough knowing Nova was going into the games, but to be going into the arena with her was an entirely different thing. They're friends.

But now one of them is going to be killed by the other, or both will be killed by someone else in the arena. Either way, one or both will die, and there's no way of getting around it.

"Here we have our tributes from district four. Be good sports and shake hands."

Nico and Nova walk closer to each other, and Nico holds his hand out. She shakes it after a moment, and they make eye contact in a way that wordlessly says 'I'm sorry'.

The Capitol official brings them both into the justice building, and they're taken to separate rooms, where their family will come to say goodbye in a few moments.

This could very well be the death of her.