Satan and St. Paul (Hunger Games OC x OC)

1.

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Chapter One: The Reaping

The sun hung low over District 7, casting long shadows through the dense forests that surrounded the town. The people of District 7, known for their skills in lumber and woodworking, moved with quiet efficiency, their faces lined with the worry that came with the annual Reaping. Today, every step seemed heavier, every whisper tinged with dread.

Magnolia "Maggie" Beauregard stood in front of a cracked mirror in a small, dilapidated cottage on the outskirts of town. Her hands shook as she tried to tame her wild curls, the color of cornsilk, into some semblance of order. Her large, doe-like eyes, a soft blue, were wide with fear, darting nervously as she fiddled with the frayed hem of her dress. At sixteen, she was as delicate as a flower, her slight frame and timid nature often making her the target of the district's harsher residents.

"Magnolia," came a soft voice from behind her. It was her older sister, Clementine, with her warm brown hair tied up in a bun, her eyes weary but gentle. "Come on, darling. It'll be over soon. We need to get through today."

Maggie nodded, swallowing hard. Her heart pounded like a frightened rabbit's, and she wished, not for the first time, that she could just disappear into the forest, where no one could find her. But she knew she couldn't. The Capitol's reach was long, and there was no escape from the Reaping.

The two sisters walked hand in hand to the town square, where the rest of District 7 had already gathered. The atmosphere was heavy with a tension that buzzed in the air. Children stood with their families, their faces pale, while the older residents looked on with resigned expressions. Maggie scanned the crowd, her gaze landing on the stage where the officials from the Capitol waited with forced smiles.

Her eyes were drawn to the Peacekeepers standing at attention around the square, their white uniforms gleaming in the sunlight. But one figure caught her eye, and she froze, her breath hitching in her throat.

Boaz Thornwell stood at the edge of the square, leaning against a tree with an air of indifference. His tall, muscular frame was intimidating, his broad shoulders and chiseled features giving him the appearance of someone much older than eighteen. His dark hair fell in loose waves around his face, which was set in a perpetual scowl. But it was his eyes that unnerved everyone—cold and calculating, a stormy gray that seemed to see right through you.

Boaz had always been an enigma in District 7. Orphaned at a young age, he had learned to fend for himself, becoming a figure both feared and respected. He was a master with an axe, a skill that made him a valuable asset in the lumberyards, but also one that earned him a reputation for violence. The stories about him were enough to send shivers down anyone's spine—how he had once taken down a pack of wild dogs with nothing but his axe, or how he never flinched in a fight, no matter how outnumbered he was.

Maggie's gaze lingered on Boaz, a mixture of fear and curiosity knotting in her stomach. She had never spoken to him, had never dared to. He was everything she wasn't—strong, fierce, and unyielding. But there was something about him that drew her in, something that made her wonder what lay beneath that hardened exterior.

The sudden blare of the Capitol's anthem snapped her out of her thoughts. She squeezed Clementine's hand, her palms clammy with sweat. The crowd fell silent as the escort, a woman with a garish purple wig and bright, artificial smile, took to the stage.

"Welcome, welcome, citizens of District 7, to the annual Hunger Games Reaping!" she chirped, her voice grating against the somber mood of the day. "As always, ladies first!"

Maggie's heart pounded louder in her ears as the escort reached into the glass bowl filled with slips of paper, each one containing the name of a potential tribute. She held her breath, praying to whatever gods were listening that it wouldn't be her.

But the universe had a cruel sense of humor.

"Magnolia Beauregard!"

The world seemed to tilt, and for a moment, Maggie thought she might faint. The name echoed in her ears, growing louder and louder until it was all she could hear. Her legs felt like they were made of lead as she stepped forward, her vision tunneling as the crowd parted to let her through. She could feel their eyes on her, their pity, their sorrow, but she couldn't focus on anything other than putting one foot in front of the other.

As she reached the stage, the escort beamed at her, oblivious to the terror etched on her face. Maggie's eyes darted to Clementine, who was being held back by one of the Peacekeepers, tears streaming down her face. Maggie wanted to run to her, to bury her face in her sister's shoulder and pretend this was all a nightmare, but she knew she couldn't.

"And now, for the boys!" the escort trilled, turning back to the glass bowl.

Maggie's stomach twisted as the second name was drawn, her breath catching in her throat.

"Boaz Thornwell!"

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Maggie's eyes widened in shock as she watched Boaz push himself off the tree and stride toward the stage, his expression unreadable. He moved with a grace that belied his size, his gaze fixed straight ahead. There was no hesitation in his step, no sign of fear. He was as steady as the trees that surrounded them, his presence commanding attention.

When he reached the stage, he glanced at Maggie, his cold eyes meeting her wide, fearful ones. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Maggie felt a shiver run down her spine, her heart thudding in her chest. Boaz's gaze was intense, searching, as if he were sizing her up, deciding whether she was worth his attention.

Then, without a word, he turned to face the crowd, his jaw set in a hard line. The escort, oblivious to the tension between the two tributes, clapped her hands together, her smile as bright as ever.

"Well, isn't this just thrilling!" she exclaimed. "Two brave tributes, ready to fight for the glory of District 7!"

The crowd remained silent, their expressions grim. Maggie's legs wobbled, and she fought to stay upright, her mind racing. How was she supposed to survive this? She was nothing like Boaz—she was weak, fragile, scared. The thought of facing the arena, of facing him, made her want to curl up and disappear.

But there was no escape now. She had been chosen.

As the Peacekeepers escorted them off the stage, Maggie dared one last glance at Boaz. His face was as impassive as ever, his gaze fixed ahead. But there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something dark and unreadable, that made her stomach twist with dread.

Maggie realized with a sinking heart that she was more afraid of her fellow tribute than she was of the arena itself.