unforgivable ➸ finnick odair

O N E

"You look beautiful," my mother murmured as she stepped away from me, letting me look at myself in the mirror. 

Personally, I didn't think I looked beautiful. Beauty was my dead sister's long, flowing blonde hair that danced as she ran through the district, her bright laugh accompanying her. Beauty was the polished silver of the knife I kept hidden underneath my bed, only removing it too practice my aim on the trees in our garden. Beauty was the enchanting songs of the birds that soared through the relatively clean District 5 air.

"Yeah. Beautiful." I mumbled as I examined myself in the mirror. The white dress I wore was the same one that my mother had worn to her reaping when she was 17 years old, so here I was, wearing it as well; sentimental purposes, I suppose. There really wasn't anything special about it - the fabric was just a plain, pure white, and the dress itself reached around lower/mid-thigh. Thick brown hair cascaded down my back in it's natural, if not slightly tamed, form - slightly wavy. My mother had carefully applied a layer or two of shimmering pink lipgloss and a light dusting of blush, but that was it. The only jewelry I was wearing was the simple golden locket I constantly wore around my neck, the locket that contained a picture of my beautiful sister before she was reaped.

"It's time to leave, El," my mother whispered. Nodding, I turned away from the mirror, slipped into a simple pair of white sandals and followed her aimlessly out of the door. Our house was in the centre of the district, as my family was quite wealthy in District 5 terms, so the walk to the town square was short and stiff. Reapings were always sore subjects for us. Breeze's name had only been in once - one small slip amidst thousands - and she had been picked. That didn't exactly spell out good odds for me.

After giving the capitol woman my name and letting her extract a tiny sample of my blood (the reaping was also a convenient way to track the district's populations), I joined the rest of my fellow female 17-year-olds in our own roped-off section.

"Hello Electra," the only person I could count as even close to a friend in this world (to be honest, she was more of an acquaintance), Emilia Saxon, greeted me, giving me a tense half-smile. Her long blonde hair was pinned back into an elegant bun and her flowing yellow dress was strapless and ended just below her knees. She looked beautiful.

The rest of the time coming up to the reaping passed in silence. Then, once the time finally came, our escort - a half-decent capitol woman called Eleanora - cleared her throat and began the normal reaping proceedings.

"Hello everybody and welcome to the reaping of the tributes for the 68th Hunger Games!" she exclaimed cheerfully into the microphone. "Now, we have brought to you an exciting video from President Snow himself!" I began to tune out as the same video played at each reaping every year began. Blah blah blah, the Games bring peace, blah blah blah, President Snow is a hero and saved lives, blah blah blah, war is bad.

"Now, wasn't that lovely?" Eleanora sighed before launching on. "Now - the selecting of the tributes. Ladies first!" Walking confidently over to one of the two glass bowls, not even wobbling at all even though she was wearing a pair of very high silver platform heels, she carefully plucked out a slip of paper and returned to the microphone.

"District Five, the female tribute representing you is... Azura Locklands!"

A strangled scream emitted from the section of 12-year-old girls and, turning around, I saw a blonde-haired girl collapse to the ground, body racked with sobs. And something propelled me forward - something made me step forward, raise my hand and loudly declare "I volunteer." Maybe it was my natural born selflessness (yes, I'm joking). But maybe it was the fact that, at that very second, Azura Locklands looked so much like Breeze Reine - 12 years old, blonde and about to be sent off to certain death.