You wake up in a cold sweat. Your lusus, concerned, scuttles over to you on his little crab legs to make sure you're okay. You are glad he is here to comfort you, even though you would never admit it. Your nightmare haunts you as you recall the horror from which you have just awoken. A troll is chained upright against a slab of stone, bright red blood streaming from many gashes all over his body. A huge mob yells at the pitiful figure, taunting him in his misery. A highblood stands nearby and reads out a verdict, while another troll levels his bow at the prisoner, ready to carry out the sentence. As the executioner pulls back the arrow, the chains around the wrists of the bleeding troll start to glow red hot, their terrible image burning itself into your retinas. He shouts a word- The arrow flies free- And-
And that's when you woke up.
Your name is Karkat Vantas. You live on Alternia in District 10, the region furthest from the Capitol. Your loyal lusus has brought you up and cared for you since you were just a wriggler. You are very grateful that he took you in, given the circumstances. Even if he can be a little… crabby sometimes. You would hate to have woken up from that vivid nightmare alone. You remember the red blood that painted the stone in your dream and shudder. Why did you get the feeling that your own life was about to end when that arrow flew? Something about the scene felt so real. It couldn't just be the color of that crimson blood, so similar to your own. There was something more ominous about the scene that you couldn't quite place. Oh well, it was just a dream. You think you should probably try to forget about it. You have more important things to deal with.
After all, the Reaping is today.
You feel a bit nervous, having entered your name into the lottery more times that you entirely felt comfortable with. You did what you had to do to keep yourself and your lusus from going hungry, though. No use regretting it now. Hell, even if you do get picked and die in the Games, at least it would be faster than starving to death. All you can really do at this point is get dressed in your special suit, go out to the town square with everyone else, and hope for the best.
You want to get some fresh air first, though. You throw on some clothes and slip out the door before your lusus can catch you. He doesn't really approve of your trips outside the District, but you don't care. You have to take a breather before the big moment. You know it probably won't be you whose name is drawn, but you can never be sure. A walk in the woods always helps calm your nerves.
You duck under a broken segment of fence and head to the log where you stash your weapons. Rolling it over, you withdraw two sharp sickles. Their grips feel familiar and comforting in your calloused hands. After putting the log back, you go through one of your practice drills, then another. Every troll has to be able to fight, although you are a bit more enthusiastic about it than most. The two curved blades whirl around you in a steady rhythm that you have practiced many times before. Your nerves start to ease up a bit. Hell, if you do end up in the Games, your opponents had better watch out, you think.
You are feeling pretty proud of yourself - until you accidentally hit your arm with one of the sickles by accident. Ouch! You sit down and examine the cut while uttering a long stream of profanities. The wound isn't deep, but your candy red blood reminds you of your nightmare. Shit, so much for calming down, you think. Gotta find something to wrap this up with. Can't have the whole world knowing you're a mutant. You carefully cut off a bit of your shirt and tie it around the wound. There. Much better.
As you sit there staring at the ground and feeling sorry for yourself, you spot something glinting silver from underneath the layer of dead leaves covering the forest floor. Curious, you sift through the leaves and pick it up. It seems to be some sort of silver chain, maybe a necklace of some sort. Dangling at the end of it, you see…
Oh hell no.
It's the handcuffs from your dream.
You have had so many of these goddamn nightmares. Every time, no matter what shitty thing happens, the red-blooded troll always shows up. And without fail, he always has this same symbol. Sometimes it's on his cloak. Other times it shows up on the cover of a book that his catgirl companion is carrying. Heck, you adopted it as your sign before you even started having these dreams. You're not sure why it bothers you so much, but finding a symbol from your nightmares on the day of the Reaping just seems like a bad omen.
You stare at the dangling charm. You're probably just being a wuss, you decide. You were never really that superstitious. It's just a goddamn necklace. Probably worth something, too. You could probably make a decent sum off it if you sold it on the black market. Looks like it's made of real silver, given that it hasn't rusted yet. No reason to freak out. Bad omen, your ass. You might as well say it belonged to your ancestor and you were magically fated to find it. What a load of BS. You put the necklace in your pocket and head for home.