Kay so. This is my first ever fanfic! Whoop!

I do not own the Hunger Games. All characters so far apart from Katniss and President Snow are mine.

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Somehow, I've got a feeling that I won't be waking up in this bed again.

How long have the Capitol children been dreading this day? How long have the rebels been looking forward to it? Today's the day of the Hunger Games Reaping. Nothing new. It's located at the same time of year – I, of all people, should know that! 24 children are still picked to compete. 1 will come out alive. No changes in the rules, not like the Mockingjay Games. There is one difference though. No poor child from the Districts will compete this year. No, this year, the loss will come from the Capitol. 24 children will be pulled from the security of the Capitol. And – just a hunch, you understand – I have a feeling, a terrible premonition, that I will be one of them.

My name is Heather Snow, and my grandfather was the President of Panem until recently.

Suddenly, I have an urge to get up. An urge to get up and have the Reaping over and done with. I could just run into the perfect streets – well, as perfect as they could be after rebels laid waste to them – and pound on the perfect doors and yell to the perfect people that yes, I am Snow's granddaughter and yes, I will go into the Hunger Games! It's unavoidable! Even though the Mockingjay is far away in District Twelve, she continues to wreak havoc here. Although, pretty soon, she'll be coming up here to draw the Reaping. Another inevitable event.

Come to think of it, this whole freaking day was inevitable. Surely, at some point or another, my grandfather's power over the Districts would fall. Sure, he didn't see it coming, but when I was standing at his side looking out at the citizens of my home town, I knew it would come. I saw the looks in those people's eyes during the Mockingjay Games. I saw the glint of anger there as they watched two lovers go through hell, just to be with each other. Twice. Literally in one case – the Gamemakers tried to fry Katniss one time. Hey, I was in the Control Room with them! As they sat there and joked about 'The Girl On Fire', I watched the quieter ones in there. I saw the self loathing in their eyes whenever we made eye contact. So it was practically written that this day would come. My own anger fuels up inside of me as I sit down and gaze at myself in the ornate mirror. I look practically demonic. My brown hair is falling over my face as I scream into my fists, half covering my eyes so they look narrowed. The elaborate nail polish that my Aunty had applied in a moment of madness a few days ago was already chipped – escaping into the trees behind our house does that to them. Not to mention the fact that one of the fake eyelashes – again, my Aunty - had been ripped off, seemingly in the middle of the night. My Aunty and Uncle tried so hard to make me a stereotypical Capitol citizen, but ever since the death of my Grandfather, well, that plan had gone downhill. I wasn't the type of girl that liked to alter her body in the most radical ways possible and live in front of her mirror. However, I was willing to gaze at myself for a while now. Would I look different after the Games? Probably.

Then I glanced at the clock above my head.

No. No way.

In half an hour my name would probably be pulled out of a glass ball.

I flew out of my seat, once again fuelled by my sudden anger. Pausing at the ornate wardrobe – my father's, surprisingly – I took a few moments to pick something suitable grand. Normally I wouldn't even pause for breath outside this thing, but today my anger was determined to present a beautiful young adult to Panem. Eventually, I picked out an old-ish dress of my Aunties': a blue silk number that hugged my body. To tell the truth, it looked pretty nice... if it weren't for the little rosebud perched merrily on my left shoulder. I flicked it in pure disgust – to my annoyance, it didn't affect the damn thing in the slightest – before yanking open the door and heading downstairs.

Half an hour later I was stood outside the large house that belonged to my Aunty and Uncle with a number of other girls. I wasn't the oldest one there, by a mile – there seemed to be an abundance of sixteen year old girls here. I was only fourteen. The middle ground for the Hunger Games contestants. I turned my eyes away from one such girl who was looking me up and down with a sense of distaste on her face – although she was freaking terrified, I could tell by her eyes – and focussed them on the stage. Yup, Katniss Everdeen had showed up, in the middle of two glass balls. I know that, in all the other streets and plazas and marketplaces here in the Capitol, the same thing is happening. But why do we get the Mockingjay?

I wonder, has my name already been picked out or is it just lying on the top?

Looking uncomfortable, and with a slight tremor in her voice as she announces "Ladies first!", she digs her hand into the first glass ball. This surprises me. How is she supposed to pick my name out from that? A brief flicker of hope goes through me, followed by anger, not just at myself, but at the rebels who caused me such turmoil this morning.

"Heather Snow."

The flame dies. And I realise something.

I can't do this.

The anger fuelling me this morning has flown away completely, and for a minute I am completely lost. Not in the crowd of people as I push through them, but in myself. I'm fourteen! I can't go in there! How can I possibly survive this? And then I'm up on the stage, barely listening as a seventeen year old boy called Sunbeam – haa – is picked out, barely listening to the ring of silence in my ears as volunteers are called for.

Then I catch Katniss' eye and my attitude changes.

I'm going to do this. I'm going to win the last ever Games.

I'm going to prove that the Snow family hasn't fallen yet.