Summary: Today is the reaping day of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, but I don't fear it. I know that my name won't be drawn out of the glass ball. I won't be sent to the arena to battle to the death. I already have. My name is Siria Ivory, but the Capital knows me as Orsa Wishart.

A/N: I think of "Siria" as pronounced "sih-REE-ah", with nicknames being "Siri" or "Ria"

A/N: I write mostly for my own enjoyment, but I am posting here in hopes of some comments and constructive criticism to improve my writing. Ideas, praise, and constructive criticism are much appreciated and valued - flames will be ignored. Thank you!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games (obviously)

CHAPTER 1

I wake up to the sounds of the woods around me, and groan slightly as I roll out of my bed in Victor's village. Today is the reaping day of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, but I don't fear it. I know that my name won't be drawn out of the glass ball. I won't be sent to the arena to battle to the death. I already have.

Even with that "comfort", it doesn't make this day much better. I will still have to sit on that stage in the square, and watch as another young, malnourished, sickly boy and girl are pulled away from their families in District 12, and sent to the games - and their almost certain death. They usually last a couple days at the most, die a pitiful death, and then the process repeats a year later. I hate it, but I can't do anything about it.

To make things worse, Haymitch and I have to mentor the tributes, and be reminded every moment of our own experience in the games. Haymitch was in the 50th annual Hunger Games, while I was in the 69th. I don't like to call myself the winner - nobody wins the games - I'm just the only survivor.

I can still remember all of their faces. I curse my good memory. I remember all of the tributes from my own games - down to their scared faces at their death - and all of the tributes I mentored after. Sometimes I think I see them running amongst the children going to school, but have to remind myself that they are gone forever.

It's nearly dawn, so I slip on some hunting clothes, tie on my boots and head towards the woods. In a few hours, Katniss will be out to hunt, but she usually stays closer to the side of the woods near her house. I don't want to bother or find her today, so I stay on "my" side of the woods. Katniss and I are kind of friends. I knew her father before he was killed in the mines. He and I use to hunt together, and I almost became like a second daughter to him, although I never spent much time with the rest of the Everdeen family. He died the year I was in the games, but I never forgot what he said to me one day.

He and I were walking in the woods when he said, "Siria," I hadn't heard my real name in a long time, but I'll explain my history another time. "you and I both know that the mines are dangerous." I paused and nodded. "If anything happens to me, please take care of my girls. I will teach Katniss how to hunt soon, but they must not starve."

When I returned from the games, I was shaken to hear that Mr. Everdeen was gone. But ever since then, I've used my winnings to buy food for them , and I leave it on their porch every few weeks. They never see me, and I don't plan to let them. They don't need me to intrude. After the games, I kept to myself even more than before. I would hunt alone in the woods, when one time I saw Katniss trying to hunt.

She was no older than 13, and hitting her prey only about 10% of the time. I eventually got the courage to introduce myself and help her hone her hunting skills, and we became pretty good friends, but I never told her that I was in the games, and she doesn't know. It's not like she'd understand anyway.

I look hardly like myself with the heavy makeup and dress that I would wear when presenting myself as "Orsa Wishart, Victor from District 12 of the 69th Hunger Games". I've gotten good at steering the conversation towards other people, and almost never talk about myself. Katniss, and later Gale, only know me as Siria, or Siri, the girl who nobody knows. She doesn't know where I live, or much about me, and I intend to keep it that way.

My name is Siria Ivory, but the Capital knows me as Orsa Wishart.