Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games, only my OCs, my artwork and this storyline.

First of all I'd like to state that this is AU in the sense that while Enobaria isn't the prognosis in the story, it's important to note that I've changed her origins to that of district 7 rather than district 2. Other than that, she's still the same toothy killer we all know and love, just perhaps a little more unstable.

This is the first time I've written for The Hunger Games; I'm excited to delve into one of the characters that really stood out to me, as well as how she would affect others. What would it be like to be influenced by this person, to be in their lives?

If you're interested, read on to find out.

"You got a vicious animal inside you. It wants to snap, it wants to attack, but it's harmless because some woman fitted a muzzle on it. Now, how do you imagine it feels about that muzzle? How do you think it will regard the woman the moment that muzzle is off, and she is within biting distance?"

― Thomm Quackenbush, Danse Macabre (Night's Dream, #2)

Prologue

The Games are televised to all of Panem, never-ending until the last tribute stands alone. It is mandatory to attend, however even if it wasn't, my family and I would have been watching. For some viewers connected to those competing, they may have wished they didn't have to. I understood; I was nauseating to watch children fight to the death, let alone a loved one. However to my parents, it was far more bearable to follow the movements of my sister, tracking her every movement with wide red eyes, wincing at every close hit. At least they could encourage her, show their support even if she couldn't see it at that moment.

My sister was always strong.

Before becoming a tribute, she worked as a lead climber in our forests. She was grounded by trees and nature, like many in our district are; areas that were left to regrow after the lumber season always had an abundance of grazers, mainly elk and the occasional wolf that needed to be kept away from our lumber stations. Wherever they travelled to, my sister would track them and drag home a gutted prize, excitedly demanding our father to examine her kill.

There was nothing malicious about her interest in hunting, not at first at least. I understood the need to be a predator, to feel in control. It was just a game, and the a child, the weight of taking a life of an animal wouldn't settle in yet. I had felt the same burning in my veins during it all, the thrill of beating the animals at their own game. I could relate.

Instincts like that could be useful for a far more sinister hunt in the Hunger Games.

Enobaria is stronger than before.

I could never beat her in a fight, not that I could have before. Watching her train, a blurred chaotic routine is both awing and terrifying. She still hunts in the woods of district 7, dragging her kills to our new home in the victor's village, though sometimes if she was in a rage, the bite marks would be deep enough to catch the bone.

She only ever used her teeth is she needed to vent.

But on those days, our mother would always sleep in Enobaria's room, and no one would question why her clothes were always so crumpled and damp.

Sometimes, my sister's eyes would glaze over when you found her alone. It was common practice to leave a room silently, or announce your presence from a distance in these situations. In times like those, I wondered what she was seeing before her eyes refocused.

And I wonder if 'strong' has an entirely too diverse meaning.

My memories at the time were nonexistent, my brain too underdeveloped to remember anything consciously from before the previous day, however I know what happened.

My parents watched the 62nd Games non stop that year. If one fell asleep, the other would stay alert, holding my stubby form just in case my sister would appear again. I was blissfully unaware of their states of minds, to how close I was to becoming an only child before I could even pronounce Enobaria's name.

My mother and father watched in horror as my sister dispatched the last tribute; her marketing had been 'the warrior of the woods', considering her skills with a blade and climbing, however no one expected her actions. The Games were a desperate, anarchic boiling pot of people who were too young to understand themselves, let alone the way their actions could tear them apart. The lines between winning and surviving were corrupt and blurred, their meanings lost to most. As Enobaria tore out her competitor's throat, my mother cried in grief for what ever leftover innocence Enobaria had just lost. My father moaned like a dying ghost, his relief at her survival choking on the lengths she was driven to.

She was a stranger when she first came home, the victor of our district, but no matter how scared our parents were of her now, they still loved her. Unconditionally. While the rest of Panem saw a bloodthirsty killer unearthed, they were there to hug away her demons and comfort the terrified animal inside.

The filed teeth were far more symbolic than people realised.

"After a traumatic experience, the human system of self-preservation seems to go onto permanent alert, as if the danger might return at any moment."
― Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery

The first fit Enobaria had was the night of her return. After spending hours in the shower of her family's new home, she started to scream, and howl because no matter how much the water burned, it just wouldn't go away. She slept with her parents in the floor of her bed room, crouched against the bathroom door that night.

The second was almost a week later at dinner. The food was warm and wholesome, though Enobaria buzzed like a live wire. She noticed her father's lingering gaze on her knife as she picked it up to cut her food. She reached for her drink, to realise that she had drained the entire glass, odd considering her dislike of the fruity tones of that wine.

She bit down on her lower lip, a habit Enobaria always had had. I would grow to have it as well. As her anxiety rose, her sharp teeth dug into the soft flesh, deeper and deeper until the course thick tang of copper coated her tongue.

With a panicked whine, she threw herself from the table and ran into the woods to look for something to stab.

Enobaria's spine was stiff, her muscles so taught they felt like they would tear from the bone. She stared down at the baby in her arms, and felt a wave of fear overcome her.

Her sister was so soft, so beautiful, so weak. She had no means of protecting herself from the cruelties of their world.

Enobaria leaned forward, trying to relax, even her minds screamed at her not to. She was home, she was safe.

No, never safe. Not from the Capitol.

Lazily, two blue eyes stared back at her own dark orbs. She gripped her sister tighter.

The Capitol would not have her.

"Eno," I called, wandering along a well worn path of the forest with the whimsical nature my age carried. I was almost 6 years old, and like many little girls, found the actions of my older sibling to be the most fascinating thing.

"You're too loud." I heard her mutter, several paces before I spotted her. She was on the balls of her feet, crouched over the corpse of some animal I couldn't make out.

I grinned nonchalantly as I skipped over, clumsily falling to my knees next to her. "I wasn't trying to be quiet."

Enobaria snorted and continued to slice away at the torso of what had once been a fairly fat hare. The blood didn't bother me, other than the fact that it was sticky under the summer heat, and the smell was turning my stomach. I thought it was yucky, but the colour of the dark aggulated blood was a pretty shade of red. In my naivety, I didn't care to ponder the fact that this had once been a living, breathing being just like a human, because all I saw was a mound of guts and a pile of its skinned hide in the corner.

"You need to be. All the time," Her grip on her hunting knife tightened as she tugged at a still tensed muscle in the leg of the hare. "Or you'll become the hunted."

My sister always spoke along these lines. No matter the topic or area we stood in, she was always securing her place on top of the food chain, never letting her guard down and berating me to do the same. However at the time, it seemed like a never ending game I got to play with her.

"Like him?" I asked, my fingers curiously stroking the matted fur.

Enobaria nodded, then passed me the knife that was easily longer than my hand. She drew lines along the last ungutted area of the abdomen with her fingers. "Cut at an angle here and here. Keep a firm grip and make it clean."

I eagerly obeyed her, giggling with a 'gross!' as a sharp spray of blood painted my face with crimson dots.

"There are no good men in this game."

― V.E. Schwab

"Sit down. You're not getting up until you've seen all of it." Enobaria commanded, shutting the door and planting herself next to me in an armchair.

I nervously flickered my eyes around the room. "Mum and Dad don't want me to see it. They said-"

"I don't fucking care what they said Eris, you're my sister and you need to know exactly what I did." She ignored my automatic gasp at her swearing, glaring me down until I whimpered.

"I don't want to know! Why do I have to watch this?! I don't-" I yelped as my sister slapped my mouth, the same hand moving to pin my down by the shoulder as she leaned over me.

Her eyes glinted menacingly, telling me that she was capable of what I was about to see even if I refused to believe it. "You are watching this now. You need to know exactly what I did, because it's time to grow up and get ready."

"I'm just a kid!" I cried angrily, struggling uselessly under her weight.

"You think the Capitol cares about that?!" She hissed, pressing into my shoulder until my eyes grew wet. "Is that what you're going to say to them if your name gets called? 6 years will be gone in a heartbeat, Eris, and I'll be damned if I have to watch you get gutted on TV because you were scared."

I started to cry 30 minutes into the bloodbath, moaning like a trapped animal as Enobaria sat in a chilling silence next to me. On the second day in games, I ran to the sink to throw up violently, only to return to Enobaria waiting with the program paused. When the commentary separated the shots of the arena, she growled and fast forwarded to the gore, watching my reactions all the while.

When her pixilated teeth flew towards her target's pulsing throat, I screamed and threw my head into my sisters stomach, hysterically fighting to process air into my lungs. Enobaria hugged me tighter, kissed my head and told me that the next day she would teach me how to fight.

"Fear is the venom impact of predator sting,
causing prey not to be focus on the survival."

― Toba Beta, My Ancestor Was an Ancient Astronaut

I stood warily next to Enobaria, my eyes flickering between the electric file in her hand and the particular glare she had that I easily recognised as the one she wore when addressing the possibility of me entering the Games. There was never any room for disagreement.

"What's the point of me doing it as well? It's not as if I can't survive with them as they are." I swallowed but stood my ground. My sister would become even more irritated at such a show of weakness.

She had an answer on her tongue immediately, like always. I would not be surprised if she had been planning to do this for years. "It's more than that, little sister. You'll become your greatest weapon. You'll never be weak. It's a symbol; only predators have teeth sharp enough to devour prey."

My eyes narrowed as I met her challenge. "I am not prey."

Enobaria grinned mockingly. "Then show them what happens when you bite back." I followed her to the bathroom and let her pry my lips back to carve away the bluntness of my canines.

Our parents were not happy at all when they saw me that day, but there was no going back. They fought with my sister for days, shaking the house with their arguments. Enobaria was obsessed, paranoid that I would suffer a fate similar to hers, and I was too far gone to go back to my old world where nothing could hurt me and danger was merely a myth.

Enobaria taught me to hunt like my father had taught her. She made every moment of our lives a lesson; to tread quietly, to be intimidating, to track, to claim dominance. She taught me a primal art that most people never touched upon, and I thrived in it.

Training with her was always painful. Enobaria encouraged animalistic moves that most kids would grow out of, scratching and biting, however as I grew older I realised how controlled her technique was, how seamless she made every move I stumbled through. Her competitiveness tore into me, and I pushed harder to become the force she wanted me to be.

Enobaria grumbled as I sparred with the staff, far more eager with this weapon in comparison to others. "It's so blunt." She complained.

I sidestepped and thrust to my left, flipping the staff and slapping it against the bark of a large tree. "It's flexible. It'll help me climb."

Her eyes narrowed in calculation. "Show me."

With a grin that showed the elongated points of my canines I rushed forward, digging the base of one end into the ground to propel me into the hight branches of the tree. I swivelled in my crouch to face her for approval, and to my joy she nodded, promising to continue training me.

I was bouncy on my feet, with stamina and a natural agility that matched my weapon. Though it was different from the image of a clawed hunter my sister wanted me to have, she taught me to incorporate the staff into my acrobatics, soon becoming excited when my skill set started to become lethal.

On my 10th birthday, my parents signed me permission to start working for my district. Our starting age was far lower than other districts, but caution was taken to ensure accidents were rare.

My mother gave me a large pot of flowers, knowing how much I loved looking at the wild ones native to our forest. She kissed me with her lilting smile and said they smelt just like me, which caused both my sister and I to roll our eyes in synchrony. My father flicked my nose and pushed a wrapped pair of fingerless gloves. He most likely was thinking ahead to the possibility of me being a wood cutter, considering that I was strong for my age.

But Enobaria's gift took my breath away.

I had spoken to her several times about my idea of making my staff more transportable and concealing it for convenience's sake. Being Eno, she had simply nodded, adding notes at what I could also alter and then telling me to stop scaring away the game with my heavy stomping. I hadn't expected her to give something so wonderful to me.

Practically speaking, it was plain and most likely boring to the unknowing eye. However to my loving gaze, the wood was finely sanded down, ready for a polish from its new owner and smelt thickly of the brambles in our district. With wordless instruction from my sister, I flicked my thumb down a groove while I stood away from the table, grinning wildly as two ends of wood shot out either side to produce a large staff taller that my head by a good few inches. My mother actually laughed at the sight, commenting that I'd grow into it.

"If you flick the trigger sideways, the spearhead comes out." Enobaria informed me, arms crossed with a fond toothy grin on her face.

Dad grimaced and added. "Just make sure you know where you're pointing."

I blew a raspberry at them and ran outside to twirl my new partner.

At the end of my first day at work, I was in a grim state. With a scowl I slid through the house, tugged off my boots and fell face first into my bed, crinkling the cream covers with grime and splinters.

"What are you moping about?" One of my eyes poked out, glaring at the form of Enobaria leaning against the door, arms crossed.

I sighed deeply before answering. "I don't think they gave me the right job. I'm not lumberjack material." She raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue. "I'm the only girl there apart from Grenva whose leading her own team, and they all look at me like I'm about to bite their heads off."

"The teeth have that effect."

I rolled over to sit on the end of the bed. "I've known the kids working with me my whole life. How can they think I'm suddenly going to go haywire on them just because I have a funny mouth?"

Enobaria shrugged. I knew she faced far worse reactions for her actions as a winning tribute. "They're scared, weak little people, Eris. You don't have time for them. The only people you should care about are your pack and those that may be a threat." She paused before leaving. "Don't quit. You need to build your arm strength."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "What for?"

"It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness."

― Leo Tolstoy, The Kreutzer Sonata

Every muscle whined in agony, my shoulders shaking violently as I continued to swing myself from branch to branch. With a strangled yell, I flew to a particularly distant branch and paused, hanging below it. "ENO! ENO, LET ME STOP! I CAN'T CARRY ON FOR MUCH LONGER!" I called down to her, desperation in my voice.

Enobaria briefly looked up from the clearing to my left as she retrieved the axe that was wedged into her target. "One more time round and you can come down. No complaining."

I whimpered, screwing my eyes shut for a moment to regulate my breathing, before throwing my legs backwards into a swing. On the third pass I let go to cling onto the next branch, never more thankful for my father's gloves though the bark still bit at my calloused hands.

Eventually I crumpled back to the ground and after leaning against a tree for several moments, staggered my way to my sister. My arms hung like fabric in the wind, though the nerves within them were seared terribly. I cursed the sensation of my limbs threatening to be pulled out on each swing.

"How was I?" I gasped, my rip cage straining to meet the demand of air intake.

Enobaria looked up casually from where she sat on a wide tree stump, wiping the blade of her weapon reverentially with a rough polishing cloth. "Not bad. You lasted longer than I predicted, but your endurance has always been a strength. Landings weren't clean when you began to tire. Too loud as well. You'll be able to make those wider leaps once the axe wielding starts to pay off in a few months."

I collapsed in a heap to the side of her feet, leaning back on my hands as I hungrily swallowed the bottle of water that waited for me. The elixir trickled over my plump lips and down the tendons of my pale neck, though other than the chilling temperature there was little to distinguish it from the newest layer of perspiration on my skin.

My eyes lazily began to refocus, taking in the coral Autumn leaves as they crackled in the air like bay leaves in the fire. I hummed contently, my mind relaxed and warm in the presence of my sister on such a day. My ears tingled as she began the beginnings of a common tune from our district, about a sailor who disrespected the forest. I knew the end of the song would detail the curse that sunk his ship, for the timber came from the very wood he spat upon.

In the crisp golden light, with the wooden musk and tang of blood I associated with Enobaria soothing my nose, she was the most beautiful person in the world to me.

Her bronze skin burned bright in the rays of the sun, dark hair tightly braided back while she grumbled and blew stray strands out of her dark lashes. Her bare, muscular arms contracted like a machine as they went about caring for her blade, firmly stroking it into a deadly gleam. My sister was a mirror image of our mother, even if she no longer had the same plush civilian figure and scarless skin, whereas I was the female doppelgänger of our father. Pale transluscent skin was shaped over a tall, curved form. Blue eyes that tended to look glassy and unfocused, tickled by thickly curled dark hair that only encouraged the wild animalistic appearance both of us had.

Our mother was almost 8 months pregnant, and seemed resigned that when the child was born he or she would go the same upbringing to give it a fighting chance against the Games. She was a happy, joyful woman who delighted in simple moments like baking or tending their garden. Enobaria's experiences, and seeing her two girls become hardened hunters was indescribable to her, but she knew it was better than not having us at all.

Our father was a stoic man, a carpenter who stood tall and proud like a soldier. Even though our family was avoided, people respected him. He was a man of intense emotions and little words, saying more in a hand on one's shoulder than any worded declaration of support. He was our pillar, the one who grounded us through all of Eno's tantrums, our hardships, in every moment of our lives.

I loved them all intensely.

"If you want to rebel, rebel from inside the 's much more powerful than rebelling outside the system."

― Marie Lu, Legend

When I was 12 Enobaria had to hunt me down and drag me back to prepare for the Reapings. As usual, she had predicted my actions, but as much as she wanted to make me run as well, it was safer to play by the Capitol's rules. She was one of their favourite victors, the standard opponent from district 7 who proved to be vicious enough to take out even the Careers of her Games. What were the chances of me getting reaped as well?

My second Reaping was uneventful, however my third was painful to watch. 2 twelve year olds were chosen, and as predicted they were torn apart in the first bloodbath of the Games.

When I was 15, one of the boys I had trained with as a wood cutter was chosen. He was one of the few who grew to be comfortable with me, and even shared his lunch once when I had forgotten my own. Enobaria was miffed that I had let myself care for the individual, and that afternoon when hunting I stabbed my kill several times before realising that it had already passed. I had felt numb, and was glad when my lost friend had a much more peaceful death.

The next Reaping was hardest for my family, the age when Eno was reaped. The ceremony seemed longer, more drawn out than usual, but yet again I walked away.

Three days after we had celebrated Eno's 32nd birthday, I became our district's female tribute in my second to last Reaping.

The reading of my name was met with a stony silence.

The odds of this happening were minute, and yet I found myself marching towards the podium, staring at our District's representative Marzeline Hypra and fighting the urge to run my nails over her smiling, shimmering face. A boy named Tyrion was called alongside me, and despite being 15 was unusually short yet long faced for a boy of our district, more likely a measurer or paper maker.

His face was twitching uncontrollably, though he didn't cry. When we shook hands I tried to offer a comforting smile, but the serrated teeth morphed the effect into something sinister enough to make him flinch. I spent the ceremony staring back into Enobaria's emotional eyes, watching her fight down the urge to gut the Peacemakers and Marzeline. I pressed as much feeling into my gaze back, trying to communicate how much I loved her, how much I was going to fight for this. When her fists tightened with resolve, I knew that she understood.

Thank you for reading! Please review so I can see what you guys think!

Love,

Renzin xo