Summary: The first Quarter Quell is one filled with dark secrets, hatred and fear. Thrown into an arena with deadly twists and horrors, Clarity Maysilee fights for her survival. However, unexpected events in this year's Hunger Games lead to a spark that will continue on for generations to come.

Author's Note: This is the first story I wrote for the Hunger Games, so I hope it meets the expectations! Not only is this multi-chapter going to be about the Quarter Quell, but it will also be about dark family secrets, the need for survival, the fear of murder, and just a hint of love to top it all off. What happens in the arena will tie back to the actual Hunger Games trilogy written by Suzanne Collins... but you will have to read on to find out. I really hope you enjoy the story!

- noIntelligence

Chapter 1: Final Preparations

I clench the kitchen knife in my hand, holding up my long black hair. I carefully position the blade close to my neck, and close my eyes.

In one swift motion, my hair falls to the ground.

I open my eyes and look down at the pile, setting the knife onto the table beside me. It feels nice having the weight of my thick hair gone, but I always feel the emptiness that follows. As if a part of me is carved out from inside my chest.

"Clare?" I hear a yawn from behind me. "What are you doing up so early on a Sunday?"

I turn my head and look at my sister. Straight, black hair. Slightly on the skinny side. Dark eyes looking up at me with a certain annoyance that I woke her up. The mirror image of me. Except for her jeweled knuckles.

"Today's the reaping," my answer is curt.

"Oh, that," she settles her head back onto her pillow and swings her arm over her eyes.

"Oh my goodness, Clarity!" It is the loud, irritated voice of our foster mother. "Why do you have to do this every single year?"

I don't look at her as I scoop up the hair off the ground.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," she roughly pulls me back in front of her as I try to leave the room.

My eyes rise to her face in a glare. I hate the feeling of her hand on my arm.

She gives a small, startled gasp. "No, never mind, don't look at me, you snake-eyed girl."

Even to someone who has been around me for ten years, my eyes are still something terrifying. I feel my teeth biting into the insides of my cheek. Yes, that's one other difference between my sister and I. Although we both have dark coloured eyes, her are large and beautiful. Like our mother's. And me… well, nobody can look at me without flinching.

This causes a rush of heat to enter my face. I feel so angry. Or… am I sad?

My sister senses this. "Atina, let her go," her voice was so forceful that the hold on my arm is instantly lifted. "I'll have a talk with her," she says in a quieter tone.

"I – um, breakfast will be ready in a few minutes," Atina stammers and rushes out of the room.

Ever since my older sister, Solicity, won the hunger games five years ago, Atina seemed… afraid of her, treated her differently. Even I never saw my own sister the same way.

Not because she won. But because of how she won.

"Clare," Solicity starts with a sigh. She sits up on the bed and pats the spot beside her, the jewels on her hand glistening in the sunlight.

There is something about the way that Solicity looks at me that makes me unable to disobey her. But this look… it makes me feel like prey.

I sit carefully at the edge of her bed and look at my hands folded neatly in my lap. I'm nervous, as if I'm being punished, or as if…

"Clare, you've been cutting your hair off at every reaping for five years already," Solicity goes straight to the point, either not caring about the distance between us or not noticing. "Why?"

Because if I go into the games, I would have one less thing to worry about. Because I'm so afraid of being chosen at the reaping that I just want to be ready. Because I just KNOW I will be picked this year. Because I don't want to fight in the hunger games like you did. Because I don't want to look like you in the games. Because I don't want to be like you. Because I don't want to be a…

I stay silent.

"Okay, Clarity, look at me," Solicity's voice hardens with intensity.

Although she's only two years older than me, I always feel like I'm back to being a little six-year-old when she's like this.

I sigh, and look into my sister's eyes. I see my reflection in her eyes, and fight the urge to cringe at the sight of myself. But Solicity doesn't move a muscle. No fear shows on her face.

"Clare, it'll be okay," she reaches out and gently touches my hair. My eyes couldn't help but follow the glistening jewels of blue, red, purple, even clear with tints of all the colours. So beautiful, yet so evil.

"You're eighteen this year. This is the last year you'll ever be eligible to be reaped. You were safe for six years, why would this year be any different?"

"Because this year's the Quarter Quell," I answer, feeling the dread seep into my entire body.

The Quarter Quell, to be held every twenty-five years, brings on new horrors to all the districts to remind us of the consequences of our rebellion. This year will be the first ever Quarter Quell, and there is no doubt that the Capitol will make it extra entertaining.

It was just a few weeks ago when President Snow, the leader of Panem, appeared on television to announce to the entire country what this special year would bring. Although his skin was stretched tight from surgery, his movements onto the stage and his raspy voice as he described the Dark Days reflected his age. And his eyes, sagging despite what was surgically done, reminded me of… me.

I shudder at the memory.

"Don't worry so much, there are so many other kids in District 3, they can't possibly choose you out of everyone else."

My sister always sounds so logical when she's trying to assure me that I'm safe, but this time she is wrong. I close my eyes and try to relax myself, but only end up re-watching the announcing of the Quarter Quell in my head.

"This year, we honour our first Quarter Quell," the president began before coughing loudly into a handkerchief.

A boy, maybe around my age, walked onto the stage holding a box. His hair was white as snow despite his youth, and I remember that a shiver ran down my spine when he gave a casual glance at the cameras. He had the eyes of a snake, just like the president. Just like me.

The boy, no doubt President Snow's son, held open the box filled with tidy, upright rows of white envelopes. The president carefully pulled out a square of paper from the envelope marked with a 25, but almost choked from his coughing when he tried to read it.

I swore I saw the corners of the boy's mouth tilt up.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children are dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district will be made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who will represent it."

I felt the blood drain from my face.