Chapter One: Purple
Katniss POV
I lace my fingers through Prim's as we rush to beat the afternoon gusty winds. It's not yet winter, only a few weeks off, but this year, the snow and chilling winds that'll freeze you inside out decided to come early. Today is the worst day so far.
We scuttle through town's square, weaving in and out of the Peacekeeper's who are working there to take down the banners. Purple is everywhere – the colour of royalty.
For just a mere few days ago history was made here, and in any other district that can broadcast the live stream from the Royal Palace. All three princes of Panem are now of age to marry. Not that I attended the reaping. What was the point? Thirty names out of a bowl of thousands and thousands. My chances were obviously slim, not to mention the fact that each prince chooses one of the ten assigned to them. As if they'd ever pick a seam girl from District 12.
Prim stops walking outside one of the shops and peers inside the windows. I used to object to these pointless side tracks, but Prim always seems to really enjoy them, even though she knows we'd never buy anything. This year has been especially tough, and the looming winter only worries me more. I tug on her hand lightly and say, "Come on, Prim. We mustn't be caught out in a storm."
"Can't we stay?" she whines, "This is the last time we'll ever see the square looking so pretty!"
As much as I prefer to stick to my leather boots and dirty pants, I do have to admit the purple had grown on me these last few weeks. It was such a build up for the whole thing. Advertisements, flyers, songs, interviews with royal members and potential wedding planners were all on a constant loop. It's called being 'chosen', and it's a pretty big deal. Prim loved it of course, the idea of a Prince whisking away a girl to be married. But for all we know, these Princes of Panem could be idiots, or worse: cruel.
"Take one last look, Prim." I sigh, motioning to the large signs behind us. "I'm tired, and want to go home to get warm by the fire."
I know she was upset about just missing the age bracket. Fifteen to eighteen year olds were deemed suitable matches for the general mean age of the three Princes. We share a bed, and when they delivered the news at school she played it off as if she didn't mind, but I was woken in the night by the mattress softly rocking beneath me. She was sobbing, and it took a whole hour to calm her down.
Part of it for Prim, was probably the idea of a Prince, yes, but underneath all that I know why she truly wanted to be a chosen girl. Because if you're chosen, not only do you live in the Capitol, but your entire immediate family becomes under the protection of the government and its royal diplomats. In other words: no more freezing nights without supper.
I eventually tug her hand away from the window shops and head for the nearest exit. We've been standing around for too long. The peacekeepers have nearly finished removing all the banners. We pick up our pace and I shield her from the worse winds. She protests at first, but squeals the minute she exposes her hands or mouth to try and talk to me. By the time I spot our house at the end of the street, I can't feel my fingers and toes. My nose aches from ice burn.
"Mom!" Prim calls out.
"We're home." I say loudly, but not quite with as much enthusiasm.
Prim takes off her coat, hangs it on her lower hook, then disappears into the main room of our house to start the fire. We don't trust mother to do it alone. She's back with us, actually present and talking, but some things are best left for the more capable minds. I keep my beanie on, and bang both of our boots on the outside porch. I realize, looking up to the grey sky, that we're lucky we left when we did. It's starting to snow –only faintly- but with these winds it could easily turn into a snow storm.
Mother startles me from behind, "Did you have a nice walk home?"
"No, it was pretty horrible." I reply, bringing the boots in. I shut the door quickly. "Square was nice though, offered some wind protection. Prim wanted to stay longer though, you know, cause of all the lights and shops and… purple."
"Ah, well, all that's over now." she says swiftly, then helps me to take of my coat. I know she doesn't want to linger on something that Prim got her hopes up on. We could wear them inside, but then they'd never dry out and we'd have to wash them more often.
That night, we only eat berries mixed with stale crackers I'd managed to buy cheaply off a boy from school. Most people know how little we can afford, but there's only so much help you can give in District 12. So once again, I feel guilty, because my family and I all go to sleep with near-empty stomachs and without the promise of food tomorrow. In winter, it's much harder to hunt or set up snares. I haven't felt my bow in my hands for weeks now. Usually, I'd have built up a stockpile to freeze and make it last –but this winter just came over us so fast, I didn't have the time.
But I do manage to find food the next day, because apparently a train from the capitol is in our station. Some kids from school raided one of the carriages, and decided to give us the things they didn't want. Prim and I share a peach on the way home, a fruit we've never had before, and decide how to cook the three potatoes, two carrots, two tomatoes and herbs for tonight.
From behind, the train makes a loud tooting noise. We bot spin around, a bit frightened at such a thing, then laugh at each other's reaction. I haven't allowed myself to consider until now as to why the train would be here. There's no loop connecting the districts, so if a train stops here it's for a reason in District 12. I shake my head to myself, my braid slipping out form my beanie; it's probably just here to pick up the leftover supplies and banners from the chosen reaping. Yes, of course.
We carry the food in our jackets, and run as fast as we can home to set up the pot on the fire. I can't remember the last time we've ever used cooking utensils. It's a feast for us, and as much as I want to make the meal last, fruit and vegetables go off quickly. Mother tells us to bake the potatoes instead of boiling them, and they all turn out pretty good. We sit cross-legged on the ground, talking to one another, and eating the first warm thing we've had in weeks. We actually feel like a family for a moment, and it's strange. I stand at first, but then mother insists she'll do the clearing up.
The storm begins to calm down outside, and it becomes incredibly quiet. I don't mind this, we're at least fairly warm inside. And while she moves to the kitchen, and Prim shuffles up next to me by the fire, I know that her belly is full, and I can't stop thinking how grateful I am for the train to be in the station.
But I've spoken too soon.
District Twelve is very small, and news travels fast. So when a rather tall and dashing tanned man comes from the train station to our house in the Seam, so out of place for someone like him, we hear it before he's even arrived at the door. Not just because of his heavy footsteps in the snow, but because of all the gasps and whispers from outside our windows –the general hush that overcomes our small street, as if everyone's taken in a sharp breath, terrified to let it go. I see him in passing through a hole in our back door, only for a moment, but he's definitely recognizable.
The knock follows a few moments later, but we all stand in shock beside the kitchen doorway, unmoving. We exchange looks, the most worrying one from Prim. Have Peacekeepers finally obtained proof of my poaching? Did I leave my bow sticking too far out of a tree? Did they send this royal diplomat to prove a point? That I should be whipped and hung up in the town's square by a royal? These questions swim around in my head, and I don't know how, but my legs carry me to the door. I hesitantly twist the handle –afraid a gust of wind will knock it off its hinges, but find that the tall man acts as a shield.
He offers a sly smile that makes my stomach twist, but he is glistening and gorgeous, just like on the television. Finnick Odair lives in the Capitol, along with all other royal family and government members. I stare at him, taking in his frame, then notice suddenly that he must be freezing, and if he is to whisk me off to my execution, I suspect if I'm kinder, he'll allow me to at least say good-bye to my family properly. I step to the side and motion for him to come in.
After he steps over the door frame, I'm staring at a blank white rectangle, with a few visible heads poking out from beside opposing houses. They're inspecting the situation –just as would if someone such as Finnick turned up in the district. But, unfortunately, he's here in my house.
"Mother!" I hiss, beckoning her to come over. Finnick continues to smile at me out of the corner of his eye, putting me even more on edge. She waddles over; her legs clearly stiff from the cold and extends her hand for him to shake. Finnick bows, by lowering his head, then places a small kiss on the back of her hand. She's instantly shocked –so unused to these close-proximity gestures from the capitol. I guess everyone hugs and kisses as if it were nothing over there.
"Ms Everdeen, Prim, and Katniss," he starts, looking to each of us. "I think it's best that we all sit down, don't you?" he raises an eyebrow.
"Yes! Why yes of course!" Mother exclaims, setting off into a flurry of throwing blankets over stools and buckets. We give Finnick the only real chair we have, which is closest to the fire also. He sighs heavily as he sits, and I cannot help but notice after he removes his woolen gloves, the chalk-white envelope with a purple seal he begins twirling in his hands. I cross my legs in an attempt to stop my nervous twitching.
"I'm here to deliver some news." he says dryly, the large smile stitched upon his face before now vanished.
Yes, I'm most certainly a dead woman.
"News?" Prim asks quietly, "News… only for us?"
"Yes." he nods to her. "I've come all the way from the capitol myself to ensure that this goes smoothly, and all according to plan. Don't look so morbid, Katniss. Your family is not in trouble."
My eyes snap up to meet his. Is this some kind of mind game?
Confess to your crimes now, and your family will be spared. Confess, and only you will be hung in the town's square. These are the words I hear in my head.
"Do you happen to have any tea?" he asks in a rather disinterested manner. The way he inspects our house fills me with anger. His eyes are squinting at every crack and dint and bump. Not all of us were born into families with mansions.
"No." I say through gritted teeth, "We do not have any tea."
"Surely, you must. How else would you survive this upcoming winter?" he replies, rubbing his hands together. Prim stands up from her stool and disappears into the kitchen. We all listen as various cupboards and drawers are opened, then closed. "Perhaps some warm soup, or bread? Do I smell potatoes?"
This infuriates me even more.
"If not, I'll just have tea thank-you." he dusts the few remaining snowflakes off his sleeve onto the floor. I shoot up in my seat, blood boiling, and a look of certain disgust on my face. How dare he! How dare he come into our home and demand food from us as if ordering off a menu in a restaurant! Can he not see my mother's hollowed out cheeks, or that Prim and I are much too frail for our age? It doesn't take a genius to notice we're malnourished.
Finnick merely stares at me in confusion as I stand defiantly alone in the living room. Prim scuffles back in and reclaims her seat beside mother. She shakes her head to me, confirming what I already knew to be true.
"We do not have any cake. We do not have any bread."
"Well, I can smell potatoes, that much is for sure. But fine. Only tea, then." he waves his hand dismissively.
I feel as if a vein is about to burst out of my forehead. We only just got potatoes today out of sheer luck! "We do not have tea, because we cannot afford any tea. Can you get through your thick capitol skull or what?!" I shout the last part, my hands in fists by my sides.
Prim gasps. My mother lurches out of her seat towards me. She shakes me by the arms furiously and says, "Katniss! Do not be so rude! He is royalty!"
I look over her shoulder at Finnick. He seems to find it only amusing.
"I though royalty were supposed to have manners." I mutter. I hear Finnick let out a loud laugh.
"Katniss!" mother hisses, her nails sinking into my arm. Her desperate eyes find mind, as if begging the question, "Are you trying to dig your own grave?".
No. I decide. I most certainly am not.
I smile at her, recomposing myself, and motion for her to sit back down. I turn to him slowly, the feeling of a thousand butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and retake my seat. I hitch one leg back over the other and cross my arms in front of my chest –part out of frustration, part because it's damn cold.
"Let's not discuss trivial things anymore, Katniss." he looks at me, and only me as he speaks.
"Agreed." I say in return, but my voice is far from believably sweet. "I'm listening, Finnick."
"What did you come for?" my mother presses gently.
He sets down the envelop on the coffee table and slides it towards me slowly. The waxy, purple, capitol seal is staring right at me, and I don't think I've ever been afraid of something so minuscule.
Purple. I think. Where have I seen that colour so recently?
My mother asks him something else, but I'm not listening. My mind is a million miles away. Because I'm suddenly putting two and two together, of what this all is. The purple banners… The purple balloons… The purple lights…
No wonder nobody told me, who would want to get the hopes of a seam girl up? I should've asked someone how many names from District 12 were chosen. I should have gone to the reaping. I should've-
"I, Finnick Odair, cousin to the three Princes of Panem, am present at your estate to extend our warmest of invitations to the lovely, young, chosen, Katniss Everdeen."
Chosen.
That word. I know that word. It's supposed to be a happy word, one that girls of Panem, and girls from the further districts dream about. The promise of gifts and wealth and food and escape. And while for the briefest moment, I allow myself to feel excitement for my family's safety, I realize the one thing I first thought of the moment I realized what the purple seal meant: I have to marry a man I've never met, hundreds of miles away.
And then I start to laugh –no, chuckle really, because I think of how funny it is that Finnick said 'warmest of invitations'. Because it's anything but an invitation. If you're chosen, your attendance and participation is non-negotiable. I'm now basically property of the royal family.
"Is that laughter due to happiness?" Finnick inquires, and it seems genuine. I realize neither members of my family have spoken. Prim whimpers out a barely audible squeak from beside me.
"Not really," I reply truthfully, "just the fact that I have no idea what I'm supposed to feel." And it's true, I don't. I'm completely torn in two. Prim, Buttercup, Lady, Mother, they will all survive the winter, and every winter after that. But, I cannot help but think of the consequences. The things that cause a dropping feeling in my stomach:
Leave my family. Go away to the capitol. Move into a palace. Meet new people. Marry a man.
No. I stop myself. Marry a prince.
What do you think so far, guys? Should I keep going with this idea? I kind of like it! :)