I stared up at the ceiling from where I laid flat my bed. Today my grandfather, President Snow who lost the war to the rebels, was going to die. Not that I really cared for him; he was cruel to many people. The most he ever did for me (other than let me live in the Capitol Building without any restrictions) was give me roses and other smaller things on my birthday. They lasted for over a year, but I often threw them out before then when I tired of the smell.

There would be no roses for me this year.

I considered how bare my dresser would look without them. But still, I would find other flowers I preferred, and I had my mandolin, which was the most beautiful and treasured gift my grandfather had ever given me. I never told him how the smell of roses gave me headaches after a few months so the roses kept coming. He loved roses, engineered them to last years. He even named her after them; Rosalynn. Rosalynn Delaine Snow.

I stood and stretched. I wondered if I should go watch his execution. Would he even notice me? It wasn't like we were biologically related; he adopted me sometime after my seventh birthday, and I was days away from turning fourteen. I was taken because of my uncanny ability to pick out the Hunger Games champions. I don't remember anything of my life beforehand since they had slipped me some memory drug so I wouldn't run back to my family.

My life is simple; my only responsibility was to predict the champion of the Hunger Games. I can only think of two instances when I was wrong about the victor. There was one when a girl from District 4 won because she could swim when the Gamemakers flooded the arena. The other was the third Quarter Quell, but that Hunger Games didn't end so it didn't really count.

I have mixed feelings about the Hunger Games. I hate the outright murder and its celebration in the Capitol but I do enjoy how much attention I got from it. It was also a time to meet new people. I sometimes dressed as an Avox (a criminal with their tongues cut out and forced to serve those in the Capitol Building) to get a feel for the different tributes. Just about always I ended up ruling them out.

But there would be no more Hunger Games. Katniss Everdeen sparked rebellion in the districts when she refused to kill Peeta, the other District 12 tribute who had a thing for her, and instead forced President Snow to accept two victors. There was a big rebellion and many people died on both sides. I had been locked in my room with a device that would give me food when I asked for it. The only information I got of the war was from the television, with played Capitol propaganda and occasionally some rebel segment when they infiltrated the Capitol's system. Unfortunately, my room wasn't too far from where they tortured the prisoners. There were days when I could still hear their screams.

I walked out into the hallway running my fingers through my hair. It had once been strawberry blonde when I was very little but had darkened over time. Now I don't know what color to call it. I imagine I would be considered pretty by some standards, with my almond-brown eyes and flowing hair. Unfortunately, these were the only visual appearances going for me. Snow would probably say otherwise, but I'm pretty sure that's what grandfathers are supposed to say.

Perhaps I'll run to the nearest District and see how they're reacting to the victory of the rebels. I often ran to the different districts to watch them. Run. Hide. Observe. Return. That was my life. I was weighing my options when I saw Katniss walk past the hallway. Where was she going? The execution wasn't for a few more minutes. I recognized the path she was taking, and knew a secret passageway to the room she would be using. I might as well know what the Mockingjay was doing; it wasn't like I was going to run off to my grandfather and tell him.

Keeping a good distance, I followed Katniss. I had cried when Katniss took the place of her sister in her first Hunger Games, two – three years ago? I had vouched for Katniss immediately to President Snow. And now, well, now I pitied her. She lost so much and still got up every morning.

In the hallway of the room Katniss was going towards was a little unobserved broom closet. I slipped into it. I maneuvered my way to the back wall and felt around for the handle disguised as a coat hanger. Ah, there it was. I pulled and a dusty tunnel was revealed. Once upon a time, Avoxes used this to take care of the building unseen. Then the Capitol put them on display as a warning to others. I didn't know what would be done with them under the rebel's rule. No matter, I was glad it was still there.

Not two feet into the tunnel I met a fork in the road; five tunnels branched off of this one. I took the furthest to the right. Down a flight of stairs, left tunnel, up a flight of stairs, find the peepholes of light. With my eyes adjusted to the dark the specks of light a yard or so away seemed incredibly bright. I reached the hidden door and knelt on the ground. At the bottom of the hidden door was a grate, perfect for listening in on conversations.

President Coin was talking about the districts. Apparently they were screeching for Capitol citizen's blood. For my blood, I thought with a shudder. Instead of complete annulation, they planned to hold another Hunger Games with Capitol children, at least that's how I understood it, and Coin was letting the remaining victors vote on it. There were some shouts of no, other shouts of yes. One woman mentioned President Snow's granddaughter. Did nobody realize he had a granddaughter without any children? The votes were cast, and one more Hunger Games was agreed upon.

I bit my tongue to prevent screaming and ran back the way I came. All the terrors I had studied, all the brutality I had examined, all of it was going to happen to me. (Of course, I understood why they decided to let twenty-three children of the fallen Capitol leaders die; it was the best way to appease the public.) There was no escape from the arena for me, all of President Snow's line needed to die with him. I burst out of the closet and ran directly into one of the victors.

"They'll kill me! They'll kill me!" I screamed. "I grew up in the Capitol so they'll kill me!"

"No they won't," whoever it was said. "They're taking the children of those who held power before the rebels took over and putting them in their own Hunger Games."

I fainted.

Author's Note: Hello, and thank you for reading the first chapter of my new story! I wrote this awhile ago and I know it is far from the best thing I've ever written (which is far from the best thing on this site), but I hope the story intrigues you enough to enjoy the story despite its issues.

Please leave a review! I would love any kind of feedback you could provide!