A/N: This is NOT an SYOT. It's sort of like a commemoration thingy to my wonderful classmates who I'll probably rarely ever see again after graduation. I love you guys and all that other stuff, and this is not a way of revenge by any means. Yay, I get to kill you all (except for one tribute, of course) in brutal and heartless ways. I gave a lot of thought to your districts and names (gosh, I even searched the meanings and origins of most of them); be grateful. I tweaked your personalities a little for this fic, just so you know. Anyway, we have only 22 people in our class and I need 24 so I brought back Clementina and Christian. And the name guide thingy will be on my profile labeled as 'The Tribute Name Guide Thingy for 'Harmless'. Hopefully, this will be completed by the time we graduate.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games Trilogy. Suzanne Collins does.

Shine Fairflight
District One

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..

...

"You'll volunteer?"

Her voice is barely a whisper, broken with weary acceptance. Guilt claws at my heart but I ignore it stubbornly.

"Of course." She nods, closing her eyes to hide the improper tears that spring up. "Mother, I need to get out of here! It isn't right, you do know that...don't you? This isn't normal for a father to beat his family and have s-se- ch-children with women of his own blood and kill the innocent little babies. When I win, I promise to make it better. Our life will be perfect. Please..."

"I won't tell," my mother says softly, embracing me fiercely.

"Thank you," I breathe. "I love you, Mommy. This isn't to punish you, only him."

"Yes, you've told me before." She laughs, the sound light, airy, bell-like, and beautiful as always but her dark orbs are devoid of any humor. I shiver. "It hurts me, too. Anyway, let's get you dressed."

"I can dress myself," I say automatically, reaching for the thin, translucent white dress that my mother laid out.

She reaches for it simultaneously, yanking the fabric gently so as not to tear it. "Let me. It'll be my last time before you go."

"Alright."

I allow her to undress me and spray the tan concealer over my bruises, briefly blowing on them to quicken the drying progress. Mother rubs on the edge of the goo gingerly to blend it into my caramel, pink-scarred skin. She begins to lower it to my head and tells me to do the rest. About half an arm is in before I abruptly toss it to the floor.

"Shine!" Mother scolds me, voice rising an octave in disapproval, "if you don't like the dress, then tell me! There's no need to tear it!It could've ripped, stained, stretched, stolen -"

"Mother," I cut her off, sounding much more impatient than I'd meant to.

"Shine Cornelia Fairflight! I don't care that you're running off to your death; you do not raise your voice at me!"

I tap my fingers impatiently against the crook of my elbows, arms crossed, and roll my eyes. "Yes, Mother. I understand."

She sighs. "That's always the best I ever get out of her. Maybe Prince did get something right."

"Mother!" I cannot believe she said that! How dare she compare me to him.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." Her perfect hands swat at the air, dismissing her statement. "Just pick a dress."

I open my wardrobe and carefully select a see-through dress that ends high above my knees. After that, I choose a thin, scrimpy lingerie set that Prince bought me. It's soft expensive silk that has only been worn twice, a hot pink that stands out sharply against my tanned skin. Up close, it makes the blended scars brighter but through the sheer fabric of the dress, they're hardly visible. The silk is cut into minuscule triangles and held up by rounded perfect strings.

"Shine, think, honey. You can't parade around the stage and tribute train virtually naked. Not that you don't have a beautiful body."

"You think, Mother. Today will be the last time I ever see Prince. Can you blame me for wanting to taunt my..." I hesitate on the word. "F-father?"

Mother and I never address Prince as "father", "husband", "my..." anything. Everything was forced; we had absolutely no consent.

"It seems like you're going too far. Why not just strip naked and oil yourself?"

I press my lips together and stare at her condescendingly.

She glares at me.

We don't say a single word to one another even as we separate, me to the fifteens', her to the onlooking crowd of those ineligible for the reaping.

I remember to sway my hips exaggeratedly and yawn, letting my body droop slightly in feigned sleepiness. Prince always tells me that that reminds him of time in bed and we always have a very rough night when I yawn. I catch his eye and yawn again, blowing a fake kiss to him.

Prince licks his lips and not so subtly crosses his legs. He begins to urgently mouth something to me.

I don't catch his words because I ignore him, turning away and shaking my hips again as I leave.

"Welcome to the Sixty-Seventh Hunger Games!" Temina Wildflower chirps. She beams at us with her gem-studded teeth and passes the microphone to the Mayor.

"There once was a place called North America..." drones the Mayor, repeating the Treaty of Treason slowly in his familiar monotone. I glare at him impatiently, willing him to read faster. He doesn't. So when Temina dips her hand in the glass ball, I can't help screaming.

"I VOLUNTEER!"

And then, I begin to walk to the platform, knowing that I reversed the correct order. I giggle confidently as I bounce up the steps, looking expectantly at Temina.

She looks flustered. "I d-didn't even call out the name..."

Very belatedly, I feel embarrassed. I don't allow myself to blush. Instead, I roll my eyes in false exasperation. "I would've volunteered anyway. What does it matter?" I force another yawn for Prince's sake.

Our Capitol escort nods briskly, retaining her control of the situation. "Your name?"

"Shine Fairflight." I glance at Prince who is turning an interesting shade of red. Mother has a bored, polite expression on her face but her ears are pink. She's mortified. I pretend I don't notice and smile down at my District.

Temina pretends that all this is normal and strides to the boys' ball. She swirls around the papers and selects one, calling out someone from the sixteens'. He is quickly replaced by a volunteer. The volunteer is tall, thin but well-muscled, dark skinned, and arrogant. As Temina calls for volunteers, he races to the stage and announces his name. All the while, he never breaks eye-contact with me, his black eyes filled with a silent challenge. You see? This is how it's done, stupid, he seems to be saying.

I glower at him.

"And I present to you District One's tributes: Shine Fairflight and Gilt Goldwater!"

She motions for us to shake hands. I dig my nails into his flesh, and he squeezes my hand with unnecessary force. I make little bleeding crescents in his russet colored skin, and he almost breaks my hand, grinning when I squeak in pain. I hate him. I twist my hand so one of my rings scratches deep into his skin. It bleeds. He narrows his eyes but before he can retaliate, Temina Wildflower whisper-shouts for us to face our audience as the anthem plays. I do as she says, and find myself gazing into Prince's hate-filled eyes. I draw in a sharp breath but quickly release it and paste on a smile to his general direction.