Three years before the First Annual Hunger Games
Somewhere, in an office in the Presidents Mansion, Coriolanus Snow II sits, quill hovering over a piece of card. It is overwhelming, really, to know that what he writes now will affect Panem for years and years to come. The idea of having a Quarter Quell had been his wife's idea, and because it was hers he had loved it. He thinks of his wife now, Lady Isobella Grace Snow, heavily pregnant with his first child - future President Coriolanus Snow III.
He smiles, thinking of how his son - he's sure it's a boy - will grow up to rule Panem. His son will be lucky, he will have a rebuilt country, one with all the rebels stamped under his heel. He will have a polished empire, he will have obedient citizens still recovering from the death of their rebellious fathers, mothers, eager to behave and obey. He will be a good president, of that he's sure.
He dips his quill back into the ink, thinking. He's done the first four Quells, his favourite ones. Now, he has the 125th Hunger Games. Who will be president then? Will the bloodline continue? Will it be his great grandson? Grandson, even? Or will it be someone new, with new, foolish ideas. No. He hopes not. He sighs, swirling his quill over the card, unsure of what to write. He wants something to punish everybody, not just the ones of Reaping age. He wants something that will be remembered in Hunger Games history for centuries to come, he wants something to strike fear in the hearts of every single member of the District.
An idea springs to mind.
A cruel, vicious idea.
But, a good idea.
And on the price of card, he writes:
On the 125th Hunger Games, to show that absolutely nobody is safe, anyone from the ages of eight to sixty can be Reaped.