PROLOGUE (CONT.)

ONE YEAR AGO - THE 78th HUNGER GAMES

It's past Serena's bedtime, but here she is - on her living room sofa with a pillow hugged against her chest, curled up between her parents as they watch the television intently.

The 78th Hunger Games is coming to an end.

Everyone keeps talking about what a thrilling journey it's been, how unique of a year this was. What this could mean for the future, the possibilities that are opening up. The games haven't even ended, and there's already high hopes for next year. There was an interview with the Head Gamemaker a few days ago that she caught the tail end of, and she was teasing that her team was already hard at work. But really, Serena doesn't care much about the mechanics of it all, she doesn't base the quality of the games on how unique they are or anything like that.

What she cares about are the tributes. And her favorite just made it to the final two.

Evie has been teasing Serena about making googly eyes at the boy from District Four since the Reapings first aired, but really, how can anyone blame her? He's like a dream with his wavy, honey-blonde hair and his perfectly tanned skin. He's only sixteen, he's not that much older than her, she keeps insisting - but Mother just laughs and ruffles her hair. She's sponsored him a few times, sent him a canteen full of water and a pair of warm gloves. She saved his life with that one. She's never been prouder.

His name is Lance. Serena thinks she might be in love. She knows he can win this.

She hugs the pillow tighter.

In the armchair next to the sofa, her older sister Margaerie doesn't look nearly as interested. She's tapping away at the communication device in her hands, glancing at the screen every so often with a weary look on her face if only to keep up the illusion that she's paying attention. Their parents might not notice, but Serena does. She makes a note to ask about it later.

For now, there's a fight to watch!

The tributes have been drawn out to the center of the arena by a storm, not the first of its kind to strike them but certainly the most intense. Wind so strong it's knocking branches off the trees, thunder that seems to shake the television when it cracks. There must be something wrong with the rain, because Lance cried out when it first touched him, and even now he's grimacing. He's fighting against the wind as it pushes him back, making slow but steady progress towards the mouth of the Cornucopia and looking over his shoulder every once and a while to make sure he isn't being followed.

The girl from Eight is around somewhere, but the cameras haven't cut back to her in a while. Serena muses that perhaps she's off somewhere dying but is quickly disappointed as she realizes that if that were the case, they would certainly be showing it. It can't be that easy for Lance, not that he would need it to be. He's good.

Still, Serena worries about the whereabouts of the girl from Eight. She's dangerous. They all underestimated her in the beginning, and that's how the pretty girl from Lance's district got killed. Heck, it's how Eight's own district partner got killed.

It was pretty fun to watch, though. Even if it was a little bit scary.

Lance pushes on, drawing closer to the Cornucopia's opening. Serena leans forward. He makes it to the Cornucopia and collapses on the ground just far enough inside that he's somewhat shielded from the rain, his hands and knees pressed against the metal floor. He takes a few deep breaths before he flops onto his back, letting the rain that makes it in fall against his face. There's blood on him that Serena didn't notice before, it must have happened before she came out to watch.

"Is he hurt?" She whispers, looking up at Mother.

Mother nods without taking her eyes off the screen.

"What happened?"

"Hush, darling, I'm trying to watch."

"Some kind of animal," Margaerie pipes up. "A mutt, I think. Lots of teeth." She jokingly snaps her own teeth at Serena, who giggles.

Mother shushes them both. "I'm trying to watch," she repeats.

Margaery rolls her eyes and goes back to whatever she was doing before. Serena wilts a bit, hugging the pillow and looking back at the screen.

Having taken a moment to breathe, Lance starts to push himself back up. He's returning shakily to his feet when the sound of scraping metal echoes from somewhere that Serena can't see, and she jumps. Lance does too.

The camera's focus in on Lance's face from inside the Cornucopia, with his back to the storm outside. He's looking at something ahead of him, confusing quickly growing into fear. He grabs scimitar strapped to his waist and goes to take a step back, but he isn't quick enough to draw before he stumbles. He might have been able to catch himself if not for his injury, which causes him to fall backwards. Lightning strikes just outside the Cornucopia, and the camera switches perspectives…

To a shadowy figure approaching Lance from deep inside of it. The girl from Eight, her face partially illuminated by the brief lightning outside. Her face is more red than it is the natural pale color of her skin, caked with blood, and there's something indescribably chilling about the look in her eyes. Even Margaerie is paying attention now.

The girl from Eight approaches slowly, giving Lance ample time to scramble backwards in his sitting position. The scraping sound is coming from the girl dragging her weapon across the floor, an enormous mace that Serena is surprised she can even carry. There's a trail of blood behind it that she can see now, leading back to a puddle further into the Cornucopia, but whatever that puddle was once part of has been obscured. There's no reason to show it; this is the main action.

She walks all the way to Lance, who's laying in the mud just outside the Cornucopia with a pained look on his face. She places her foot on his chest, pressing down. He opens his mouth, but thunder booms overhead as he begins to speak, and Serena can't hear a word.

"Why isn't he getting up?" She asks, half whining. "He had so much time to get up!"

His lips are still moving, but he's far too quiet to make out. Whatever he's saying, his opponent has stilled long enough to listen with her foot still firmly planted on his chest.

"Get up!" Serena shrieks, starting to get annoyed. Nobody shushes her.

The camera switches to a view of the girl's face, blood dripping from seemingly everywhere – nose, mouth, scalp, all dripping with it. Serena has a feeling that only a bit of it is actually hers. She catches the tail end of whatever Lance is saying.

"–Please."

The girl from Eight takes her time lifting the mace up, clearly struggling to hold the weight of it, and then she brings it down on his head hard.

Serena and her father both groan in unison while her mother cheers. Margaerie looks away.

His face is already mangled when the mace comes away, broken and twisted and bloody, but she brings it down again. And again, and again, and again, her movements growing more frenzied, blood flying in every direction. Finally, when his face is little more than an unrecognizable pile of mush, she throws the mace to the side and collapses on the ground beside his lifeless form, face pointed up at the sky.

A canon fires, and the announcement plays.

"Ladies and gentlemen," it begins. "I am pleased to present the victor of the seventy-seventh annual Hunger Games – from District Eight, Kit Damask!"

The anthem blares as the storm begins to subside. Kit just keeps looking at the sky.

Mother is laughing, delighted, raising from her seat and clapping. She hasn't yet changed out of her day clothes even though the sun is down, her applause is muffled by the satin gloves on her hands.

"A good game," she says. "She played it well."

"It's not faaaair," Serena whines. "I wanted Lance to win!"

"I'm inclined to agree," Father says gruffly, rising from his seat as well to stretch. "He played it much smarter. And the girl…"

Mother rolls her eyes. "Oh, enough about this. She was charming enough."

"Enough for you, perhaps. We spent good money sponsoring that young man, and he couldn't even pull it together in the end."

"It made for a good show. Isn't that what matters? I enjoyed it, I know you did. Serena?"

The two of them look down at Serena, still pouting in her seat. They stare at each other for a moment, Mother raises an eyebrow. Eventually Serena relents, allowing herself a smile. "Alright," she says. "It was fun."

"Margaerie?" Mother asks, turning to address her older daughter. But when she looks in the direction of the chair, it's already been vacated – without even so much as a goodbye. She purses her lips but doesn't comment. "Well, Serena. You should be off to bed now."

"But–"

"No buts. There's nothing more to see, not until tomorrow. And you have school. Bed, Serena, don't make me tell you again."

Serena groans rather dramatically, pushing herself up off the sofa and tossing her pillow aside. She of course takes the time to kiss her mother and father goodnight, and then she heads up the stairs to her bedroom.

As she settles in bed, she reflects on the game's conclusion. She reflects on the image of Lance's face, unrecognizable as the canon fired. It's such a bummer, really – both because he was cute and because just lost a bet with Evie.

But Mother was right about one thing at least. It had made for a good show.

She can't wait until next year.


Another little prologue piece, just to bump the story with an update - I am still very much in need of characters! Males would especially be appreciated, since there's a lot of female tributes, but honestly any tribute will do since there's still quite a few spots to fill in. As of now, I do have a couple districts that are full, so hopefully the next chapter will be a Reaping!

For now, this! I think I'm going to have Serena around as a minor recurring character, used primarily to react to the things happening from a Capitol perspective. Her chapters will probably be small interludes between larger events, if people like that idea, so let me know what you think!

Finally, on the topic of submitted characters: please be as detailed as you can with the form! The more I know about your character, the easier it will be for me to write them, and the more I'll actually be able to write them. I'm not asking for essays, but enough information that I can confidently work with them really helps. I'm operating on a mostly first come first served basis unless I get a form that's like, one word answers for everything. That's the kind of thing I'll probably have to turn away. So the more detail the better! I'm really liking what I've seen so far, and I'm excited to get to write the first reaping!

Until next time, everyone! 3