A/N: Ahh, this is just a filler chapter to keep this updated. And so you can get a taste of my writing. Also, to explain the aftermath of the Nightlock Rebellion, as I always call the second rebellion. Just so you know, I haven't read Mockingjay. But the epilogue did indeed happen, despite what Christelle claimed about this being a decade after the 74th. The Capitol just likes to pretend the fifteen years of Paylor's reign didn't exist.

Also, I'll repeat this over and over again. You have to use my form. You have to be detailed. You have to follow my rules. I will list all nine rules every A/N I write if that's what it takes and reinforce them with a flamethrower. And details! Details details details.

You can go overboard, use all 8,000 characters in a PM if you'll give details. Also, I've created a tenth rule. You have to follow every requirement in the first A/N of the preface. No exceptions. Even if your tribute is fantastic and unique and has never been seen before, if they disregard my rules, they are not getting in.

Oh, yes, concerning reservations, if I refuse to accept a tribute before their reservation is up, I'll remove the reservation early. Also, please vote for my poll on my profile page on whether I should write the Games in first person or third person. Also, my sponsor system is now on my profile page.

I don't own the Hunger Games.


The Eighty-fourth Annual Hunger Games


Are you, are you, coming to the tree?

District Twelve, Nightlock Cemetery, 8:11 PM

A woman, about twenty years old, darted in and out of the shadows warily, weaving through alleyways. Her long black hair was tied back in a side braid, her azure blue eyes as serious as her mother's. She carefully opened the wrought iron gate she was looking for and winced at the loud creak it made, but slipped in. As usual, no Peacekeepers hustled into the cemetery.

Primrose Mellark's eyes roamed the cemetery. Fifth row, third gravestone. Her eyes lit up as she strode toward it. She touched the gravestone with her fingertips, setting down a bouquet of wildflowers, as she did every night before the reaping.

"Mom, Dad," she murmured sadly. "I missed you." She ran her fingers over the chipped marble. Her parents had deserved better than this, better than watching every loved one they had be tortured to death and then burned alive. The Girl on Fire- how ironic.

Well, not every loved one, Primrose thought. The children of the Mellarks had gotten away, hadn't they? It wasn't as if the Capitol actually knew they existed. They hadn't gotten ahold of DNA records or anything. Due to the fact the Capitol wasn't aware the Mellarks had children at all, by some miracle, Primrose and her brother had managed to get away. They'd escaped the reapings, too.

Primrose knelt by the gravestone. Her parents weren't actually buried there- Primrose had a living as a baker, like her father had, and it was enough to buy a gravestone and place it in Nightlock Cemetery in honor of Katniss and Peeta.

Originally, there hadn't even been a cemetery in District Twelve. But it had been built on top of the Meadow- the Meadow where an innocent young girl used to go and play with her little brother- as a reminder to the dead rebels. The electric fence still was on twenty-four-seven, like District Twelve couldn't reach the rebels, either. Primrose usually climbed a tree and then leapt across the fence from the branch. She'd broken her ankle more than a dozen times, and she still had to drag herself up another tree to get across the fence again. But Primrose would do it for her parents.

A figure melted out of the shadows- an eighteen-year-old kid with short blonde hair and gray eyes. Gale Mellark.

We're just reminders, the namesakes of people our parents cared about, Primrose thought, but there was no bitterness in it. She ran her hands over the bumpy surface of the gravestone.

"You don't get anything out of sentimentality, you know," Gale said quietly.

"It's not sentimentality, Gale! This is our parents!"

Gale sighed and joined Primrose. "Fifteen years of Paylor, and then the Capitol acts like they never happened. A quarter century since the berries. Or a decade. Whatever."

Stop holding back your feelings before you explode like a volcano in a torrent of emotion, Primrose thought resentfully. Holding yourself together like you don't even care will backfire. Things were frigid between her brother and her these days. But Gale and Primrose only had each other, after all.

Primrose could feel the presence of ghosts in the cemetery, whispering to her. She didn't feel afraid. She wasn't sure she cared. The wind was whispering one of her favourite songs- "The Hanging Tree."

Is life really worth it? she wondered.

She finally came back to her senses and jumped up, startling her brother. "Come on," she said shortly. "Let's leave. I've had enough time here."

She could feel tension in the cemetery- bitter ghosts wanting her to die.

But she didn't feel afraid. As she strode out the gate, a confused Gale following her, she called back- "Mom, Dad, see you next year. I'll miss you."

Are you, are you,
Coming to the tree
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it seem
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.


A/N: Oh, yes, and I'd also like to apologise if you've made a reservation and 36 hours have not passed, and the reservation is not displayed on the tribute list. I'm bad at organizing things and have probably lost track of all these reservations. And Parris, no, you do not get any special treatment, but the D4 girl has been reserved for you.

Oh, and how reservations work is if you submit a form for a spot that has been reserved, I wait for the form from the reservation to arrive. I decide which tribute that has been submitted for the spot is better then. If I want to accept both, I move a tribute to a different district.

-Priscilla Xandri Silver