I woke up with an unusual sun, my palms sweaty despite my calm mood. Then a significant excitement settled in, and I couldn't help but try and shake myself from it. I, Cassiah Mellark, daughter of The MockingJay and Peeta Mellark, should be the very last person to feel excited for a reaping day. A sigh escaped me, knowing the torment that must be going on downstairs; President Paylor had promised that no more oppression would befall the 13 districts, but after the war, 17 years ago, a voting had been done among important figures, and the vote had decided for another Hunger Games, this time among the ones of the Capital. I know my mother must have been among that council, but she'd always refused to tell me of her vote, or better yet, Peeta's.
Instead of getting dressed right away, I procrastinated a little, cleaning my bow, testing its string, and looking over my arrows. Then the television I had left on last night caught my eye; Paylor was center screen, an angry crowd behind her. (From the setting, I could tell she was speaking from District 13, previously governed by her). I quickly leaned forward, cranking up the volume, but not enough for it to penetrate into the hall.
"Rather small and insignificant rebellions have recently been formed in several of the districts, preferring to keep their motives to themselves, but directly targeting the Capital, and…" here the president halted, hesitated, or was maybe lost for words. President Paylor was never lost for words. Eventually, she continued, "and I have been targeted multiple times. Therefore, to put the Capitol's power…my power back in the right perspectives, the 76th Hunger Games will take place as they once have. Two tributes from every district, male and female…district 13 being of no exemption."
Then the screen went black, the Capitol's seal flashing before fading away slowly. I blinked several times, the seal flashing several times as my heartbeat quickened. Without really thinking it through, I tossed my covers aside and raced out of my room, to the one facing mine.
"Mace!" I whispered harshly and he opened the door not seconds later. Mace might be my younger brother by two years, but he could pass for my elder, with his strong built, tall frame, and seemingly always knowing grey eyes. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts, and my blonde hair fell out of its bun. I dismissed it and bore my blue eyes into my brother's.
"The reaping…she's doing it to the districts!" I had hoped to contain my panic, and when I saw Mace look at me s calmly as ever, I wanted to yell at him.
"Look Cassiah, they can't get to us. You know that. Mom's the MockingJay…they can't send her children, either of them, into the arena. Paylor partly owes her presidency to mom, and the former knows that," he shrugged and then pushed me out slightly, "can I get dressed? We still have to attend." He raised an eyebrow and I rolled my eyes, stomping back to my room. Carelessly, I threw on some dark fitting pants that were supple and allowed for comfortable movement, a white t-shirt with a forest green sweater on top; despite the sun, the weather was inching toward winter with every day.

"So you guys heard," Peeta cut to the chase as he kneaded some dough on the counter
"Why are you making bread now? We're supposed to go to the reaping," I pointed out, although I stole a small and perfectly circular bread and starting ripping away at it.
"Which you two don't seem to be properly dressed for." My mother's voice and appearance was grave as she looked upon us both, Mace not really caring, although he did give his shirt a tug to make it hang right. I narrowed my eyes at Katniss, wondering why she was worrying; surely she'd always known she'd have to mentor someone from District 12 for the Hunger Games. (I doubt Haymitch was up for it anymore, considering the slight insight we've had on stories about him).
"Mom, at least it won't be one of-" I started but she shook her head violently, her eyes hardening.
"You guys are going in." But as hard and cutting as her voice was, tears began to slide down her cheeks and Peeta immediately left his dough and went to wrap his arms around her.
As I watched them, I took Peeta's position and started working away at the dough. Through the crying, I could hear them 'play' that weird little game of theirs,
"We're going in again. Real or not real?" Peeta asked and Katniss bit her lip and spoke through her tears.
"Real."