Author's Note: Trying to keep to a regular update schedule but Friday is Christmas Day, so I won't be updating then. So here is District Eight, a few days early. Any comments, reviews, feedback or constructive criticism would be hugely appreciated!

District Eight's Victors and their Games: Woof (14), Cecelia (58), Cotton (68)

Cecelia's Children: Merino (age 9, named after his father), Calista (age 7), Leno (age 4)

…

Cecelia felt as if her whole world had caved in. Everything she had tried to do in the years since she won, gone, snuffed out the moment Snow read that card. Cecelia desperately tried to put those days in the arena behind her, but the Capitol kept trying to draw them back out, to draw that Cecelia from the arena back. Then she met Merino. Of course, Snow did not stop forcing people on her just because she had got married. No, he wanted to show her, and her husband who 'owned' her, whose control she was under. Merino hated it, hated what his wife and her friends went through year on year, and began his path to becoming one of Eight's most committed rebel organisers, benefitting from connections with both the other victors and Eight's factories, gaining the trust of both.

Their children changed everything once again. Three children, two boys and a girl for whom Cecelia would do anything to protect. She had been trying to both shield them from the Capitol's prying eyes but also expose them just enough that they would see her babies as too innocent, too perfect, too human to put in an arena. She had attended sessions for new mothers and their babies during the Games, organised playdates with the children of influential politicians and occasionally Gamemakers and released carefully orchestrated photos of her family doing activities typical of the Capitol to mark special occasions. Cecelia and Merino were aware that they were walking a very fine line, but it was one they were willing to tread to see that their children were not taken away from them.

Their efforts would not save her, however. She knew she would be picked. The vicious, seemingly bloodthirsty eighteen-year-old from Eight who left five tributes in her wake was too good to ignore. Her looks, something which kept her popular amongst Snow's clientele until she first became pregnant, would work against her here too. Against Cotton, who the Capitol tries to hide due to her inconsolable outbursts, Cecelia was the obvious choice. She knew it and Merino knew it too.

Cecelia was brought from her silence by her eldest son, named Merino after his father. She did not know he had heard the announcement. "Mummy's a victor isn't she? She has to win the games again?" he asked, full of concern.

Cecelia could not bring herself to answer so her husband stepped in, "I think so my boy. Mummy has won once before remember, so she can win again. We all need to be brave to help her though. You can do that can't you, son?"

"But Cotton is a victor too isn't she? And Uncle Woof too? Do they have to win again?" the younger Merino enquired.

"It's the same as other years. One boy and one girl must go. So, Uncle Woof has to try and win too. We don't know yet whether the Capitol will pick Cotton or Mummy though," replied his father, trying to answer his child's questions as best he could. They had been explaining the Hunger Games, the role Cecelia played and who Uncle Woof and Cotton were when they felt Merino was old enough but there was still matters he did not understand.

"Oh, so Cotton can go instead of Mummy and Mummy can stay here?" their son asked, sensing how upset his mother was.

"We don't know. We have to wait and see. But I need you to go and get ready for bed, I will come and read to you soon," the man said, trying to give his wife some space to deal with the news.

Merino looked at both his parents, kissed Cecelia on the cheek, climbed up the stairs and the two adults heard his bedroom door close.

Cecelia let out the tears she was trying to hold in, "How can I kill them? Kill Poppy, Halley, or any of the others? I can help Katniss and Peeta, but I've shut out all the rest of it. I can't go back there".

"Well maybe you won't have to. There is a plan, darling, remember. You don't have to dig all that back up. Cotton could maybe-" Merino replied, trying to soothe his distraught wife.

"No!" Cecelia, jolted upright and stared right at her husband. "She won't be in there and you know it. She won't be reaped, and I am not asking her to volunteer. And neither will you. Besides, the District is a powder keg, you know how bad volunteering will look. Snow will only come down on Eight, and us, harder."

"So, you're just resigned to it? To the fact that you might well die? To not seeing our children grow up?!" Merino snapped back.

"Please, love, don't. Please. I want nothing more than to stay here with you and our babies. But when my name is called, I'll have to go. If this goes as it should, as we have worked for, our babies will never have to go in that arena. That's the one thing that could make it worth it," Cecelia insisted.

Merino took a deep breath, "What can I do to convince you to not go?"

Cecelia sighed, "You know it will be me. You are not going to get me asking Cotton to volunteer in my place and I've told you, you're not either," Cecelia insisted. "Look, say goodnight to Merino, check on Cali and Leno. I'm going to see Woof and Cotton."

"You don't have to do that now," Merino complained.

"I do. You know how much they rely on me. It's not their fault. Woof might not even know, he might not understand, he might have slept through the whole thing. In which case, we can deal with him tomorrow when the children have gone to school. Anyway, he's better in the mornings. I'll do what I can with Cotton. I won't be long," Cecelia replied.

Merino understands District Eight's victors so does not begrudge their closeness or their growing reliance on his wife. He has known Woof almost as long as he has Cecelia. He helped bring her home and for that Merino will always respect the older victor. They have become firm friends so to see his decline and his memories fading is difficult. Merino also knows the effect that mentoring can have. How Woof withstood it by himself for decades without turning to alcohol, drugs or any other vices known to some of the victors he will never understand. Cecelia mentored for nine years without a victor and every year he watched his wife return having left a piece of her behind with those children. When Cotton came out alive, he was delighted, they all were. Of course, the same year their daughter Calista was born so having a new-born and a new victor on their hands was especially challenging but they managed. With Cotton so fragile and struggling to adjust to life beyond the arena, she took up a lot of his wife's time and at first, it was hard for him not to be annoyed at the younger victor. But by this point he had met several victors and realised that none of them had truly won the Games, they had survived and been left to pick up the pieces alone. Merino could never really resent Cotton. It was not her fault after all.

True to her word Cecelia came back shortly after their eldest son had fallen asleep. Woof had not slept through the whole thing but had waited until Cecelia came round to confirm what had happened. He told her how sorry he was, allowed her to help him to bed and held her hand as she waited at his side until he fell asleep. Cotton was indeed inconsolable. Cecelia held her as she cried and cried until she was able to prise herself away from Cotton's grip. She made some tea for the younger victor and slipped in some of the sleep syrup she knew the Capitol doctors had provided and waited until she too fell asleep.

"I'm sorry it has to be this way," Cecelia whispered as she walked through the door into her living room.

"Me too," Merino replied gently, wrapping his arms around his wife who allowed herself to cry once more.

"Just take care of our children," Cecelia sobbed.

"You know I will," Merino responded through his own tears.

On Reaping Day, nobody would attempt to justify Cecelia's reaping. Not even Caesar Flickerman or Claudius Templesmith could cast a positive light on the events in Eight. For the people of District Eight, who held a deep respect for their victors, this was the final spark that ignited the flames. The district exploded as their victors were hauled through the Justice Building and onto the train.