Fiora Frost

They shouldn't have given me knives. During my first games, I walked up to the throwing knives station and the trainer just about laughed at me. They look cool, he explained, but they were impractical as weapons. Clumsy and difficult to control even at a basic level, and even in the hands of an expert less dangerous than a javelin or bow. But I already knew all that.

I was five when I held a knife in my hand the first time, one of those flat, grey blades that slice through the wind in a way that makes you expect to see it leave a tear in the empty air it travels through. I didn't fall in love with the feel of it in my hand right away, or anything as simplistic or cliche as that. It was cold and sharp and heavy on my boney little fingers. It was a slow built relationship, one of necessity more than passion or love. There's only so many ways for an orphan girl in District Nine to fill her belly. Being a carny wasn't my top choice, but if I wasn't the one throwing the knives I would've been the target spinning on the wheel.

And if I had done anything else than I wouldn't have torn my way through my arena, knives at my belt. The Gunslinger, the Capitol started to call me afterwards. My knives were like bullets, flicking out of the grasp of my outstretched fingers and into their hearts with the type of effortless ease that should never go hand in hand with death.

But I did what I had to do, that's all. Maybe not a villain, no, but I was never a hero. I can't claim that. There's a couple dozen victors who have done more than me to inch themselves towards that label. Or there were, at least.

How many of those gallant knights in shining armor are still left? How many were pulled up out of the arena, a knife planted in their heart? It's hard to keep track after a certain point. There were some sixty of us to start, and now there's only a half-dozen. Most of them died on the first day. Eleven of them formed a Career pack, and when I outran them all and made it to the center of the cornucopia first, eleven of them tried to breach through. Eleven of my friends fell to the sand and never got back up.

I'm sure if I survive this they'll show that highlight for the rest of my life. It's always the knives. Other victors have their own talents and personas far away from the bloody beginning of their fame. When I suggested that my victor talent could be the piano, my escort laughed and said I knew what it had to be.

I'm never the girl on fire from Twelve, or the sex icon from Four, or the mother from Eight or the singer from Six. I'm the girl with the knives.

I asked the Gamemakers during my private session to not put them in the arena. I thought that if I could run to the cornucopia and die with a sword or an axe or a spear in my hand, that I could be something, anything else. And for those few seconds after the gong run, while I sprinted across the beach, I let myself hope that my gravestone could read: Fiora Frost. Daughter, sister, lover, friend.

Then I had knives in my hand again, smooth steel kissing my skin as I let them dance through the air, and I saw those words wisped away, a bold, steel engraving taking its place.

I shouldn't be upset about it. It's a gift, as ugly of one as it may be. I shouldn't be sitting here complaining about living, not when the stench of death is still all over this crummy arena. Not when it's the one thing that's kept me alive all my life.

I just wish it wasn't always knives.

Hello, my lovelies, I hope you all are having a wonderful day today! This will be the last of the prologues, because I'm hoping to have a full cast very soon! I still have a few more spots to fill out, specifically the outer-district male spots, so if you haven't subbed yet I would love to have you on board! There's no specific deadline, but I'd love to have a finalized list by the start of June, so some time in the next week would be best :)

Such a big thank you to everyone who's shown me and this story so much love. I've been so, so overwhelmed with all the reviews, messages, submissions, and everything else that has come with the incredible response to this story. I really hope that I can live up to the high expectations that you've all entrusted in me '3

All the Love,

CC