Chapter 1: The Reaping

The spider on the ceiling stared at Riin like it owned the place. Its blue-grey body was sleek and hairless, spanning about four inches across, including its legs. Early morning light glistened off its bulbous abdomen and venomous fangs. You're in my house now, Widow. Removing the elastic hairband from her sleek, dark ponytail, Riin stretched it between her fingers, aiming at the spider; she released, and it fell from its perch with a thump onto the wooden floor. Within a heartbeat, Riin had crushed it under her boot.

She scraped it and the hairband off the floor, cupping the broken carcass in her hands, and made her way into the kitchen. Damn invasive spiders. That was hardly the only one Riin expected to see today; District Eight was covered in them.

Riin's father was already in the kitchen, fixing up a loaf of bread and cheese for breakfast. "I found another Widow," Riin said, dumping the spider into a pot he kept by the stove where it would rest with the other Indigo Widow corpses she had squished from previous days.

Her father glanced passively at the dye pot's newest addition. "Oh, good," he said. "Maybe I can re-dye your brother's tie by next reaping."

Riin frowned, tying her hair back again with the elastic band. "I thought we were going to do my dress. You said you would show me how."

"Don't be ungrateful; you just got your sash," her father admonished. The sash around Riin's reaping day dress sported the telltale deep indigo color. It had been a gift for her fourteenth birthday; nothing made a statement like wearing the remnants of Panem's deadliest spider like a trophy. Technically, it could be considered "stealing Capitol merchandise," but people - and Peacekeepers - had stopped paying attention long ago. Someone had to keep the pests under control, and her mother would hardly arrest her for that.

"I'm the one killing the Widows, not him," Riin huffed, ripping herself a piece of bread and a slice of cheese. "Where is that lout, anyways? He's going to make us late."

Just then, Iden skidded into the kitchen, his eyes wide and tie askew. "There's a Widow in my room!"

Riin gave her father a pointed stare before turning to her older brother. "So? Just kill it." He frowned dubiously, and Riin sighed, picking up the cheese knife. He hadn't gone near the Widows since getting bit by one when he was eleven; Riin and their father had to hold him down, thrashing and screaming, while their mother sucked the venom from the wound.

The Widow was sitting on top of Iden's white socks; it stood out like red thread on a wedding dress. Riin inched soundlessly towards it, raising the knife. She didn't want to risk spooking it and having the Widow retreat back into whatever corner it had crawled out of. Only a foot closer...Riin darted toward the spider, impaling its thorax with the double-pronged tip of the cheese knife. Smirking in satisfaction, she picked it up by a spindly leg, holding it in front of her brother's face as he appeared in the doorway.

"Ahh - hey, you got spider blood on my socks!"

"Your problem, not mine." She waltzed back into the kitchen, dropping the second Widow into the indigo pot. "I'm surprised he's even willing to wear the tie," Riin said as an aside to her father, handing him the cheese knife handle-first.

He made a face at the dirty knife. "Just eat your breakfast, both of you," he said as Iden reappeared, fully dressed this time.

They ate quietly together, and Riin's thoughts drifted to today's reaping. Her mother had allowed Iden to take out two tesserae to pay for his transition surgeries, but Riin hadn't needed anything that expensive, so she abstained - the privilege of a Peacekeeper's family. Taking tesserae was not an uncommon practice for the people of District Eight. The money that would've been spent on food was used instead for other necessities like medical bills and rent payments, something that Riin's family had been lucky enough to avoid since she came of reaping age. Riin's name was only in the pot three times while Iden's was in eighteen. Not bad odds compared to many people she knew. Riin's family did their best to ignore the reaping each year; it hadn't really affected them yet. A few classmates, maybe a friend of a friend's kid, nothing more. Her mother's job may be one of the more unpopular ones with the townspeople, but it kept them as safe as anything. As per regulation, Riin's mother had left early to set up for the reaping ceremony at the square before dawn.

Last year, Riin hadn't recognized either of the kids that were reaped. Upperclassmen, she knew. Neither had lasted long in the arena. Darkly, Riin hoped Cosima Herkimer would get called this year. It would be nice to get that wench out of her hair; then, maybe, she'd be able to get around school easier without someone whispering and giggling behind her back.

The reaping was at noon, but they had to walk there from across town, which meant they should probably leave now. Her father realized this a second after the thought crossed Riin's mind; he ushered them out of their apartment, into the hall, and down three flights of stairs to the ground level. They exited the complex and joined the flow of parents, children, and spectators making their way to the square. Riin was glad they lived within walking distance; it would be a pain to wait for a cab or metro to get to the right part of town. This way she got to see the banners, too.

Each family in District Eight designed their own banner for reaping day, stringing them between buildings and over streets in a bountiful display of color. Many chose to detail them with colorful embroidered patterns, especially the seamstresses and designers.

It almost gave the street a joyful holiday feel, if it weren't for the faces. Families that had lost a child to the Games memorialized them in colored thread, usually accompanied by the year they were reaped. Riin caught a flash or orange in the banner overhanging the cobbler's shop - the female tribute from two years ago. The crafting of banners for tributes without families was used in the district schools to teach students proper embroidery techniques. Riin's class had helped sew the border of last year's banners; she wondered briefly how the other districts paid homage to their fallen.

Today, their path took them down Designer Alley, where countless intricately threaded tapestries floated gracefully above them, swaying in the breeze. Riin particularly liked the deep red one above the tailor's shop, which portrayed a flat-headed snake sewn with black and silver thread. She thought she even caught some strands of dyed indigo as well.

Riin's family banner - a deep navy blue color depicting the outline of a dove in light grey thread - was rather lacking at the moment, though she had a feeling her father was considering saving the Widows Riin had caught for the embroidery thread rather than her reaping dress. He had always felt a bit embarrassed about their banner's lack of detail; a couple more years and he might end up actually fixing it. At least Riin thought that was her mother's plan, as she'd been gifting him colored thread for his past few birthdays. A year was plenty of time, she mused, to gather enough Widows for her dress and the thread, as the latter shouldn't take too much. A dove was a silly creature for an emblem anyways.

They drew closer to the square and the family banners were replaced with fluttering hand-embroidered Capitol seals, an impressive display of patriotism, no matter that it was the product of forced labor. Riin and Iden separated from their father, heading to their respective reaping pens with solemn glances; she was glad they put Iden into the correct one this year.

Nestled safely within the throng of fourteen year-old girls, Riin glanced up at her other favorite set of banners: the Victor's portraits. Finely detailed and exquisitely colored, they spoke of the labor of a community, depicting each of District Eight's past Victors. The newest portraits were the most visible, though they were each easily over twenty years old by now. District Eight had only two living Victors. Both Janus Shyle and Barnabas Flink were in their late thirties or early forties, relatively close in age, already sitting on the reaping stage, the former making idle chatter with their Capitol escort. Unfortunately, they had long been unsuccessful in returning District Eight's tributes home. From what Riin could tell, this bothered neither of them.

Casting her gaze over the heads of her peers, Riin made the mistake of catching Cosima Herkimer's eye in the crowd, her sleek blonde hair and frilly pink dress standing out like a sore thumb. Smirking, wretched wench nudged the girl next to her, pointing at Riin. Three other heads turned towards Riin's direction, and Cosima mimed picking a slip from the reaping bowl, clearly mouthing Riin's name across the distance separating them.

Riin scowled at her, feeling her nose wrinkle in a snarl while their tittering laughter rose lightly above the muffled din of the crowd. She wanted to shrink into her dress and slap the smile off Cosima's stupidly pretty face at the same time.

The bell atop the Justice Building tolled twelve, interrupting Riin's unpleasant train of thought, and their escort disengaged from her conversation. Unlike most of the escorts Riin had seen from other districts' reaping ceremonies, Scilla Draxas exhibited none of the Capitol's typical bubbliness. Everything about her, from her demeanor to her unusually silver skin tone, could be described as cold and metallic. Most of Riin's peers detested Scilla's obvious callousness, but Riin preferred it to the obnoxiously perky behavior of most Capitolites that she'd seen during Hunger Games programmes. Scilla stood with her feet evenly spaced, sunlight glinting off the silver chain-links in her tunic and her chrome skin tone, almost blinding to behold. "District Eight. The time has come again to make your sacrifice to the Capitol. Happy Hunger Games," she said with no introduction. Her accent was soft but dangerous, reminding the people of District Eight that they were about to lose two of their own. First, though, she introduced the district mayor, who recited the history of Panem and the First and Second Treaties of Treason. The two treaties were all that remained of past revolutions; Riin hoped there wouldn't be another one in her lifetime, as that would add another thirty minutes to the already drawn-out reaping ceremony.

"-Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever," the mayor concluded, conceding the stage back to Scilla, who practically shooed her away.

Scilla read out the short list of District Eight's living Victors, Janus and Barnabas bowing respectively as their names were called. The people gave them due applause; they were the lucky ones. "What a depressingly short list," Scilla noted discourteously. "Hm. Too much to hope it will get longer anytime soon."

Riin scowled on the inside, annoyed that she was probably right. Whatever guidance the past Victors offered, it seemed to lead their tributes to their deaths within the first hour of the Games. It had been years since one of their tributes made it to the final eight; the memory was fuzzy in Riin's mind as she had been six or seven years old then.

"Your male tribute," Scilla said, addressing the crowd as she reached into the reaping bowl, "is Karl Taylor."

There was a pause, and then a voice from the crowd of seventeen year-old boys. "W-what, no. That's not possible-" The crowd parted and a burly dark-skinned boy stumbled into the walkway up to the stage. That must be Taylor. He wasn't crying, but looked to be in a state of shock. Riin heard quiet sobbing from somewhere within the spectators; his family, presumably. Scilla gave him an appraising look as he stepped up to the stage, no doubt wondering how well he'd perform in the arena. Riin was admittedly thinking the same thing. Physically, he appeared fairly formidable, though Riin knew little about his personality as they were too far in age to have encountered each other in school.

Nobody stepped up to volunteer, so Scilla continued. "And your female tribute," she said, snagging a slip from the opposing bowl with her metallic hand, "is Thariin Kres."

Riin's eyes widened as she recognized her full name. This was not good. This was really not good, this was-

Her legs seemed to move on their own, and the cluster of girls within which she had hidden divided to let her through. Scilla met her eyes with a look that reminded Riin of the Widow she had shot from the ceiling this morning, and Riin wiped the surprise from her face, determined not to let the unnaturally glinting woman rattle her. Scilla's eyes flicked over Riin's form as she mounted the stage; the escort flashed a pleased smile at her indigo sash. Clearly, she was more satisfied than usual with this year's tributes. Riin kept her visage a stone mask of indifference as she gazed out over the crowd, finding Iden's shocked expression. Neither he nor her father within the group of spectators let out a cry of protest. Scanning the barrier of armed Peacekeepers, Riin could not tell which white armored figure hid her mother's presence. Briefly, she glimpsed Cosima's expression from the group of fourteen year-olds; at least the girl had the decency to look a little bit guilty.

Scilla called for volunteers. Nothing. That was it, then.

"District Eight, your tributes for the One Hundred and Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games!"

Riin and Taylor shook hands as required, Taylor's grip limp as wet spaghetti. He was scared, then. Good. He was her enemy now. Every person worth noting from here on would be an enemy. She needed to adopt this mindset immediately, or her chances of survival were slim to none.

Riin didn't wait to be shoved by Peacekeepers to exit the stage through the Justice Building. They flanked her anyways, guiding her to a private room where she would say her good-byes to family and friends. Well, just family in her case; she wasn't close enough with any of her classmates to warrant a personalized goodbye.

One of the Peacekeepers stayed in the room when the door closed; so much for privacy. The door opened a heartbeat later, letting her father and Iden in. Where was -

The Peacekeeper locked the door and removed their helmet, revealing her mother's tear-stained face. She quickly swept her daughter into a hug, easily lifting Riin's tiny body off the ground. Riin was surprised; she couldn't remember the last time her mother had cried, if ever. She supposed it was easier to hide under a faceless helmet. She couldn't breathe for a minute, her mother was hugging her so tight; her throat suddenly felt raw, the beginnings of tears prickling at her own eyes. No, stop. You can't cry. Not now. Biting her lip, Riin held back the tears, the stiff plates of her mother's armor poking uncomfortably into her stomach and cheek. "I'm so sorry, Riin. I'm so sorry, I tried to make them change it, I-" She choked back a sob and released her daughter shakily, and Riin was enveloped by her father, and then Iden. Neither of them were crying, still more shocked than anything.

Three times, her name had been in the running. Three out of however many tens of thousands of other names, tesserae and all.

"It's not fair, this shouldn't be able to happen," her mother was saying, but Riin barely heard her.

Her father was on the verge of tears; she could hear it in his voice. "Oh, Riin, my darling," he said, cradling Riin's face in his hands and placing a kiss on her forehead. He stepped back, clutching his wife's hand for support like he was the one being sent to die and not Riin.

"It's not fair," Iden echoed their mother, his lip trembling. "They should take someone else instead. Someone who could actually-" he cut himself off.

Their goodbyes sounded so final. Her family had always been realists; the odds had been low for either her or Iden getting reaped, and they were even lower for her surviving. "Could what?" she asked pointedly. "Could actually win? You haven't even asked me to try."

She was met with silence and wide eyes. That hurt.

It wasn't like Riin had high hopes for making it out of the arena, but she wasn't about to lay over and die. No doubt she was small and weak compared to her competitors, and far too young; the last fourteen year-old to win the Games had been before the Second Rebellion, and he had been a Career to boot. It was cruel to expect her family to indulge in such faithless hope, only to watch her die mercilessly on live television. Some part of her did, anyways; wasn't that what family was supposed to do? That was the whole point of the Hunger Games.

"What, nothing?" Riin spat accusingly. "You've already picked out the colors for my banner, haven't you? I swear if you pick orange, I'm-" She cut herself off; suddenly she couldn't speak anymore, her lip was trembling so much. In danger of bursting into tears herself, she clamped her mouth shut, trying to breathe evenly.

Her family didn't have an answer for her. The door opened and another Peacekeeper poked their head in, signaling that her time was up. Her parents and Iden gave her one more quick, tight hug before they left, and Riin accepted it; this would likely be the last time she saw them, after all. Riin's mother donned her helmet, her misery and tears disappearing under the might of the Capitol. She escorted her husband and son out of the room, and then Riin as she had no other visitors, joining her partner on Riin's flank. Riin was acutely aware of her mother's presence as she was guided to the train station. She boarded the train without looking back, ignoring the light pressure on her shoulder from her mother's glove.

Chapter Song: Lux Aeterna by Clint Mansell, Kronos Quartet

A/N: Hello! I'm fairly new to ffn, but I am cross-posting this story from ao3 (I'm darth_nell over there) and if you're enjoying this so far, you can rest easy, since this is a completed fic! I'll probably update it every day or every other day until I catch up to where I'm at now with this verse (so far, there are only two installments). I've got a lot planned for this AU ! (: