A/N: I have returned! Yes, most of you probably thought I had jumped ship on this story, but alas, I am back! I've just been incredibly busy as of late what with school, exams, getting a plethora of new 3DS games, and devoting more time to my family and social life. I also did battle with an incredible stroke of writer's block, I actually sat down to do this chapter many times but couldn't get it going for either tribute. But, I think I've done the best possible job with them, and I'm super excited to get through the final batch of reapings. So soon my lovelies, we will be off to the capitol! Just about four more reapings *shot*, ENJOY!

Daedrya Redwyne

District Eight- Female

Courtesy of TheDevilInside

Cold as ice, my eyes seep into every pore of the girl beside me. She feigns a look of concentration and control, but I can see her shaking in the way a mouse would against a hungry cat. Her fear begins to crawl up the back of her spine, dominating the crevices previously unacquainted with the sweaty desire to flee and scream. She can't though, I won't let her.

"Hit me!" I shout, loud enough to snap her out of whatever terrified dream she was having.

"I…I…," she begins but I don't let her finish.

"You…you…what?" I shout once more, imitating the pauses in her voice.

"I..c-c-," she doesn't get any farther than I will let her.

"Don't you tell me you can't," my voice settles, and the determination I am desperately trying to imbue into this child misses completely as she crumples and whines. Slobbering all over herself like some deranged animal, I can't help but feel pity. There, my weakness, the unwanted tendency to want to pick up this girl and tell her it will be alright, tell her that she won't ever be reaped and can go home and sing about sugarplums and snuggle with her cat all day and night. I can't though, because the reaping bowl is unpredictable at best, and these girls came to me, so they must want to learn, right?

"Get your things and be out of here before I count to ten," I say, shattering every urge to attend to the girl's wounds.

"What?" she asks incredulously.

"One," I begin, "Two."

Scrambling, she throws things into her bag and dashes for the door. She is gone before I reach eight.

The other girls in the training complex look at me, and as much as I want to cancel practice for the rest of the day and go home and cry for every girl I've had to turn away, I demand that the next one steps up to the platform. For two years now I've run the underground training complex in District Eight, aspiring to prepare not just myself but as many girls as possible to be victorious if ever thrown into the games. Before me, my older sister Khalyssa ran the center, but she retired after her games. Coming home a victor, Khalyssa didn't seem to be changed by the horrors of the games, but I can hear her weep and moan throughout the black silence of the night. It only seemed fitting that I take the complex over after her, but training there and managing it are two separate things entirely.

I want to be like Khalyssa, fierce and unrelenting in training and discipline, and I am for the most part. The only thing that differs between us is that my emotional lexicon contains a feeling unknown to my daring and selfish sister, sympathy. I feel it when I knock a struggling thirteen-year old to the ground or when I chew off a small child's head for not properly executing a drill. I want to be their friend, and tell them falsehoods that would do wonders to make them feel better. But instead I play the role of the brutish instructor, ever tough and callous.

"Now, does anyone else want to leave?" I ask the remaining students in an almost playful tone. Knowing my invitational framing of the sentence is drenched with sarcasm, no one moves a muscle.

"Good, now Kelli, why don't you spar with Andromeda while I take Lucia and Noni to the mat," I dish out the orders and the four girls I have left disperse to their allocated areas. Instantly, Kelli and Andromeda don their boxing gloves and begin to pepper each other's skin with cushioned red blows. The pain on their faces is evident, even from my observational view twenty feet away. I guess I hadn't been paying attention, because Lucia says my name for what she claims to be the fifth time.

"Sorry, just thinking," I tell the two girls and cross over to the blue matted floor. Lucia and Noni pick up their own wooden sword, and I do the same. Each of us armed, I begin to explain the drill.

"We'll be doing a 2 v. 1, make things a little easier because it's reaping day," I say, slightly grimacing as I name the occasion. The girls don't move, so I look back up at them, "Any time ladies," I say.

Lucia shrugs to Noni and rushes me, almost nonchalantly. Peeved by her lack of thought, I brush the wooden blade down hers and force my arms upward. Wrenching the weapon from her hands, I use the element of surprise to duck in and slam her stomach. However, my actions are stopped by a defensive Noni, who deflects my blow and whirls around to deliver her own, switching things to the offensive. Recovered from her confusion in a blink, Lucia aims for my shoulder. I roll down on the ground and parry both hits, knocking Lucia and Noni back a bit. Knowing times is precious; I smack Lucia in the stomach with the hilt of my sword and use the blade to slash at Noni's chest. Driving the blade in, it rebounds off her chest due to its wooden quality, but the stab is considered a kill.

"Ugh!" Noni barks angrily and stomps out of the ring, disappointed with her technique. One down, one to go.

Lucia resumes a bit early, knowing cheating is her only shot at winning. Coming across my face with the sword, Lucia intends to chop my throat, but I slink away before the blade can make contact. Meeting her next swing with my own blade, I roll the threat and end up with my sword in her face. Surprised at her tactless deflection but ready to use the consequence to my advantage, I rush my blade forward. It seems as if the move wasn't as maladroit a thought as I supposed, for Lucia ducks down at tackles me to the floor. Winded, I can't move at first, which gives my student the upper hand.

I can tell Lucia intends to use my momentary dizziness to her advantage, but her efforts are soured by my quick return to my feet. Bewildered by speed, Lucia has trouble blocking the flurry of cuts I send her way, and she soon drops her sword in an effort to block a blow. Collapsing to the ground, Lucia whimpers as I run the sword across her neck, marking the fake kill.

"Well, I didn't think you would be able to pull it off anyway," I mumble at the girls, pretending to be annoyed. I know they are tired, and although they don't know it, I excuse their flawed behavior. Anyone would be scared today, Reaping Day. I can't help but feel a pang of fear myself, and as I adjourn the mornings training session, morbid thoughts of dying alone and far from home penetrate my mind. I lost another girl today, and as the four left trudge out of the wide iron doors of the complex, I wonder to myself how many will live to see adulthood.

"Daedrya!" My youngest sister Auraeine exclaims as I nearly crawl through the front door of our house. Auraeine adores me, and her radiant little smile almost bounces off her face as she skips over to greet me. Hanging her arms around my neck she plants a light kiss on my cheek and calls out, "Mommy! Daddy! Daedrya's home!" My ear rings from her caterwaul, and I set her down lightly as my mother enters the room.

Rose Redwyne, my mother, is absolutely gorgeous. Auburn hair burns down her shoulders and onto her back, rich and voluminous in its many curls. Her eyes are cat-like and cerulean like the sea. The irises are peppered with flakes of jade, a unique trait inherited from my grandmother. Skin smoother than cream and lips tiny and bright red, my mother is of angelic beauty. Wearing a simple red dress and earrings my father gave her as a wedding present, my mother looks ravishing.

"Good morning Daedrya, you know it's perfectly alright to tell me that you're leaving in the morning," she tries to sound upset but I know she doesn't really care. I've been going to the training center for years and I've hardly ever announced my departure in the wee hours of the morning.

I look nearly identical to my mother, but I don't believe I possess the same beauty as her. I mean, my friends always tell me I do, but I just find the polarity between us so striking. Whereas I train relentlessly, my mother would never hurt a dandelion. She is delicate and graceful in all that she does, where getting me to sit down without causing a racket is quite the feat. Just because I feel sympathy for the girls doesn't mean I don't like to train. Training is who I am; I've always felt that I need to be ready for anything, even if that means the Hunger Games. With all of these thoughts running through my mind, I don't even notice when Khalyssa comes down.

That is, until she smashes the pitcher of water my mother was bringing over to the breakfast table. Smashing down to the ground, the ceramic jug breaks into many different pieces, some bigger than others. The water bursts out in a plume that soaks the clothes of both my mother and sister. Annoyance creeps onto my mother's face, and a look mixed between rage and confusion bubbles in her eyes.

"Khalyssa Shyrene Redwyne, what in heavens is the meaning of that?" My mother uses my sister's full name for effect.

Khalyssa doesn't care, and what she does next surprises us all. Ever since the games, the only sign of madness I've ever experienced from Khalyssa is the midnight moaning and crying, but never, not once, has she ever exhibited any outward act of violence to anyone in the middle of the day. So when her pale and slender fingers close around my mother's throat and she drives the two of them into the back wall of the kitchen, I know something is terribly wrong.

"Mommy!" Auraeine screams and I react swiftly. My mother is fighting to breathe and faces turns from white to red to purple in seconds. Khalyssa tightens her grip, and the veins begin to emerge in the darkening flesh of my mother's cheeks.

"Khalyssa stop!" I command, but my sister doesn't even turn to look at me. As my mother's eyes roll into the back of her head, I no Khalyssa has made up her mind. She intends to kill.

Sweeping her legs out from under her with a silent kick, my sister and mother go crashing to the ground. Khalyssa retains her grasp though, and then the screaming begins. Wildly hollering, Khalyssa pounds my mother's head into the floorboards and I try to separate the two of them. Drawn from outside by the noise, my father burst into the kitchen and springs into action. Before he can arrive at my mother's side however, I throw my hands at Khalyssa's face and shove her back from my mother, separating the pair. Swallowing in gigantic gulps of air, my mother collapses behind me and my father rushes to her side. Auraeine broke down long ago, and the tears are streaming down her face as she goes to my mother's side. I look down at Khalyssa and I notice that the same hot, salty, liquid is pouring down her face as well. Burying her head into my shoulder, I pat the back of my sister's head as she lets the horrifying and secret emotions out.

"What is going on?" My father, Mallus, asks.

"Khalyssa just snapped," is all I can say.

"I'm so sorry…so sorry…so…so…sorry," Khalyssa is sobbing completing now, and my training clothes are drenched. My mother looks up at my father, and I think she understands. Khalyssa wasn't acting on any premeditated notion; she had been driven by emotional psychosis. We hadn't seen this before.

"Girls, go wash up," my father commands, "I'll talk to Khalyssa."

"But dad," I protest, wanting to care for my sister and mother.

"I'll see your mother is taken care for, now go," his tone is final.

"Fine," I snap.

Grabbing Auraeine's hand, I lead her up the steps. She looks back, her long brown hair spiraling around her shoulder as she does so. Her big blue eyes focus on my mother.

"Is mommy going to be ok?" she asks.

"She'll be fine," I say.

"What about you?" Auraeine asks next.

It was a question I hadn't anticipated, coming from Auraeine. I look down at my sweet and innocent younger sister and whisper to her, my voice wobbling, "I don't know."

I am in a sparkling green dress, spun recently by the seamstresses at the complex. The complex is a big market for all the textiles and clothing items in district eight, and my mother had taken Auraeine and I there for new reaping dresses. Mine is shimmering with flecks of gold wedged in between a diaphanous wrap of emerald. My wavy red hair looks like a tide of fire next to the complimenting green, and my mother gasps as I make my way down the stairs. Her skin is back to its pale color now, but the bruises on her throat are something I couldn't take my eyes off of. Black and blue, the marks spoke of the horror that occurred earlier this morning, and as I look around the living room I notice Khalyssa isn't around.

"Your sister went ahead to the reaping," my father explains. Being a victor and all, Khalyssa gets to sit on the stage with the other victor from eight, Celeste Brightwood. Auraeine falls in beside me, in a delicate pink dress. Together, arm and arm, my sister and I head out the door to the reaping, followed by our parents.

The mayor's speech is as blasé as usual, and I find myself yawning with drowsiness after the spiel is over. An elderly woman, obviously a part of this business for quite some time came out of the Justice Building and over to the microphone. Magenta Shimmerings has been our district escort for as long as anyone can remember, and her crow's feet dance on the sides of her eyes as she speaks.

"District Eight, you know the customs. Let us begin," her cantankerous manner is customary as well, but I can't blame her. I'd be grouchy all the time if my name was Magenta. Lowering her shriveled hand into the bowl, Magenta pulls out a slip of paper with some unfortunate boy's name on it. Opening the card quickly, Magenta sharply cries into the microphone, "Aden Hanran!"

A boy with the most dazzling red hair I have ever seen makes his way to the stage. One of the older ones, he doesn't seem too fazed as he meets Magenta. He winks at someone, but I can't tell who it is, for he looks behind me where I'm standing in the seventeen-year old section. Magenta pokes his side, much to his surprise and makes some sound of approval. Magenta always pokes the boys; Khalyssa said it's her way of seeing if they're any good.

"Now for you ladies out there," Magenta crosses over to the other bowl, and reads a name I didn't expect to hear.

"Joana Oakling!" the crone does her best at a shout, her ancient voice weak in its age.

It is not I, nor my sister, or anyone of my friends, but my heart is torn in two. Joana Oakling is the girl I kicked out of the complex this morning, and the last person in district eight mentally prepared to take on the games. I don't know what I'm doing, but as Joana looks back at me on her way to the stage, something deep inside me pushes me forward.

"I volunteer!" I shout, much to the surprise of everyone in the square.

"Bah-What?" Magenta looks surprised, but her look can't match that of Joana's, which pales in comparison to Khalyssa's.

"No! No!" Khalyssa falls out of her chair on the stage and begins to break down. I brush my fiery red hair behind my back as I replace Joana.

"We match," Aden smirks as he plays with his own red curls. Celeste Brightwood restrains Khalyssa as she tries to reach me, but I do not look at my sister. I can see Joana's family down in the square, hugging their daughter and thanking God. I feel heroic for a moment, but then I realize while one families rejoices, another is mourning. That family happens to be mine.

"You don't even know her!" My mother is distraught.

"Explain this Daedrya!" My father commands.

"Daedrya!" Auraeine weeps.

"Enough!" I shout, letting my true emotions out for once. "This morning I basically let that girl know she would never be good enough for the games! You think that it's some coincidence that she was the one reaped today? I stripped a child of her ambitions and hope today, and this is how I make that up to her. Do you think she could emotionally handle the games after being told by her mentor that she won't ever be good enough? She'd probably kill herself on the train there!"

My family is stunned, quiet and unmoving. My father plants a kiss on my cheek and whispers, "Make me…us, proud."

My mother removes the earrings my father gave her and pins them on me instead. "Remember us," she says it like I won't. I can't face Auraeine, so I bury her in my shoulder with a hug instead and bow my head in fake emotion as she exits, so I don't have to meet her eyes. My family leaves, and the remainder of silence reminds me that in all the time I took out of my day to train, I never made any friends.

It isn't a peacekeeper who comes to get me, but Celeste Brightwood, with Aden in tow.

"They're busy with your sister," Celeste puts emphasis on the word "your." Following us onto the train, Celeste blocks my view of the outside world and my heart sinks a little as I board. The past ten minutes have been a blur, and as the train takes off I wonder to myself if I made the right decision.

Aden Hanran

District Eight- Male

Courtesy of Demented Kawaii Kitten

Creeping along the side of the building, my hands pressed down against the cold stone, I steal a quick breath, chancing the gaze of the peacekeeper in front of me. He doesn't look though, and my heart flutters as my right foot extends into a secret knife of moonlight. I can't be caught now, not when I'm so close. Sidling along the wall until I'm well past the peacekeeper, the door is on my immediate left. The oaf doesn't even look up from his post, he's probably asleep. Factoring in this probability, I wedge the door open as slow as I can. I am in.

Inside the factory, I dash behind a barrel as a man makes his way down the walkway. Mumbling to himself, half-asleep, this shadowy figure doesn't even notice me as he strides right past. A lot is riding on this mission's success, and I nearly crawl to the doorway where my prize awaits. Whatever amount of security they have on this place, it's obviously not enough.

I counted my blessings too soon, because the last person I want to see is rummaging through the desk in the moonlit office I have crept into. Now when I say creeping, I'm not trying to sound like some thief, even though that is what I technically am. I work in this factory, so it's easy to say I'm just coming back for something I left behind. Really, I'm not breaking in, which is why I was chosen for this job. Furthermore, I'm not some bandit that belongs to a thieves den, nothing like that. I am a rebel; I fight for freedom, against the oppression of President Snow and the godforsaken capitol. What I've come for is merely a piece of paper, a plan. However, as close as I am to what I have come for, my boss, Mr. Jingle, is fiercely protecting it throughout the night.

Mr. Jingle is not a pleasant man, despite how wonderful his surname may sound. It's not his real last name; he dropped his official one and picked up this one in honor of the annoying sound his bell makes. Mr. Jingle adores his bell, ringing it when we need to speed up or slow down, when it's time to come or go, or when it's time to talk or shut up. Every move in this factory is designated by that infernal, jingling, bell. Hence, Mr. Jingle.

In all my thoughts, I make a misstep and my foot collides with a stack of stones used to weigh down the pulley ropes, seated right outside his office. Letting a quiet squeal of pain escape my lips, I fear my mission may be doomed. Praying that Mr. Jingle did not hear me, I close my eyes. When I open them, it's to my misfortune that my prayers aren't answered.

"Who's there?" Jingle barks in a mixture of fear and confusion.

Silent as the night, I dare not reply.

"God, I'm getting senile," Jingle says to himself.

I'm not getting anywhere near those papers if Jingle is right next to them, so a new plan hatches in my brain. Picking up one of the stones my foot had collided with, I heave it over my shoulder. Throwing it as far down the hallway as I can in the direction away from me, I slip behind the stack as the rock and floor collide.

"Hey!" Jingle shouts, running to the door like a drunken pig. His fat body clambers down the hallway and I can tell by the way he is sagging his shoulders that he is a wee bit inebriated. With Jingle out of the office, I take my opportunity. While the doltish boar of a man is investigating the ruckus, I slip into his office and dispense of my shadowy tactics. Slamming the door shut and turning the lock, I race to the desk and fish out exactly what I was looking for. Jingle smashes into the door, using his body as a battering ram. I pop open the window, just as Jingle begins to fumble with the keys on his belt. Not looking back, I slide out the window and drop onto the cool, soft grass awaiting me. When Jingle reaches the window to search for his midnight assailant, I am already gone.

I don't know how the rest of the night unfolded. I ran and ran and ran until I reached our hideout, and I must've crashed as soon as I got there. Waking up to someone washing my face with ice cold water isn't the way I would've liked to learn however.

"Sorry," a sweet girl's voice says. It's a voice that I instantly recognize.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Almost nine, the reaping is in an hour," the girl says.

This isn't just any girl though: this is Lena, my wife. As I'm about to plant a good morning kiss on her wet lips, I am interrupted by another voice, this one not as girly or sweet.

"You've slept long enough lover boy," Stone says as he enters the den of our base. Lena looks up at him disapprovingly, the two have never liked each other, and Lena is barely even a rebel. It's true that she's one of us, but she joined because she needed to survive. Starving and orphaned, Lena came to us in desperation, and although many were upset with the extra mouth to feed, I convinced Morgan to let her in. Morgan is our leader, and although I'm pretty high up on the totem pole, she presides over our band of malcontents. Stone is at the same level as me, and we're both directly under Morgan. If something ever happens to her, then one of us would take over. Stone thinks it would be him, but I know Morgan wouldn't trust the brute in her stead.

"Morgan's looking over those papers," Stone keeps on talking between bites of his apple. Lena makes a face at the floor, obviously wishing for Stone to go away. Sensing her discontent, Stone rises.

"Well, I guess I'll be going," Stone's grim cackle can be heard as he struts away. Stone has been here almost as long as Morgan, and his attitude has taken a more sour turn with his development into an adult. I've always managed to stay relatively cheery, but not everything in my life has been roses, which is exactly why I'm helping to lead a group of rebels instead of sleeping in a house of my own. My parents didn't exactly agree with the current state of government, and being rebels themselves, they wound getting into some trouble. I guess rebellion is part of the Hanran genetic code, or maybe it's just a way to survive. Either way, my parent's luck at dodging the law soon ran out, and when I was nine, they were ripped from our home and paraded through the square. Screaming and crying, I ran out to the scaffold, unaware of the horrors ready to unfold. I can still remember the look of satisfaction on that peacekeeper's face as he brought the whip down on the backs of my mother and father. The beads of sweat dripped down his forehead and onto my weeping face. The furrow of his brow was creased with lines of anger and might mixed together. My mother broke first, crying as she hit the base of the scaffold. Rising to protect her, my father's back bled like the red of the morning sun, and his skin peeled off in strips of white and crimson.

Then, when he was done, the peacekeeper shot them both in the head.

I can remember it all so clearly.

So I ran and I ran and I ran. I've lived off the streets and scrambled through dumpsters and alleyways to find the remnants of meals tossed out. I became pretty good at it too, dodging the peacekeepers and purloining people of their pleasantries. First I stole cooling foods off of windowsills, but then I moved to pawning things like wallets and necklaces off the necks of the oblivious. Becoming a thief and a cheat, I survived in the shadows of District Eight, for about four years until Morgan confronted me. She was yelling, screaming about how I wasn't being reasonable with my plunders and depriving others in need of a fair share. Haranguing me from dusk to dawn, Morgan talked about how someone like me should use their skills to protect the people and not rob them. That's how I became a rebel, I guess.

At sixteen, Morgan made me a leader, something unheard of in our circle. She said I had talents most of them could learn from, and justified her decision by sending me out on special missions to retrieve profiles and blueprints of the capitol's sinister machinations. Protecting the people became first on my list, but pleasing Morgan and the rest of them had always egged me on. That is until Lena came.

They hadn't wanted to let her in, but I convinced them. Soon we were in love. I would take her on missions with me and taught her how to really be a rebel, but that sort of life can't be Lena's. Now, in present time, Lena mostly stays at the base and takes care of the twins.

Yeah, we have twins.

It was unexpected, unplanned, and I hate to say it, but unwanted. I love my children with all my heart though and can honestly say they are the best thing that's ever happened to me. Lena and I would make love on the hills of the Verdane, a lush valley that runs through the east of District Eight. The Verdane is rife with cotton, sorghum, and other crops vital to the districts. There's a patch where a willow tree grows, and a copse of violet azaleas blooms between the tree and a babbling stream nearby. It's the most peaceful place that I can think of, but it rang with the cries of pain that can only come from a mother on the day that Hunter and Logan were born.

Hunter came first, although he's a bit smaller than Logan. He's got his mother's blonde hair, and the cerulean blue of her eyes. Logan was born second, with the hair that belongs to me, red as fire and as bright as the stars. Logan may be a bit more intelligent than Hunter, but she doesn't show it. The two are inseparable, and although they are only two years old, it doesn't make me smile any less.

So today, on the last day that I have a chance of being reaped, I kiss both my babies goodbye as Lena deposits them into Morgan's care.

"We need to talk about those papers when you get back," Morgan's agenda sounds dire as she bounces Logan in her dark arm. I lock my hazels eyes with her empty black ones, understanding the situation. Lena looks concerned, but Hunter draws her attention with a pout. Sounds are all the twins can still make, but he is visibly upset.

"You're going to stay with Auntie Morgan now," Lena coos as she leads Hunter's hand to Morgan's. It is unique, to see the snow white hand connect with Morgan's deep ebony one. Morgan flashes a strained smile at Lena and I as we make our way to the square, worrying about more than just some plans, but the lives of our children as we meet with the possibility of being torn away from them. I've always thought about what I would do if Lena or I were reaped, but I know that there are people like Morgan and as tough as he may be, Stone, to look after them.

As the peacekeeper takes my blood sample, I flash a toothy grin at Lena as we are separated. She makes her way to the seventeen-year old girl section, while I cross over to the eighteen-year old boy group. Standing amongst the unfamiliar crowd, boys dressed in their best with the desire of going back to their comfortable homes rooted in their brains. I don't have a home to go back to, and I find myself growing impatient with the formalities of the mayor. I have things to do, like figuring whatever Jingle was trying so hard to protect.

I don't pay attention when our wizened little district escort pulls the boy's name out of the bowl.

"Aden Hanran!" she barks definitively.

My first thought is of my family, how Lena, Logan, and Hunter will do without me. I know they have the others to protect them, but what if my twins grow up without a father? Sure they were an accident, but I love them so much. I fight back the tears as I rise to the stage, and play the overused card of fake confidence as the cameras roll. I know the capitol will be looking for a show, and I intend to give them the one they deserve for ripping me from my kids.

I wink at Lena in the crowd, who looks absolutely mortified. She puts on a fake smile too as she receives the wink, and she kisses the air and blows it toward me. I feel something hard poke into my side, and I look down at Magenta as she sizes my worth. Mumbling something, the old hat proceeds to fish out the next name, all the while I'm thinking about my family, the real one and the one that took me in.

"Joana Oakling!"

From the stage, I can see some tiny girl quivering in her place. Her parents' sobs can be heard clearly thanks to the eerie silence of the reaping. As Joana makes her way to the stage, someone from Lena's section, the seventeen-year old girls, bursts forward.

"I volunteer!" The mysterious girl shouts. I am taken aback, mostly due to her luxurious green dress and beautiful complexion. I don't know why the older girl volunteered, but Joana nearly runs into her parents' arms as the new girl takes to the sage.

One of the victors behind me breaks into a catastrophic sob. Turning my head, I watch as Celeste Brightwood holds Khalyssa Redwyne back with an iron grip. I don't why Khalyssa is freaking out, but when I look at this volunteer girl, I understand why. They are sisters.

As Magenta asks for her name, I also make not of the fiery red hair atop this newcomer's head, much like my own.

"We match," I say with a smirk as she sizes me up and down.

"Well, there you have it, ladies and gentleman of District Eight; I present to you your tributes for the 49th Hunger Games, Aden Hanran and Daedrya Redwyne!" Magenta does her best at a shout, and the crowd is as unresponsive as ever, grim faces steady on our departing figures.

I shake my head at Lena as I enter the Justice Building, and she gets the message. She will not come to see me, she will not kiss me one last time before I board the train to what is most likely my death, and she will not get to say goodbye. That's the problem with being a rebel; you can never do anything public except blend in at the reapings. They become acquainted with your face, who you are. Lena knows it would be too much of a risk, and leaving Hunter and Logan without both of their parents would be too hard of a blow for one day.

Upon entering, I catch up with Celeste.

"No one will be coming to see me," I stammer.

"Well then, you can just come with me," she does her best at a smile.

After what seems like an eternity but actually a few minutes, Daedrya emerges from her mourning room.

"They're busy with your sister," Celeste informs my district partner as she joins us, referring to the lack of peacekeepers. I let Daedrya board the train first, and follow between her and Celeste. I don't know why Daedrya volunteered, whether this is some gamble at fame or a surefire way of suicide. I don't really care either, because at the heart of the matter, Daedrya is only one thing. An obstacle between me, and seeing my family again.

I love Daedrya's nobility (although I'm never quite sure how to spell her name) and just the ties that Aden has to District Eight. Nine is next! I know I've been bad lately with my late update and all, but please read and review! I know it means the world to all of us authors, and if you are reading this story and not reviewing, SHAME ON YOU! Hehehe...XD, so yeah, you know what to do.

~AdmiralBobbery