My bow glides across the strings of my fiddle, forming the notes written on the page in front of me. I try to keep my focus not on the tense chatter of the people around me, but on the atmosphere that I'm creating. People are already staring at me. I don't want to exacerbate that by missing a note.

People tolerate my presence because they feel safer here in the pub, the one place they know the curse would never strike. (In actuality, the Capitol wouldn't dare risk upsetting its citizens with the news of the destruction of a tourist trap and the potential injury or death of the victor who owned it, but everyone is too afraid to admit it.)

I'm just grateful that they tolerate me at all, even if it is out of respect for my grandfather, or for District Nine's two living Victors who took my sister and me in after he died and raised us like their own.

It is this gratitude that keeps me playing for the patrons of the pub, despite the exhaustion from the long hours in the grain fields, working a job I don't need but helps prepare me for the inevitable.

Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday. It unfortunately also falls on Reaping Day. Most children in my position are terrified of being picked, but excited at the prospect of finally being an adult and being able to let go of the fear of the Games.

Not me, though. I know that even if I survive the Reaping, it is only a matter of time before some freak accident takes me. I am doomed to die young. Call me cynical, but after losing every single member of my family, I think I'm allowed to be.

I finish my piece and lower my fiddle. Some of the patrons clap respectfully. Others just give me a passing glance and go back to whatever they are doing, whether it is drinking, eating, or enjoying pleasant conversation.

Despite the fear of what tomorrow might bring, there is still happiness within these walls. Sylva worked hard to make sure of that. She took over the pub after her parents grew too old to run it. She didn't need the extra money thanks to her monthly allowance from the Capitol, so she was able to lower prices significantly. Everything sold is affordable and everyone who entered is welcome, from peacekeepers to fieldhands, from factory workers to the occasional Capitol tourist.

I maneuver behind the bar and try to ignore the stares and hushed remarks. I'm usually pretty good at tuning them out, but with the anniversary of so many goodbyes just hours away, it all just makes me feel even heavier.

Rycin, the official bartender, passes one of the patrons a glass of cheap whiskey. He sees me and gives me a sad smile. He carefully takes my fiddle and puts it in the case underneath the bar. "You can call it a night if you want, Amber," he says. "You look exhausted."

"No, I'm fine," I reply, waving him off. "I can keep going."

"Are you sure?"

I nod. "I'm sure. Could you please pour me a glass of water though?"

Rycin grins. "Yeah, definitely. One water, on the house."

He pours me a glass and hands it to me. I realize how thirsty I am the moment the water touches my lips and I down the glass in seconds.

"Thanks," I say. "Do you need any help with anything while I'm here?"

"Not at all," Rycin replies. "Don't tell Sylva I said this, she'll feel threatened, but I think we're doing just fine without her."

I laugh. Sylva is taking the night off tonight. She needed to get everything ready for when she and Rycin go to the Capitol tomorrow evening. Usually, it's Rycin who does this, but he volunteered to look after the pub so Sylva could prepare and relax. Of course, there was the barrage of concern and "Are you sure?"s, but Rycin was able to convince her in the end. I can't blame her. This pub is her baby. It's been in her family since the Dark Days. Rycin likes to joke sometimes that Sylva loved the pub more than she loved him, her husband.

I look over at the clock on the wall. It is eight o'clock. We close at nine. In one hour, I will leave this place behind, possibly forever. It will stay open throughout the Games as the other staff members take over while Sylva and Rycin are gone, but it will be closed tomorrow. If I'm reaped tomorrow, I will never see the place I practically grew up in again.

Once upon a time, I dreamed of running this place with Sundance. Sylva had listed us, her godchildren and, after my grandfather died, her adoptive children, as her heirs in the event of her passing. Rycin had put his tips into a vault with the intention of giving it to us so we could get back on our feet once both of them were gone and we were thrown out of Victor's Village. When Sunny died, I realized that that day would never come to pass.

I sit at the bar for a little bit, taking in the atmosphere. Rycin gives me another glass of water and even convinces me to eat some bread. It's when the people at the bar start talking about the coming Reaping that I hand my glass back to Rycin, request my fiddle back, and return to the stage. I don't need the reminder, especially after yesterday, when one of the drunken patrons just had to spout out the reminder that my birthday was bad luck. Had I been born a day earlier, I'd be out of eligibility. I'd be "safe." Sylva had to remind him that I still would have gone through seven reapings just like every other kid in Panem. I wanted to remind him that I very likely would have been reaped last year, and there was no way in hell that I was even going to try and compete with Finnick Odair.

I reach the stage and take a moment to make sure my fiddle is tuned before lifting it onto my shoulder. I raise my bow and take a deep breath. One last time, I tell myself as I begin to play.

For what could be the last performance in my life, I don't think I do too badly.

The pub eventually closes. I help Rycin clean and lock up, then we head home for the evening. Sylva greets us both with a hug before sending me off to bed. I pass Sunny's old room, with her art on the door, and the heaviness returns with a vengeance. There is more art on the walls inside, all done by her, along with several sports trophies, but I haven't seen any of it since the day she left. Sylva cleared out some of the old trash she left in the waste basket, but that's about it. I still remember hearing her cry as she did it. None of us have entered that room since then. We could never bear to. I still miss my sister dearly, and I know Sylva and Rycin miss her too.

My own room is plainer. I'm a musician, not an artist or an athlete. There's a music stand tucked in the corner and some sheets on the desk with half-written compositions that I'm still working on. A painting Sunny gave me for my sixteenth birthday, the last gift she ever gave me, hangs on the wall. The sheets are yellow, my favorite color, and there is a stuffed possum waiting to be cuddled.

The possum was made by my mother, Summer. She made one for each of us for our first birthday. It's the only thing I have of her besides a photo on my bedside table, her and my father on their wedding day. My father was dead six months later in a factory explosion that killed fifty others. My mother was reaped for the forty-ninth Hunger Games when Sunny and I were only a year old. Out of all of us who died in the arena, she was the closest to getting home. She had joined the Careers, which helped her survive longer, but it didn't save her in the end. People like to judge my mother for what she did, but she was a fighter, and she was willing to do whatever it took to make it home. I can't fault her for that.

It wasn't her death, but the death of our Uncle Marble, a year later in the Quell that ultimately killed my grandfather. He got incredibly sick, and never really recovered. Sylva and Rycin had hoped that the curse had ended with his death. After all, it started with him. It was reasonable to assume that it ended with him too. I think they blame themselves for what happened to Sunny, for not preparing us. They wouldn't stop crying and apologizing to me after Sunny was killed in the Games.

I place my fiddle in its normal spot by my desk. I give my old friend one last pat on the case and head to the bathroom to wash up for the night. I can't stop thinking about what awaits me tomorrow. Will my name be on that slip of paper that Luna Herald will pluck from the bowl with her long, fake nails? Will I live to see my nineteenth birthday? Or my twentieth? Up until now, at least, the only thing I had to worry about was the Reaping. Strangely enough, the freak accident part of the curse only killed the ones who didn't go into the Games. After tomorrow, anything can happen.

I stare at myself in the mirror for a long moment. Sometimes I can't recognize the girl who stares back at me. I was too young to remember the loss of my mother and grandfather. I wasn't even born yet when my father died. Up until two years ago, I was truly happy. I felt safe. I had my sister. I had Rycin and Sylva. I thought we had left the curse behind.

That illusion of safety shattered the moment my sister's name was called. I now see the girl in the mirror, with that same blonde hair, those same grey eyes and freckles dotting her face, the last member of her family left alive, for what she is: just another walking corpse, ready to drop dead at any second. It made me live my life to the fullest, at least. I did all the things I wanted to do. I learned to play the fiddle. I competed in as many sports as I could get myself into. I lived like my last day was tomorrow. In less than twenty-four hours, that could be the case. I don't feel like it's enough though. How could eighteen years possibly be enough? All those lives the Capitol has taken for crimes committed by people long dead. None of this is right.

Tears rapidly fill my eyes, but I quickly wipe them away. If I'm going to break down, now is the time, before I'm live in front of the nation, but I don't want Rycin and Sylva to hear me cry and worry about me. No matter what happens tomorrow, I want them to know that I'll be okay, even if that's not how I'm truly thinking.

I finish washing up and head to my bedroom. Before I turn in, I make sure that my necklace, consisting of a silver chain with a heart-shaped charm, is still around my neck. It was a gift from my grandfather, and I can't bear to lose it. I know I'll need it to sleep, and I'll need as much sleep as I can. Tomorrow's the one day of the year I get to sleep in. I climb into bed and look out the window next to me, gazing out at the stars. This could be my last night in this room. I could be on a train tomorrow, headed to the Capitol like a pig to the slaughterhouse.

The thought is both terrifying and exhilarating. My life is going to change tomorrow. It's only a matter of how.

I might be deluding myself, but it's unbearable to think of it any other way right now.

So…hi! After six years, I decided to get back into writing, and why not get my feet wet with some classic fanfiction? I never truly stopped writing, but I couldn't come up with anything I really wanted to post until now and combine that with school and life, and my account sort of went inactive.

Speaking of classics, allow me to introduce you to our protagonist, Amber! She has been a character in my head for years, the better part of a decade I think. She was one of my very first original characters, and while almost everything about her has changed, her age, her name, her weapon, her personality, I think the only thing that didn't change about her was her district. When I made the decision to start fanfiction again, I decided to return to my roots and finally give her a proper story.

This is my first Hunger Games story. If you are liking what you are reading, please feel free to leave a review! Seeing that people enjoy my stories makes me happy and helps motivate me. If you think I could have done something better, please, please, leave some constructive criticism in the comments. I want to get better, and different perspectives are always welcome. If you don't want to leave it in the comments, you can even DM me and we can discuss! Same applies if you have any questions about the story so far.

Thus ends my rambling. Updates might be a bit slow at first. Contrary to my normal style, I'm not actually done with this story. I decided to post the first chapter though so that I can make a commitment to it, since due to life I haven't really finished writing a story in a while. This time will be different though! I will probably write a little bit more before I post the next chapter, but I'll try to have it up within the next week or so. Until then, take care!