In Aeternum Vale
The Forever Goodbye
Velvereen 'VV' Corliett, District One, 18
Reaping Day, July 4, 115 ADD
Things belonging to the Capitol were always the nicest in any district, even somewhere as grand as One. If the architecture and interior of District One's buildings were a tiara, the Justice Building was a crowning jewel befit for the Capitol's new favourite warrior. Marbled columns flanked either side of the main hallway that parted for two wings and the grand staircase to the upper floors. It was easy to see where the Academy had gotten the inspiration for its trainers' offices from; the Victors chasing the glory of the Capitol seemed to live beyond being tributes and winning the Games.
The cheers from outside the doors were louder than Velvereen had anticipated, them snapping her away from admiring the beauty of the building's inside. Chants of her and Ignis' names were louder with each shout and interjected with applause and whoops of approval. Even though she had been on the other side just last year, hollering for the tributes and completely sure One would produce the Victor, it seemed louder now the roles were reversed. It was empowering, invigorating her body with all the confidence ever needed to succeed. And she would; she'd succeed against it all. The Capitol, the Games, the other tributes and her district partner.
Her hand felt wet again at the thought of Ignis, the black paint both slick and drying to a crust. Trust Ignis to be so shallow to feel the need to pull a fucking stunt like that.
If she were watching the Games from afar, Velvereen knew she'd admire Ignis' showmanship, the way he seemed eager to ensure that the attention he ate up was given dutifully. As their district partner, however, she found it cocky and abrasive. Everyone told her that he'd do something like that; Dixie had tried to implore her not to volunteer but, of course, she hadn't listened. She supposed there was a price to be paid by not trying to upstage the upstager but her reasons for volunteering were better. Nobler. Everyone who was anyone knew that Ignis just wanted more attention. She wanted to better her sister's life. Moreover, she couldn't dwell on the 'what if' scenarios of her theoretical attempts to out-shine Ignis. As it had been drilled into them at school - too many Careers had died to 'what if' scenarios.
Besides, she needed to lull Ignis into trusting her unconditionally. No matter how much she thought he was style over substance, they were the official tributes now - a united front of District One against the other twelve districts. That was why she had taken his hand without hesitation, shaking it and tightening her grip. Two can play at this game, Ignis, she had thought sardonically, plotting the downfall befitting for him. Still, for now, they were together. Two halves of one whole, operating in the best interest of their alliance. Even standing next to him now, she could see that he too straightened his back a little more, head held a tick higher just like hers. They were the tributes of the majesty district and it was their duty to remind everyone of it.
She turned to him to make small talk - mostly admiration of the building's inside - but was interrupted quickly by the footsteps approaching them. Good. I don't want to talk to him more than I have to.
"Ah tributes, tributes. What a lovely mix of traditional and... uh, unique impressions you've shown this morning." The voice of their escort, Balzador, was pinned with slightness, clearly still reeling from from Ignis' stunt. Paint dried on the small crevices of his hand where his handkerchief hadn't been able to clean properly. There was a touch of eagerness too and Velvereen made a note to not let all the focus be on her partner. "I'm sure we'll certainly top the initial popularity vote tonight."
Ignis grinned at her as if she ought to be thankful. Velvereen bit back a scowl, instead forcing her features to curl into a smile of her own.
"Just like we deserve," she hummed, focusing only on Balzador. He was the one worth impressing - dealings with Ignis could wait until she enamoured the escort to her side.
"Very much so, Miss Corliett." Balzador flashed her a smile. He cleared his throat and smoothed his jacket. "Now I presume your Academy has trained you well in the schedule of The Hunger Games, I've never known Chronos to not let a tribute from One not know all the routines, but it is a mandate from the President that I inform you of the day's activities."
Velvereen doubted it was just the Career tributes that knew how the day went; there wasn't a single person in Panem who didn't know of the Goodbyes. Keepers, they did a whole unit on how the other Districts viewed the Goodbyes back at school. How dull that had been. Who cared if the unlucky losers from District Eleven got given some of the harvest people snuck away, just as a momento of good luck? Still, that didn't stop her from smiling sweetly and nodding.
"You'll both be allocated an hour for those close to you to come and give you their luck. Goodbyes, technically, but I'm always optimistic that what we do in these halls each year is merely a 'see you later,' not a goodbye," Balzador explained, motioning for the tributes to follow him. "The standard time is five minutes; parents get fifteen and siblings, if attending separately, are entitled to ten."
Velvereen couldn't stop the way her heart bubbled as she thought of her parents visiting her. The ornately decorated walls of portraits of victors, mayors and presidents past flanked her sides, but Velvereen ignored them, instead letting hope wash over her. Maybe they'll come. It's my Goodbye - surely they would?
Balzador dropped both tributes off at their respective rooms; Ignis in the door of the left of a vast corridor that ended with the marble façade that led to the train station transport and Velvereen at its opposite on the right. The Peacekeepers that flanked the door allowed her a second to compose her thoughts. She was grateful, even more so when her cellular buzzed in her pocket.
A message flashed on the screen, its owner shattering her heart in an instant.
"Sorry we couldn't make it, Velvereen." Her father's message read. "Your mother and I got held up in the reaping day traffic. Who knew it could get so busy, huh? Good luck, make us proud."
"Your cellular, Miss Corliett." One of the Peacekeepers held open her hand, intended to take the cellular that Velvereen held with a lax grip.
Velvereen's moved without much thought on her part. Numb limbs handed the device to the outstretched glove, returning to her side afterwards. Her parents' message replayed in her mind as she was nudged to into her designated room with the door closing behind her. The room was nice - plush furniture accentuated a lavish, luxe room but Velvereen ignored it as she stood with her fists balled at her side. Her eyes stung as she decided to move towards the window, tears prickling with threats of falling freely. She looked to the door expectantly, willing them to walk through the door. Maybe they'd say they were only joking and wanted to see her off in person or perhaps they'd apologise for being absent.
She waited. First for five minutes, then ten, hurrying through visits from Academy friends and future hopefuls alike.
She stared and stared, only swallowing the lump in her throat when she resigned the hope.
They knew for half a year that she would go off to the Capitol to win The Hunger Games. They knew how much it had meant to her and she bemoaned how stupid she had been to think they'd care.
She was stupid for counting on them; they were stupid for abandoning her.
Looking out of the window, Velvereen knew that it was here that Victors were born, not at the hands of the escorts or chosen by the Academy's committees. It was in the rooms of the Justice Building that the real strategies began to form, not the Academy where all they could do was practice. There was no practice in the Hunger Games, only life or death decided from the actions the tributes made. The real players of the game were made as they left their family and friends behind, hoping desperately to be the one to come home.
Some of the greatest Victors in history had once been misunderstood; underestimated by Panem before clawing their way to glory and proving everyone wrong.
She allowed herself a smile at the thought; if Ignis was to underestimate her, then he'd be the first in a trail of victims. The first to have underestimated the best player of them all.
That, however, could wait. Velvereen had a promise to make to her sister first.
Cosima Laurentis, District 8F, 16
Reaping Day, July 4, 115 ADD
Cosima's father hadn't ever hugged her before. He never even touched her really, too scared if he did then she'd disappear like her mother. She knew it should've felt foreign, unnatural even, but the hug he enveloped her in was inviting. Safe. He wasn't cold or distant like her grandfather tried to say, nor angry and evil like Oskar believed. He was warm and protective, the tightness of the hug meant for mutual reassurance. It was a hug she had pined after for so long, only now she realised just how much she needed it.
His arms distracted her from her situation, allowing her to believe they could be a big family again. And we could've... if Oskar hadn't been so, so stupid.
Cosima knew why Oskar had volunteered. As headstrong as she could be, dawdling and 'lost in the clouds' were phrases often attributed to her. The only person who could ever make her unjumble her thoughts - besides her father in the recent months - was Oskar. She knew, likely, he thought that his presence was imperative to her survival in the Games; that she couldn't be a true player without her twin by her side. She also knew that the thought of being separated scared him. It scared her too but, for the few minutes she had been able to, she took a sick refuge in knowing she'd be the one gone if that was to happen. She'd never feel the pain he'd felt if she disappeared and that was something she could live with. Her mind even danced with the idea of it being her who came home, leaving a trail of twenty-seven other teens in her wake.
That was until Oskar had let his heart lead him to her side, dooming one to live without the other or for both of them to die trying.
"I'm sorry, Cosima," Her father said after a few minutes of silence, breaking from the hug enough to see her face. "I'm so, so sorry."
She didn't like it; years of trying to build a relationship with him and caring for him had aged her father down, adding youth and life back to his face. He looked like the man in the pictures that littered his home; a man hopeful for life with clearly enough love for a future, budding family. His daughter being reaped and his son volunteering had withered him in an instant. Cosima could see the ghosts of her mother's passing on his features fighting for dominance over the new hell he found himself in. She knew her father didn't cry but his eyes betrayed him; the blue eyes neither she nor Oskar inherited being unable to hide the pain. They were stormy, not like the resemblance to a summer's blue sky she had come to love.
In that moment, her anger towards Oskar bubbled again. Their father had suffered enough yet Oskar was too selfish to let old wounds heal, instead happily ripping them open once more. She ignored it, thinking it was unfair to subject her father to the red that seethed beneath her surface.
"Nobody could've expected it," She replied, hoping the smile gave her father some reassurance. Maybe even some hope, if he needed it. Perhaps the maturity she willed into her words made things alright. "Who knows what could hap-"
Her father shook his head gently. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you more. For Oskar, either."
Cosima had heard stories from non-Career Victors about how the Justice Building was where families shared fleeting sentiments, scared they'd go unsaid. She even remembered an old District Eight tale where people believed sharing the darkest secrets after the reaping would absolve the sin of keeping them. Such things were the mark of a reaping and a particularly brutal one at that. Hearing her father's words made it all the more real, had she struggled with the reality before.
"I just... I just thought I had more time; time to get better, do better. Make things right again."
And you would've... had the Odds not hated our family.
Cosima's mouth was agape, unsure of what to say. There was too much to say but also not enough. Nothing she could say could stop the fate that was hurtling towards her, regardless of its outcome. Her mind whirred fleetingly, each new thought stinging with too much emotion for her to say it.
Her father raised his hand to cup her cheek, a sad smile on his face as his eyes scanned her features, trying to memorise every minute detail.
"Maybe you'll come back home to me," he said, both of them ignoring who had to die in order for her to come home. Cosima supposed she couldn't blame him, not when Oskar held nothing but contempt for him.
"Your time is up. Come with me Sir." The Peacekeeper's voice was gruff, authority lacing every word. Though a hint kinder than usual, sympathy perhaps, it was still as commanding as ever.
Cosima followed her father to his feet and let herself be hugged one last time. She squeezed tight, wanting him to know everything she felt and would feel. It wasn't enough - it could never be enough - but it'd have to suffice.
Until I come home? Maybe...
She felt the cold press of something in her hand as the two pulled away, her father's sad smile lingering on his face as the doors isolated his daughter once more. Looking down into her palm, Cosima recognised the ring immediately. A humble gold piece, it was an exact replica, albeit smaller, of the ring her father wore. Though the ring was no cold, unworn for the entirety of her life, Cosima could imagine the happiness that teemed off it when her mother first got it.
She ran her thumb over the cold metal, its metal gleaming in its aged newness.
In that moment, she couldn't help but realise she had the most precious thing in the world.
Rhodia Meyers, District 6F, 16
Reaping Day, July 4, 115 ADD
Even a half-hour after the reaping, her breath hadn't slowed. How she had managed to keep it all composed until she got to her designated goodbye room, Rhodia wasn't sure. It was all too much - Keepers, everything was too much - and all she could think about was how her every move would be broadcasted to the entirety of Panem the second she left the building. She hated it, abhorring the Odds for reaping her and making her a tribute alongside Miles Perow.
Miles Perow.
Everyone not made senseless from morphling in Six knew about Miles and his case. A budding detective who could solve problems like no other turned serial killer, using the secrets he knew to evade capture for so long until arrogance and pride got the better of him. Rhodia remembered talking about it with Beth at school, trying to find memories of him before his arrest. Behind the bars of the Juvenile Centre, he hadn't seemed that daunting; the memories of his crimes fleeting and somewhat distance. Things were different now; he wasn't some criminal waiting his trial - he was her district partner. Her district partner who knew how to kill and, according to the newspapers, had taken unadulterated glee and satisfaction in doing so.
Part of her wanted to ally with him, eager to seek out protection from the Games. The other part of her implored - demanded - that she run as far away from him as she could. There were many things she could be in the Games - Victor? If I try hard enough, right? - and being one of Miles Perow's victims wouldn't be one of them.
Rhodia tried not to think of the gloom of her situation, knowing all it'd do was make her feel worse. Instead she turned to her surroundings, hoping to find a welcomed distraction.
She found some respite in the velvet couch, fingers splaying against the fabric. She had felt velvet before but the sofa, as expected of the Capitol, was smoother and plusher. Nicer in a way District Six would never be able to earn for itself. The small rolls of velvet her mother had gotten her from District Eight were clearly rejects; the thread spun in a way that added some abrasion to the material. Not satisfactory enough for the Capitol or the top in Districts One, Two, Four and Seven but more than acceptable for the other districts.
There were other things in the room, other furniture and fabrics that would've caught her eye but Rhodia ignored them as she waited, hands neatly cupped in her lap.
It didn't take long for her first visitors to arrive. District Six only designated half an hour to the goodbyes; nobody had much sane family left anyways. Rhodia heard them before she saw them - muffled tears and indiscernible voices dampened by the wall of oak.
"You listen to me Rhodia." Her mother's eyes were red from crying, the little make-up she wore smudged and ruined. Tears still glistened under her eyes and Rhodia wanted nothing more than to wipe them away. There was an urgency to the way her mother latched onto her arms, one that was alien and scared Rhodia. "You do whatever you need to do to come home. Do you understand?"
Her father and Cassie were quick behind her mother, silent even for them. Cassie's eyes were fixed on her hands that fiddled incessantly with the buttons on her dress, face scrunching to stop tears. Her father's face was shellshocked in a way Rhodia hadn't seen before and it felt as if he stared at her dress more than her, eyes hungrily taking in every little detail she had made. An acknowledgement - a recognition.
The tears and the reality of her daughter being reaped had warped Emily Meyers' face, that much Rhodia could tell. There was a look of determination - desperation - that stirred fear within her. Rhodia hadn't ever seen her mother like this, the sound of her mother encouraging her to kill being foreign and invasive. Her sweet mother who only ever raised her voice at her husband for downplaying Rhodia's talents and sending his favour Cassie's way. The Capitol had shaken her to her core and all Rhodia wanted to do was cry because of it.
"I don't think I can." Her breaths began to bubble up again, voice cracking. "I... I can't kill."
Rhodia watched as her mother winced, fearing the answer she knew her sweet, precious Rhodia would give. She took a breath and failingly tried to smile, lips thinning instead to stop more tears from flowing.
"Darling, you need to," Her mother rasped, shaking her head without a pause, resolution leading her words as the instinct to keep her daughter alive took over. "It's the Hunger Games, Rhodia. You need to if you want to have any hope of coming home. Victors don't do nothing in the arena and hope for the best."
Rhodia's head hurt. All the things her mother had discouraged her from being, all the things she had turned her nose at, was now being forced upon her, encouraged, as a means of survival. Her breath picked up again, met with the scared look from her father and sister, their eyebrows knitting in worry.
"Mom..." There was a plea to Rhodia's voice, one that begged her mother not to tell her to kill. One she knew fell on deaf ears, but a plea nonetheless. "I... How? I can't - I won't - I just..." Rhodia's voice cracked, it dropping to a whisper. "How?"
Her father went to say something but a sharp look from her mother silenced him.
Hands enveloped Rhodia in a tight hug, the familiar scent of her mother's perfume calming her down if only for a second. "It'll be tough, sweetheart." Her mother's words were still resolute, unchanging in their intention but softer with a hint of a plea. "But you can do this. I - we - need you home."
Rhodia bit her lip as she looked towards her father and Cassie, their faces unreadable. That said it all, really; her reaping brought confusion, uncertainty, to those who had an answer for everything.
Asriel Borealis, District 10M, 17
Reaping Day, July 4, 115 ADD
Simon and Natalia Borealis exchanged a sombre glance in front of the door that led to their 'son.' Adopted, yes, but reared like a true citizen of District Ten. As much as he could be, at least. In bouts of compassion, Simon had voted to tell Asriel he was from the Capitol when the younger's schoolyard bullying was at its worst; unwanted, yes, but from the crown of Panem nonetheless. Something had snapped in Asriel that day - changed the way his brain worked. On the surface, the sweet loving boy he and Natalia had raised was there but, deep down, he was gone; lost to an idealised life he was constructing in his head.
Simon had heard the small rants Asriel conducted in the bathroom at night when he thought nobody could hear him. His heart broke every time he heard Asriel make a promise to leave District Ten through hard work and return to his rightful home. He knew he needed to be proud - the values Asriel held so close to his heart were Borealis through and through - but a little part of him couldn't help but feel cheated - robbed - of more time with him. This was always his son's fate though, ever since they saw his tiny, meaty little hand clutch the gold coin with conviction. Likely, it had always been part of his story - his destiny - to return to the place that cast him aside.
He looked down to the slim packet in his hands. Given to him in passing by the mayor, it no doubt divulged more information about Asriel's birth. On it was the same Capitol insignia that marred the golden coin Asriel had been found with - the one reminder to Simon and his wife that their son's true name, Azael Boreal, could never be forgotten.
"This isn't how he wanted to get to the Capitol..." Simon muttered, his sentence punctuated with a sigh as he shook his head.
"He was foolish thinking he had a say," Natalia replied, gaze avoiding the Peacekeepers that flanked either side of the door. "He doesn't command The Odds."
"He was working so hard though-" The protest was one from the heart, eyebrows knitted in concern, anger, for how Asriel's efforts had gone to waste. "- Surely The Odds can take that into consideration?"
Natalia shot him the same look she always did when he spoke wistfully about The Odds. A shrewd glare, it gave away his wife's distrust in the promises they were fed that The Odds would look out for them, protect them. She always was the more realistic of the two of them.
One of the Peacekeepers lifted a gloved hand to the side of their helmet, listening to something come through the radio before nodding at the couple. "You have fifteen minutes, courtesy of being the tribute's parents." The Peacekeeper opened the oaken door, their colleague mirroring each action. "We will escort you out when your time is up."
Asriel knew the moment his parents' faces morphed into quizzical stares that his performance had worked. Was he happy about being reaped? Not in the slightest, no. It muddied how he wanted to get to the Capitol. For so long he had been hellbent on using hard work and determination to see him through, all for it to be flipped for brute force instead. It was fucked up but Asriel would adapt - he always did. His parents knew too - they made no mention of how stark his demeanours were.
"Well, that's one way to get to the Capitol," His father said, weak smile attempting to make light of the situation. Often it worked, though it was met with a scowl from his mother.
"A trickier way," Asriel acknowledged with a firm nod. "But a way nonetheless..."
"One that's more dangerous." Natalia's were spat out, her face betraying the fear that bubbled within her.
There was little else said in their goodbye. Not because nobody in the room didn't want to - Asriel's father filled the silence as much as he could with encouraging sentiments - but because what could be said? The two people who had reared him to the best of their ability would now lose him, one way or another. Asriel knew that, deep down. At least if he had ascended up the ranks to the Capitol through hard work he could barter for his parents to join him. Even he, idealistic as the lenses he used to colour his future, knew that victors had no such luxury.
He wasn't even sure his parents would want to join a murderer of a Victor, especially not his mother.
Even though they knew just how resilient, how unstoppable Asriel was in his goals, he didn't expect them to understand. As true to Ten as they had raised him, they'd never know the feeling of having a birth right robbed. Asriel loved his life in Ten and had grown attached to those around him that he was close to, but it was a right of his to not be reaped. Capitol children didn't get reaped and every single thing in his life pointed towards him being of that echelon.
Except... he had been reaped and would be going to the arena. He'd either die there, or force his way to be the victor - just like he did in every part of his life.
Ishtar Zangvali, District 13F, 15
Reaping Day, July 4, 115 ADD
Ishtar stared at the door with trepidation. She was used to waiting for her family - and all too good at it - but this time was different. A chill hung close in the air, the threatened fate she dared not dwell on whispering in the silence.
The room barely changed from year to year. Some years, when the attention was gone, Nisaba Zangvali would let her children into the famed rooms, just to get a glimpse of the customs she fiercely protected.
"They set us apart, The Hunger Games. They make us the greatest civilisation to have ever lived."
Ishtar liked the trips to the rooms. They were interesting and she loved to see her mother speak about things so passionately. It was no surprise Thirteen voted for her as mayor.
The room wasn't as welcoming as before, Ishtar decided. Before she was a proud supporter (was she? She was unsure.) of the regime the rooms so easily allowed. Now, she was a tribute. The select few the room would serve to be the final memory of their home.
Hidden away... only to die.
The Peackeeper at the door tilted their helmet, curiosity piqued. Ishtar fiddled with their hands as they thought of a reply, only for the opening of the door to be the change of topic needed.
That was perhaps the worst part about being stuck in the room, the unknown order of who would come to see her off. Ishtar didn't expect many - nobody, besides her family - but questions lingered, left unanswered. Would they come together? Separately? Would her mother's name give her some leverage?
The door opened first to the face of her other mother and her younger brother. Enlil quickly enveloped her in a hug, his growing height just beginning to show with the few inches he had on her. Ishtar hugged back, finding solitude in the gesture. Although adopted to be her cover, she and Enlil forged a bond over not quite knowing where they fit in the world. Where Ishtar had lost the other Hidden Zangvali children, she had gained a second confidant in Enlil. Their conversations were often brief but profound, the subject of one of Ishtar's most precious journals.
"It's not fair," he said, punctuating his words with a squeeze. "Why you?"
Why was it me in the first place? Why has it always been me?
Ishtar bit her lip and shrugged softly, not wanting to talk and instead trying to melt into her brother's touch. It had never felt this protective before as if Enlil was scared letting her go condemned her to death.
Ashur stayed at the edge of the room, mostly. Like she always did, she gave space and an odd sense of delicateness to the situation. They were never as close as Ashur was with the twins, but the older woman still hugged her, framing her face with her hands.
"You give it your best shot, okay?" Ashur's smile was sad, as if she were thinking of how much the thought of Ishtar dying would hurt Nisaba. The slight warmth to her words made up for it, in a way.
"I will," Ishtar said with a diligent nod. She would try - she had to.
Ashur and Enlil were replaced at the end of their time with the twins, the Peacekeepers seamlessly exchanging them as if they were nothing more than cattle in a ranch. Not much was said, not really. Nabu and Dumu did what they did best, trying to lighten the mood with their infectious energy. Ishtar laughed as she always did, even if it was under currented by sadness. She always imagined the last of some of their dumb, longest running jokes to be in her room and that they'd disappear upon her final exit from the room, not her departure from Thirteen proper.
Her mother came in after the twins, her face contorted by worry and grief. Ishtar knew their heart would ache seeing their mother - just like it did when she had to go back to the outside world after their small, sparse meetings in her room - but the pain was unbearable.
"The Peacekeepers wouldn't dare deny me a few extra minutes," She murmured, only just being able to hang onto the appearance of a dignified mayor. "Ever kind, as always."
Ishtar nodded, only just being able to bite back the tears as her mother clutched her close. Her embrace was more desperate than Enlil's had been, marked by everything Nisaba had to lose.
Me, or her Hidden Child?
"My special, special girl," Her mother said, voice trembling. "You were supposed to be safe. They promised me you would be."
"Maybe I wasn't so hidden after all."
Nisaba pulled away to shake her head, eyes locking with Ishtar's.
"Not even that, Ziti. You deserved to be safe."
Ishtar hadn't ever seen her mother so wrecked with worry. She had seen the way her mother's expression soured as she ascended the stairs - the way her eyes dimmed of their usual brightness. Outside, appearances needed to be kept but in the privacy of the room, her mother willingly betrayed her feelings. The young Zangvali chewed their lip, so many words needing to be said but so, so little time.
"If... If I don't come back-" Her mother looked as if Ishtar was breaking her heart. "Don't hide one of the boys away. Live freely - for me."
Nisaba's choked sob and the tightness of her hug told Ishtar more than she ever thought she needed to know. An understanding was formed, infantile and theoretical, but formed nonetheless. It was in that moment that Ishtar first considered just how much she, Ishtar Zangvali, meant to her mother.
More than her Hidden Child.
Though the rest of their time was spent in a silent embrace, ghosts of words unsaid watching over them, it was still too short. It took a Peacekeeper respectfully tugging on her mother's arm for Ishtar to finally let go.
"Come back home to me," Her mother said, glancing over her shoulder quickly. Urgently. "Ziti, come home and be free - with me."
π·π·π»ππ· π·ππ½πΆπ΄π πΆπ°πΌπ΄π πππΈπ±πππ΄ πΏπΎπΏππ»π°ππΈππ πΏπΎπ»π»
1. IGNIS HARTSHAW, DISTRICT ONE MALE
2. ALORA YOUNG, DISTRICT SEVEN FEMALE
3. ZIRCON ZAHARI, DISTRICT TWELVE MALE
4. NOOR ANDEL, DISTRICT TWO FEMALE
5. NEMESIS HALLORAN, DISTRICT FOUR MALE
And, after six months, Goodbyes I!
Just to clarify, the poll means very little in regards to the chances of the tributes in the story. I'm just down bad for small lore stuff like that and enjoy trying to bring my story alive in other ways too.
I hope this was worth the wait! We should be getting more regular updates - I've planned ahead and now kind of what is happening when!
Hope this had enough angst to make up for the long time no see. (Just a fun fact, Ziti is derived from an Arabic endearment term meaning 'daughter'!)
As always, reviews make me happy.
~ Oli