Elspeth "Elsie" Kirth, 14
"Everything will be okay when nothing is not."
(TW: References to cults, child marriage, and physical/emotional child abuse)
Apparently, Elsie Kirth has been a person this whole time. She had always had her suspicions, but the outside world has opened her eyes to everything she thought she could never be. There is, as it turns out, more to life than getting married and having children. Elsie had always hoped that that was true, but the fear that was rooted in her being always tried to convince her otherwise.
The other kids in the Community Home didn't understand why the truth of her future excited her so much. All of the kids in the Community Home are ragged, gray, and tired. It's not so different from home—yet it's so different that Elsie feels like she has been transplanted to another planet. They all go to school every morning, and get to spend their afternoons running amok around town. The matrons only verbally admonish wrongdoings, and if Elsie stays out of the way, everyone will leave her be.
It's refreshing. It's terrifying. Elsie's new planet is baffling and scary and beautiful and freeing. And it's all so big. There is so much world to see.
The Community Home only has one television, and on the weekends they get cartoons. On the weekdays, it's hard to find something good to watch. Sometimes, you can find a movie if you're lucky. But most days, the television is abandoned in one of the common rooms because there is nothing on. Nothing that the other kids want to watch, at least.
Elsie likes the gardening shows produced in Eleven, or the jewelry specials from One. The other kids find them to be boring and heavy handed. Elsie doesn't care that every other sentence is praising the Capitol. She just wants to learn about the rest of the world.
Today, even Elsie cannot find something she wants to watch. She's about to give up and go for a walk when she flips to what she thinks is a movie. The show is about halfway done, so Elsie struggles to gather the plot, but she knows the kids in it are afraid of dying.
"I don't know why I ever volunteered for this," one of them says. He's tall and blond and Elsie wouldn't want to be alone in a room with him.
"Suck it up. You're here now," the other says. She's a muscular girl with red hair and a scar on her face.
"So are you," the blond says. "And we're both going to die here if we're not more careful."
"Everything is—"
An arrow hits the girl's chest, shot from a building several stories above them. The girl crumples and a cannon is fired and Elsie realizes that she's not watching a movie.
As a child, all Elsie knew was that the older kids had to leave for a day because the Capitol looked down upon them. When she turned twelve, she got to leave with the older kids, where they would all ride on buses to a big city and stand in a square while two names Elsie had never heard before would be read. A pair of kids would walk up to the stage looking like they received a death sentence, and then Elsie would be returned to the compound until it was supposed to happen again. When she asked why they did it, no one would tell her. She was beaten for daring to ask in the first place.
The next time Elsie stood in the square, she knew exactly why she was there. On one of her first days in the Community Home, she had asked Paisley what kind of movie was playing on the television. One of the matrons overheard and told Elsie in no uncertain terms what was happening on the screen.
And she'll have to do it again in just a few weeks. Paisley has told her there is nothing to worry about. District Eight is so populous that most people will never know a single person who gets Reaped. Elsie wants to believe her, but she has trouble believing anyone these days, even her girlfriend.
Elsie turns off the television. For once, the Community Home is quiet. It's a beautiful day, so most of the kids must out playing. Elsie walks over to the window and spies a group of little kids playing tag in the street. They are all laughing and smiling, and Elsie wonders what her childhood would have been like if she had grown up here. Everyone always tells her that the Community Home is one of the worst places in Panem to grow up, but Elsie can certainly thinks of worse places.
Her footsteps echo around the nearly empty building as she heads downstairs. As she passes by one of the matron's office, the calendar on the wall catches her eye. She checks to make sure no one is coming and ducks her head inside for a look.
It's June Second. Elsie's breath catches in her chest, and she holds it for a moment. When she finally breathes out, she isn't sure if she's terrified or relieved.
"Excuse me? What are you doing in here?" the voice of Matron Dagwood says from behind her.
Elsie startles, hurriedly turns around, and smacks her shoulder into the doorframe. The pain makes her startle more, and she grabs the frame to keep herself from bolting. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Are you alright?" Matron Dagwood says. "You look pale. Are you feeling okay?"
"It's just—" Elsie says, still clutching the doorframe for dear life. "It's June Second."
"Yes—does that have significance to you?"
"It was supposed to be my wedding day," Elsie breathes out, easing her grip on the doorframe.
"Your—what?"
"My wedding day," Elsie repeats. "His name was Britton Bellion. He was nineteen. We were supposed to be married today."
Matron Dagwood only looks at her in horror as Elsie continues to speak.
"I wonder what he's doing today. I only ever met him once. He was…well…" Elsie doesn't really know how to describe him. He was like everyone back home; meek, homogenous, always talking about spirituality. There was little else to say about him, just like there was little else to say about anyone back home.
"He was nineteen?" Matron Dagwood says.
"Yeah. I've since learned that that isn't normal out here," Elsie says.
"Oh, you poor girl," Matron Dagwood says. "You were one of the runaways."
"Uh-huh," Elsie says. "I…I think I'd like to go outside, Miss."
"Go," Matron Dagwood says. "My door is open if you ever need to talk…"
"Elsie. It's Elsie," she responds, because Elspeth is the name of a girl back home who would be married to Britton Bellion today. "And…thank you."
Elsie won't even come talk to Matron Dagwood. Paisley is always so much easier to talk to, because Paisley was there too. Maybe not for as long as Elsie, but Paisley was by her side during the scariest time of her life and she's still by her side now. If it weren't for Paisley, Elsie would have gotten married today.
At long last, Elsie steps outside. A light breeze blows her hair around, and it's just warm enough to be comfortable. She spots Paisley pushing one of her younger siblings on the swing set. Right now, she needs to talk to Paisley. Paisley understands. Paisley can help.
"Hi, Paisley," Elsie says. Theodore is laughing, holding on tightly to the swing as it flies through the air.
"Hi, Elsie," Paisley says, giving the swing another push. "Are you okay?"
"It's June Second," Elsie says, watching Theodore fly back and forth.
It seems to take Paisley a moment to place the significance. "Oh. I bet this is a hard day for you."
Elsie shrugs. "Maybe. I don't know. I'm not there, so I'm not getting married. Besides…the only person I would be getting married to is you."
Paisley smiles. "Maybe when we're older. You know, like most people do."
Sometimes, it still surprises Elsie that the rest of the world isn't like it is back home. Even though she was taught from the moment she was born that the outside world was scary and dangerous and filled with people who wanted to hurt her, Elsie had always thought that her way of life was the way it was everywhere. Every day it feels like she learns something new about the way the world works, and sometimes it feels like everything she doesn't know will crush her. Sometimes she can't stop herself from mourning the person she could have been if she wasn't raised under an iron fist that told her worth was built around how many children she had. Sometimes it feels like it's too late to catch up.
All of her younger siblings have taken to it all so well that Elsie wonders why she can't. Why is she different? She spent her whole life questioning everything she was taught and longing for a world where she could be free. And now she has that—so why can't she just be okay now?
Theodore laughs loudly, and Paisley grins, and Elsie wonders when everything is going to be okay.
Katarina Bellikov, 18
"Better die with your name on someone else's lips than to never have been heard of at all."
Sometimes, people just die. Sometimes, people have a brain aneurysm and drop dead on the kitchen floor. Sometimes, people get caught in a house fire. Sometimes, people make a nasty comment about their girlfriend's body and get their head bashed in with a mallet. These things happen.
That's the way life is sometimes, and if it isn't the way life is sometimes, Katarina won't be able to sleep at night. She needs to sleep at night. Dark circles and sallow skin are unattractive.
Katarina is not unattractive. The various mirrors around her bedroom can tell her that much. It's a part of her morning routine. She stands in front of the mirror to remind herself just how beautiful she is.
Fair, clear skin. Silky black hair. Rich brown eyes. Slender but with curves in all of the right places. Tall, imposing. Even the mole on her forehead cannot change the fact that Katarina Bellikov is beauty incarnate.
Katarina takes it all in for a moment, content to simply bask in her allure and—
Striking blue eyes over her shoulder, whispering, "You'll never be pretty enough. What are you going to do when you're old and fat and nobody loves you anymore?"
Katarina flinches like she's been burned and snatches up the first thing within reach and hurls it at Kiryl—but there's nothing there. The alarm clock hits the wall across the room and fractures. Katarina takes a few deep breaths.
Kiryl isn't here. Kiryl was…was just another link in the long line of tragic, sudden deaths that follows Katarina wherever she goes. Just like her brother and just like her friends and it had nothing to do with her.
More deep breaths. Tension gives you wrinkles.
Katarina turns away from the mirrors and looks instead out the window. She has a view into the backyard and not much else, but she isn't really looking. What is out there isn't what she wants to see. She stares at the sky, because if she looks down, she'll see the rock down there, crudely engraved with E. B.
She reminds herself that she's almost there—everything she has worked for is almost realized. In just a few short days, all of Panem will know her name—and her beauty. As soon as Panem sees her, they'll love her. One day soon, she'll have everything she wants. She'll have all of her dreams and more, and none of this will have to matter anymore.
More deep breaths. She needs to relax her face. Everything is fine, and she is almost there.
Finally, Katarina shuts her eyes, takes one final deep breath, and leaves her room. She passes the door that belongs to her brother that hasn't been opened in two years. If she thinks about it too hard, she'll remember hearing the thud when Endel hit the hard kitchen tiles, and the panic of being unable to wake him up. But thinking too hard gives you wrinkles.
Her father is sitting in the living room, nursing a cup of coffee. Her mother is nowhere to be found. Katarina hardly notices.
She waves a throwaway greeting to her father and heads out of the house. The crisp morning air is a welcome change from the stuffiness of the house. She begins the long walk to Cinderwood School, feeling the burn in her calves at her brisk pace. People do not look at her as she passes—in town her family is known for the curse it brings. Here, bringing death to whoever you associate with is a tragedy, but where Katarina is going, it will save her life.
Cinderwood looms above the trees, nestled on top of its hill, and Katarina imagines she could make some improvements to it once she wins. Right now, they have no formal plan for choosing volunteers. In fact, volunteering is actively discouraged. But all it takes is one Victor with a different idea to change that.
It's a possibility. Katarina imagines she'll be too busy modeling in the Capitol to spend much time improving the academies here in Seven, though.
Still, she is grateful that it even exists. If she had been born thirty years ago, she wouldn't have even had this option.
In a spur of the moment decision, Katarina takes a detour. She turns off a side street and walks until she reaches the bakery. This early in the morning, it's only just opened, and Katarina can only see two people inside. One is, of course, Valentina. Katarina lets a small smile grace her face when she sees her. The other is vaguely familiar. Katarina probably goes to school with her, but why is she alone with Valentina?
Katarina walks into the bakery, hearing the bell above the door jingle. Valentina grins upon seeing her and says, "Katarina! I didn't know you were coming by today!"
"Just wanted to see you," Katarina says, taking Valentina's hand. She looks the other girl up and down. She's not nearly as pretty as Katarina is. "And you are?"
"Jelena," the girl says, as if Katarina should have already know that. When Katarina shows no signs of remembering her, she adds, "We train together?"
"Do we?" Katarina deadpans, and there's a tiny bit of recognition. The others at Cinderwood generally don't like to associate with her, for the fear that they will be next. So it seems odd to her that Jelena would expect her to remember anyone.
"Yeah, I was actually just stopping for a bite to eat before I head up the school," Jelena says. "It's crazy, isn't it? If we were in a Career district, one of us might be preparing to volunteer next week."
"Uh-huh," Katarina says slowly. "That would be crazy."
Valentina gives her a weird look, which Katarina pointedly ignores.
"But, hey, we've almost made it, right?" Jelena says, relief evident in her voice. "Oh, and Val, I'd like one of those chocolate scones, please."
"Sure thing," Valentina says, and Katarina wonders why Jelena calls her Val. She's not Val, she's Valentina, Katarina's girlfriend. Who the hell if Jelena, anyway? Katarina has never seen her and Valentina together, ever.
"In just a few more days, we'll be safe," Jelena says, leaning back in her chair.
Katarina glares at her, and Valentina is giving her that weird look again. "What?" Katarina snaps at her.
Valentina now looks taken aback. "I don't know, you're just being weird." She sets the chocolate scone on a plate in front of Jelena. "There you go. Enjoy. Oh, by the way, Jelena, I like your hair today."
Katarina's glare only deepens. "I'm trying a new style today," she says, flipping her braid over her shoulder.
"It looks nice, too," Valentina says, squeezing her hand.
It looks nice too? "You know, I think I'm going to head to the school," Katarina says. "Just to get some last minute training in."
"Yep, that's my plan too," Jelena says, but before she even finishes the sentence, Katarina has left the bakery. She marches toward the academy with renewed purpose. Really, Katarina doesn't understand the point of training if you're never planning to volunteer. You just end up wasting your time.
Katarina does not waste her time. Death follows her everywhere she goes, and she never knows if she might be next. She has no time to waste.
Cinderwood is on top of a hill, overlooking groves of trees almost ready to be felled. Katarina pauses, surveying the land, and her eyes are drawn to an open plot of land beyond one of the groves. From this distance, it doesn't look like anything. Just a normal, innocuous, undisturbed plot of dirt.
It is anything but innocuous.
Katarina still remembers when she got the news of the house fire. It had been only a few weeks after Endel died, and Katarina had been stuck in a stupor. And then someone told her there had been a fire, and now everyone was dead. She had been planning to go to that party. If she had, she would down there, in that innocuous plot of dirt, because there wasn't enough left of them to bury.
(There's another body down there, in that innocuous plot of dirt. Another body that was placed there under the cover of darkness, known only between the steely looks Katarina shares with her father.)
A hideous cow, he'd called her. Only good as long as she was pretty, he'd said.
He deserved what he got. Right? He did. He insulted her, and Katarina wasn't just going to sit there and take it. She is beautiful, and she deserves to be treated as such. No one just insults and gets away with it. So he deserved what he got. And in a few weeks' time, Katarina will be doing much worse to people who are much less deserving.
Katarina clenches her hands into fists, turns away from the innocuous plot of dirt in the distance, and reminds herself that guilt gives you wrinkles.
Kyrum Albrecht, 17
"Light me up, go ahead and light me up."
At this time of night, most of District Eleven is asleep, resting up for another long day toiling in the fields. But not in these parts—and not for Kyrum. For Kyrum, it's time to get to work. The weather is turning, and she needs a new jacket, and there's only one place in town that will sell it to her.
Well, it's not so much in town. The market is nestled out in the woods, far from where Peacekeepers would ever travel. It's not a big operation or anything. People worm out of whatever holes they hide in and converge on this empty spot in the woods, laden down with whatever goods they need to offload. Some bring meat they killed illegally. Some bring the wares they can't get permits for to sell at the normal market. Kyrum doesn't care where they come from, or why they're here. All she cares about is getting another coat. The prices are usually lower out here, and clothes sold town are far out of her budget.
The night is chilly, and Kyrum can tell it won't be long before winter is here to stay. So she needs to get to the market, tonight. Because it won't be coming back for a while.
She ducks between trees, keeping an eye out for anyone who shouldn't be there. A particularly cold gust of wind blows through the trees, and Kyrum shivers. Her old coat fell apart at the end of last winter, and sixteen-year-old her had decided that was a problem for future Kyrum. So here she is.
As she walks, she pats her pocket, checking to ensure her caps are still there. It's a habit. The second she doesn't check, all of her money will be gone. And she has so little to her name.
The dim lights of the market are visible through the trees, and Kyrum can hear the low hum of nervous voices. She doesn't come here as often as she used too, back when she lived with her parents. They were here every week, because her mother could buy the cheap moonshine brewed by Schmidts in their barn. Everything sold in town was too expensive, her mother always said. Usually she would drag Kyrum along, because she was too little be to left home alone.
Kyrum shakes the thoughts from her head. She doesn't like to think about home. The fond memories and the painful memories fight it out whenever she does, and the painful memories always win. If they didn't, Kyrum likely wouldn't be here. Or maybe she would be, buying cheap moonshine with her mother.
She hasn't seen her parents at the market in a long time. There's no one she can ask about them, because no one knew who they were. And she doesn't want to make a visit out to their shack outside of town, for fear one of them might be there.
It's been three years since they last saw her, but she's still the same old Kyrum. They would recognize her, even with her new height and haircut.
A few regular sellers wave greetings to Kyrum as she walks through the market, which she returns in kind. This is not a safe place, but Kyrum knows that having sellers on your side is a good thing.
Far too many times, Kyrum has seen a fight break out over an item. A dear carcass, a knife, a bottle of moonshine.
That's one of the painful memories. Watching her mother beat another man for trying to take her moonshine. That was one of the last times she ever visited this place with her parents.
Attempting to banish all thoughts of her family from her mind, Kyrum approaches a clothing seller. The woman and her daughters handmake all of their wares, and sell them criminally low prices. If Kyrum wasn't so desperate, she would feel like she was stealing.
The woman notices Kyrum standing near her stand and says, "If you're looking for a coat, you should buy now. They're going fast. In fact, I think I've only got one left."
"I'll take it," Kyrum says immediately, reaching into her pocket to find her caps. "How much?"
The coat is perfect, Kyrum thinks. Warm and heavy, well-made, and barely costing her anything.
The woman places the coat on the stand. "Let's say, fifteen."
"Ten," Kyrum says.
"Fifteen," the woman says again.
Kyrum only has twelve.
Another frigid gust of wind blows through the clearing. She needs that coat.
"Eleven," Kyrum says. "That's as high as I'll go."
The woman only shrugs. "And I won't go any lower than fifteen. This coat is very well made. It could fetch a much higher price."
"I…" Kyrum doesn't know what to say. She can't tell the woman she doesn't have enough. "Twelve."
"Fifteen," the woman repeats once more.
Kyrum looks down at the caps in her hand, counting again, just in case she got it wrong the first time.
"You only have twelve?" the woman says, looking at the caps clenched tightly in Kyrum's hand.
Kyrum looks down at the ground, face heating up. "Yes."
"Well, why didn't you just say so?" the woman says. "I see you around here all of the time. You're trustworthy. I'll give it to you for twelve, but only for you."
"I don't need your charity," Kyrum says before she can stop herself.
Dubiously, the woman says, "How else will you get a coat?"
Kyrum slams the caps down on the counter and snatches up the coat. "Fine. But just this once."
If there was one thing Kyrum learned from her parents, it was to make her own path. To never rely on anyone. Kyrum's refusal to accept help is written in her bones.
As Kyrum turns away from the stall, a figure comes careening by her, snatching the coat from her arms before she can even blink. Realizing what just happened, Kyrum gives chase. Her long legs allow her to catch up with the thief quickly, and she tackles them to the ground. The boy is about her age, gaunt and shivering, but Kyrum hardly notices. That coat is hers, and she needs it. She might not survive the winter without it.
The boy kicks her away, scrambling to his feet, but Kyrum grabs him by the pant leg and pulls him back to the ground. He lets out of a cry of surprise, and Kyrum has yanked the coat out of his grip before he can do anything.
With her property safely back in her possession, Kyrum tries to extricate herself from the fight.
And like Kyrum has done so many times before, the rest of the marketgoers ignore the fight completely. It's not their jacket on the line.
The boy goes in for a punch, which has little weight behind it, probably because of how emaciated he looks. In fact, it seems to hurt his hand more than it hurts Kyrum's face. He kicks her instead, which does hurt. The bottom his shoe rips open her pant leg and scratches long line up her thigh.
Kyrum cries out, dropping the coat on instinct to grab at her leg. The boy grabs it again and starts to run away, but the woman from the stand heads him off.
The woman has no trouble stopping the boy and retrieving the coat. As Kyrum gets back to her feet, she hears her offer the boy a boat for free. The idea of giving anything away for free, simply out of the goodness of your heart, is insane to Kyrum, but perhaps that is just her desperation talking.
She gets her coat back, and the woman leads her over to the stand. "Here, let me get something to clean those scratches with," the woman says.
"I'm good," Kyrum says. "I can clean it myself."
"Oh, alright," the woman says, sounding surprising. "At least let me sew up your pant leg. I can fix it right here."
"Don't worry about it," Kyrum says. "I have other pairs of pants."
She really doesn't, but the woman doesn't need to know that. Because, really, Kyrum is doing fine. She has enough to eat, and shelter for the winter months, and plenty of warm clothes. Anyone who says otherwise is wrong and lying.
"I'm just trying to help," the woman says.
"Well, I don't need help," Kyrum says. "I'm doing fine on my own."
All that gets her is a sad look. And that's worse. Because Kyrum hates being pitied. She is strong, and tough, and she doesn't need any help, and certainly not any pity.
Ignoring the way her leg burns whenever she puts pressure on, Kyrum slips on her new jacket and leaves the market. She pauses beside a stream and starts to clean out the cuts. "See," she whispers to herself. "I can do this myself. I can do everything myself. I'm doing just fine."
If she says it enough times, eventually it has to come true.
Eike Belladonna, 18
"If you treat people like dirt, you'll taste the dirt soon enough."
The shower feels like heaven after a long day working in the smith shop. Eike lets out a sigh, watching the water turn gray where it touches her body. She so rarely has the time and energy for a shower that getting clean is almost like a luxury. Kelbas often gets mad at her and bans her from using the standard amenities in the house.
But soon it won't have to be that like. In just a few days, Eike will be nineteen. Her final Reaping is tomorrow, and she's sure that Court has some poor girl lined up to volunteer. She has nothing to worry about. Even if she did, she's done a bit of training. Galen and Marcas have been socking away money for months now so they can wrest ownership of the smithy from their uncle. It was always rightfully theirs, anyway.
At least, that was what their parents told them. In the wake of their sudden deaths, it only hurt more to know that they had apparently lied.
She wishes, not for the first time, that she could speak to them, just one last time. To ask them why they gave the smithy to Kelbas, and not their children like they promised. Or even to just ask them what happened—how did they die? Why did they leave them?
Wishes don't come true. Eike knows that damn well. She's made enough of them over the years to know that the only way a wish comes true is if you make it. And she can't make her parents come back to life, not like she can get the smithy back.
Eike turns off the shower and steps out into the steam filled bathroom. She dries herself off and gets dressed, imagining that it won't be long before this house is finally theirs again. Galen can move back in, and maybe even Marcas can get out of the Peacekeepers Corps and come too. It will be just like it was when they were kids.
(Eike knows that nothing will ever be like when they were kids again.)
Bundling up her used clothes and towel, Eike heads for her room. She pauses outside the door of her uncle's bedroom, hearing the sound of his voice wafting out of it.
"That's right, the smithy is valuable. I'll get good money for it," she hears him say. There's a pause, and she realizes he's talking on the phone. "Yes, yes, she turns nineteen just a few days after the Reaping."
Eike leans closer to the door, trying to catch what the other person on the phone is saying. They're talking about the smithy. It's never good when Kelbas talks about the smithy.
"Yes, good riddance, right? But once the girl's out of my hair, I can finally get rid of this damn place."
Eike cuts off the gasp before it can get out of her mouth.
"Well, everything shuts down during the Games," Kelbas says. "So we can't start the demolition work until after it's over. But it's just a few more weeks. Uh-huh."
It feels as if the floor is falling away beneath Eike's feet. She clutches her bundle of clothes to her chest like a lifeline and hopes beyond hope that her uncle is not still talking about the smithy.
He can't be talking about the smithy. The smithy is all Eike has. She barely sees her brothers anymore, especially now that Marcas has joined the Peacekeepers. He's off in District Six or Ten or wherever. It doesn't matter where Marcas is. All that matter is that he's not here.
So the smithy is all that Eike has left. Her parents are dead and her brothers are gone. Without the smithy, Eike would have nothing left at all.
"The deal's already finalized. Gonna be a landfill, I guess," Kelbas says. "Right, better use for the land than a damn blacksmith! Who needs blacksmiths anymore? Relic of a bygone era, I'm telling you. I'll never understand why my brother decided to build one."
Eike drops the bundle of clothes. It makes a soft enough landing that her uncle evidently doesn't notice. Quickly, she gathers it all up and stumbles off down the hall.
What the fuck is she going to do? What the fuck can she do? All of their plans are over. The deal was already finalized. The place doesn't even belong to her uncle anymore. They can't buy it back. They'll never get it back. It's gone. Her home, the place where she made so many memories with her parents and her brothers, the place where she made so many beautiful things out of metal, it's going to be filled with garbage. No, no, it's going to be torn down, then filled with garbage. It will be like the Belladonna Blacksmiths were never even here at all.
There has to be something she can do.
Eike wishes desperately that she had a phone, so she could call Galen. Galen would know what to do. Galen would have this all figured out.
But Galen isn't here. Galen doesn't know. And neither does Marcas. So Eike has to fix this. Because no one else will.
The pittance they've managed to save won't be enough to save the smithy. Eike is going to lose everything. She'll have to leave town and go to Galen's place. Maybe that part won't be so bad—her uncle spreads so many nasty rumors about her that most people her age deride her anyway. A fresh start could be good…
But not at the cost of the smithy. Her parents spent their whole lives making this place. It was her father's life's work. He would be horrified to know that it would be torn down and replaced with a landfill.
Even if he might have given to his brother instead of his kids. He must have known what he was doing. He must not have expected this to happen.
Eike drops heavily to the ground, sitting with her back against her door. There has to be something she can do. There has to be a way to save the smithy.
On the far wall, beside the window, there's a poster of Alexandrite Hildebrand. It's an old poster. Eike has had it there for many years. As a kid she had admired Alexandrite's style, and as she was then One's most recent Victor, of course everyone loved her. Now she has her own clothing line sold in the Capitol and the luxury shops in One.
Alexandrite Hildebrand has more money than she could ever know what to do with. She could buy the smithy, easy.
And all she had to do was win the Hunger Games.
Tomorrow is Reaping Day. Eike is eighteen, almost nineteen. She's trained. Not much, but hopefully enough. Most everyone in One trains a little bit. Eike hasn't done much recently, but it's probably like a riding a bike. You never forget how to wield a sword.
What other choice does she have? If she doesn't volunteer tomorrow, she'll lose everything. Her home, her livelihood, everything.
She might as well be dead.
So perhaps this is the right choice—either she saves the smithy and her family, or she dies trying. If she wins, she buys the smithy back from whoever Kelbas sold it to. If she dies, she never has to deal with the sight of their beloved home torn down and filled with garbage.
It doesn't seem such a bad set of options. She'll put her training to good use, storm her way to the front tomorrow to volunteer before whoever they picked, fight tooth and nail to come home. And if she doesn't?
Galen and Marcas will just have to live with that.
They're not here. So they don't get to be a part of the decision-making process.
She gets to her feet and crosses the room to stand in front of the poster. Alexandrite's face is faded from years in direct sunlight, but she still looks beautiful and fierce. A strong, well-trained killer, with everything she could ever ask for. Money, fame, a fucking clothing line.
Eike makes a decision: this time next year, it will be her face on that poster. She'll be the strong, beautiful killer adorning the walls of little girls' bedrooms. She'll bring Galen and Marcas back to town, and they'll work in the smithy together, and she'll send dozens of the posters to Kelbas, wherever he ends up when they evict him. She'll rub it in his face, that she had everything and he has nothing.
It's the moment Eike's life has been building to all of this time. The make or break moment. Her uncle thinks he can break her? Eike is the girl with fire in her eyes. She won't be broken or bowed.
She's going to make Kelbas Belladonna eat shit, and she'll get her life back while doing it.
A/N: Hi all. It's been a hot minute. I turned eighteen, came out as trans, and got a play published. But now I am back with more intros for your reading pleasure!
Of Elsie, Katarina, Kyrum, and Eike, who was your favorite? Who do you think is the most likely to win?
For our penultimate intro chapter, we'll be meeting Zorya, Aderyn, Davian and Briar!
-Ben
