༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
[𝗶. 𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝘆 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗹]
𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 , 4500

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙩 𝙀𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 pollution years ago. In past times, it was regarded as the most bewitching district of all of Panem, enticing highly materialistic Capitol tourists with it's magnificent fashion and charming individuals.

All it took was one unjust murder of a twelve year old in a callous display of dictatorship and power that the autocratic government liked to call The Hunger Games. A way for The Capitol, an advanced metropolis, to exercise political control over the rest of the nation through an annual event feared by the impoverished and craved by the entitled.

When the time came, every individual of the ages twelve to eighteen would worry themselves sick over a hysterical lottery system in which there would be a chance they would be selected to partake in a televised battle to the death purely run for the entertainment for the Capitol citizens.

District Eight had had it as easy as they could have, considering the circumstances, as the victors picked always found themselves at the very end of the age-limit.

Until one year, the year of the 55th Hunger Games, a young boy was picked. Sweet, innocent, twelve year old Elliot Briggs, beloved by everyone in the eighth district and an infamous character to be pedestaled in future education.

His brutal murder was the catalyst of the downfall of District Eight.

Nowadays, the air was choked with ashy grey, engulfing and devouring the buildings whole, coating them with mouldy, black dust. The neglected structures were crumbled and broken, just like the people.

For a fashion district, the only garments being produced in the monster like factories infecting the land were Peacekeeper uniforms. Everywhere else had shut down, the colour that was once splashed over everything had crippled into dark shadows, leaving only the odd sequin in and amongst the rubble.

Besmirched, contaminated wind snaked round the corners of the district and swept into the red hair of Wren Steele. It was a bitter and foreboding breeze as it kissed the crevices of each area for there was tension in everyone.

For 68 years, this day, this date was feared the very most. The Reaping. Parents spent the entirety of the previous night tossing and turning, dwelling on the fate of their children.

Anxiety swum relentlessly in Wren's stomach. In just an hour, she'd be lined up with the other kids, prisoners in their own home, and one ill-fated child, too young, would be plucked from the bunch and entered into a sadistic death match.

Wren was 16, she'd counted herself fortunate for four years. Four years she'd escaped the capitol's reaper. Four years she'd watched people from her class leave, never to return. District eight hadn't had a victor of the games in years. Most had not even come close.

Because as soon as their name was called, they gave up. Fate was accepted.

"Wren," A soft voice called from behind the redhead, floating from an older girl, their hair similar. Hannah Steele shifted her weight from one foot to another, leaning against the rotting doorway. She was nineteen, meaning she'd managed to escape the games unscathed. But, that didn't mean she wasn't concerned for her sister's sake.

"Peacekeepers are arriving."

Peacekeepers, sent upon command of the capitol to ensure order in the districts. They were cold and unmerciful. They didn't get paid enough to be kind.

Wren rolled her eyes, gazing back to the forsaken land. "Fucking knock-off stormtroopers."

She liked Star Wars. They were some of the very few movies the capitol allowed. Wren's father had salvaged three tapes before she was born. She grew up watching them. Of course they didn't make sense, she figured they were in the wrong order.

But, what she liked most about them was the fact that she could immerse herself in an alternate world. A world that wasn't the unjust mess she lived in now.

"You should be getting ready." Hannah called out again.

"I am ready." Wren gestured to her tank top and pants. Sighing, Hannah shook her head at her sister's stubbornness but, it didn't faze her. She'd always been like this.

"Come on, Wren. Mom laid your dress out for you." Hannah persisted and this time, Wren turned and began to shuffle reluctantly down a small dirt hill and towards the house.

Hannah nodded her head approvingly, spinning around as he younger sister followed her inside.

Their house was small, identical to the others on their plain street. Beige and blue. Boring colours.

The sisters passed the adequate living room, their father stood frowning by the window, their mother next to him. A thick, daunting cloud hung over each and every one of them.

"Your dress," Pointing towards the bed as they entered Wren's small room, Hannah's expression fell. Everything she was holding together broke through. She turned, concealing her emotions from her younger sister.

Sighing defiantly, Wren ambled across her room and eyed the neatly ironed, spotless, white dress displayed out for her just like the rest of the girls her age.

The same dress, same hairstyle, clones of each other. Pawns of the Capitol.

It took Wren a while to brave putting on the dress, to fall victim to her pathetic government once again.

Her hair was effortlessly styled by her mother who hardly managed to braid her red locks without bursting into tears. Elena Steele placed her worked hands on her daughter's shoulders, solemnly turning her to face herself in the mirror.

Wren rolled her eyes when she was met with her reflection, she look too clean, too manicured. It wasn't her and the whole family knew that.

"You look beautiful, darling." Elena's voice cracked painfully as she admired Wren's appearance.

"I look twelve." Wren ignored the complement and picked at the fabric of her dress.

Elena pulled her hands away and clasped them under her chin. "Wren, please, let us dote on you this morning."

Instead of replying, Wren stood from the chair she'd be told to sit in and planted a kiss on her mother's cheek. It wasn't a lot but it was about as  much affection as Wren could handle.

Time flew by too quickly, the Steele family having little time to cherish what could be their last moments with the youngest girl, and the ringing of the bell came from the town square.

Simultaneously, every door of every house on every street in district eight opened and out came unsmiling families, grave pits digging deep into everyone's stomachs.

Like the obedient prisoners they felt they were, citizens gathered in front of the unnecessarily grand structure: The Justice Building.

It was tall and looming, a reminder to all of the Capitol's dominance.

Wren was registered briskly and whisked away from the rest of her family to stand apart from them with the children her age.

Amongst the swarm of perturbed people awaiting the reaping to begin, Wren sought out her closest friend who was hopping nervously on the spot, forehead creased and anxious.

"Dove," Wren snapped the dark haired girl from her panicked episode, approaching her. She quickly took a step back the second she caught smell of her.

"Sweet Jesus," The redhead coughed, covering her nose. "Nice perfume, how long did you marinate in it?"

"Oh, hah hah," Dove Chase frowned, rubbing her exposed arms. "My Ma' attacked me."

Wren chuckled to herself, "Gosh, did you forget to give her her pills?"

Turning away from her, Dove set her eyes to the stage where the Peacekeepers were taking their stations and the district escort was tapping the microphone positioned for her.

"I am not going to be very well receptive to your sarcasm today, Ree."

"I'll make a note of that," Wren smiled falsely, following Dove's actions and turning to the stage.

Intolerable microphone feedback screeched through the speakers that had been set up around the square. The awful noise was then followed by the thick Capitol accent of Cherry Carlisle.

"Good morning, Lovebugs," Cherry's bright red lips smacked together as she spoke squeakily," My, my, how excited are we all? I'm sure we're just ecstatic!"

The woman clapped her hands together happily, "Now, as always, we have an incredibly well thought out production brought to you by the Capitol."

Production. Wren snorted, earning a jab in the side from Dove.

The 'production' played loudly on the big screen attached to the Justice Building. It was a short video in which the Capitol made a desperate attempt to justify their reasons for the games.

The clip finished with the unbearable Capitol anthem that haunted the Panem and Cherry spoke into the microphone more jittery than before.

Wren tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, her mask was starting to slip, the nerves were beginning to take over.

The drawing began sooner than Wren would've liked. Cherry crossed the stage, half skipping. She was far too ebullient, it was sickening.

"Now, i think we'll have the ladies first!" She had to shout as she was too far from her microphone. Her smile is taunting and humiliating, it was so large it creased aspects of her extravagant makeup.

She dug her hand into a glass jar containing the girls names in it, most of Wren's friends had their names in there more than once, a price you had to pay for extra food. Dove's was in eight times and Wren's the same.

Cherry danced around as she pulled out a slip of paper. The agitated crowd drew in a collective breath and held it, hoping that keeping their lips firmly shut would prevent the nauseated liquid clawing its way up their throats.

Crossing back across the stage, Cherry smoothed out the paper painfully slowly. She dipped her face towards the microphone, her grin almost reaching her ears, and read out the name, dragging it on so everyone had time process and gawk at the unlucky person.

"Wren Steele!"

It takes strength to not show emotion, immense strength. Wren thought herself strong because whilst a daunting impact knocked her down within, her face stayed expressionless.

The crowd cleared away from her as if she was an infectious disease now controlled by the Capitol. Even Dove moved back, her eyes clouded with empathetic guilt.

But, Wren didn't want her empathy, she didn't want anyone's empathy. If she was going into these games, she was doing everything her own way. She wasn't going to melt into a blubbering mess in front of everyone.

What she needed to do was show everyone that this was not going to break her, the Capitol was not going to break her.

Narrowing her eyes into slits, Wren took one step after an other down the path the crowd was creating for her and up to the stage.

"Oh, lovely, come on up, Baby," Cherry gasped, meeting Wren at the top of the steps and ushering her to stand beside her.

The first wobble that washed over the Steele girl came from gazing out at all of the people of her district. All their tired, awe-struck eyes. They'd had enough, they were sick of loosing people.

Wren stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with her family. However, not looking at them didn't do anything to cease the sound of her mothers strangled cries.

The cameras that were broadcasting to the whole of Panem were ravenously trained on the stone faced girl, curious and anticipating.

"Oh, my goodness, i feel we have a strong tribute in our grasps already!" Cherry chirped, she seemed out of breath, the excitement overcoming her. "Anyhow, let's pick out boy, shall we?"

She stared expectantly at the crowd of unmoving people. Her face fell when they did not respond to her hostess like cheerfulness. So, she crossed to the opposite side of the stage to a second jar. Acting the same way as before, she rummaged around before she pulled out a second slip and hurried back to the microphone.

"Niko Kent!"

And that's when all hell broke loose. People began to shout and the crowd became rowdy.

The Peacekeepers jumped into action, most handling the unorderly behaviour and a few guiding a trembling boy up to the stage. He was short, stubby and in no way fit for this life.

Wren recognised him from the yard at school. He was just twelve years old. District eight's only twelve year old since Elliot Briggs.

Usually, the two tributes would shake hands and the mayor would make a half-hearted speech but due to the nature of the situation, Wren and Niko were harshly pushed off the stage into the Justice Building itself, away from everything they'd ever known.

They were separated before they'd even met and thrust into cold, bare rooms that were locked and guarded. Wren took the little time she had on her own to think. To just sort herself out.

She sat down on one of the rotting chairs and slumped forward, head in hands. A week. A week was all they had to prepare, to train, to receive mentoring, to gain the Capitol's support.

Wren asked herself, did she want to win? Was it worth it? Really, was there anything worth coming back for?

Maybe her family as she loved them dearly, much more than she let on. Maybe she'd try and win for justice, for herself, for fun.

The door was pushed open very slowly and Wren's family entered. Hannah, Denis and Elena looked distraught and smothered Wren with hugs and kisses.

"Oh, Wren, you have to win. You have to." Elena begged, her voice muffled by the fabric of Wren's dress.

Wren sighed, meeting eyes with her father. He lifted his chin up, eyeing her carefully.

"Give 'em hell, Wren."

She didn't get long to spend with them as the Peacekeeper forced them out quicker than they got here, but, it wasn't like she expected a heart-straining, long goodbye.

She didn't know what to expect anymore. Starting now, everything was completely foreign to her and that scared her. Of course it did. Anyone in this situation would be terrified. She could only imagine how Niko and his family were feeling. There was no way that boy would survive on his own.

With someone else's help, there could be a possibility.

Wren recalled the youngest victor, Finnick Odair, won the games at fourteen. Perhaps she could change that. Show the Capitol that no matter how young, how weak, how unsteady the civilians of the districts were, each had the power to do dangerous things.

Maybe that would be her goal.

Niko Kent was going to win the 68th Hunger Games.

The boy she hadn't even met yet she was prepared to give up everything for.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙖 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙒𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙙 herself on her incredibly smart and witty comebacks, her forever sharp tongue and aggravating ability to piss off whomever she desired.

However, at this very moment time, sat on an unusually lavish sofa in the middle of a rattling train carriage, she was far quieter than she'd ever been before. Her sarcastic remarks were tucked behind her tongue, for now, and ordered to stay there. Afterall, who was she to disdain her name in front of the people who held her life in their perfectly manicured hands.

Wren, narrowing her eyes sceptically, judged her surroundings for the fifth time. Opulence and luxury were the defining features, the Capitol's trademark. Every detail was carefully crafted to provide the utmost comfort and indulgence.

It made the redhead sick.

Two figures, both having attempted to present themselves smartly just a few hours ago, stuck out like sore thumbs.

They sat opposite each other, rigid and unmoving. The younger emitted the most nerves. He chewed his finger nails constantly, like it was an incessant need and he often ran his hands through his curly, brown locks.

The girl with fiery hair watched him. She waited. She waited for the correct moment to start speaking to the boy that, in the end, she would give up her life for.

It was when they made eye contact, she deemed it correct.

"I like your broach. It's a horse?" Wren questioned, lacing her tone with intrigue that caused the younger boy's eyes to widen.

Niko Kent's eyes were bloodshot and his voice was sore and hoarse as he spoke, the after effects of the relentless sobbing. "W-what?"

Wren said nothing, waiting for him to process her question.

"Oh," Niko finally realised, glancing down at the silver animal pinned to his shirt. "Y-yes it's a horse. My mother made it for me- my mother..."

Glistening tears began to pool in the bottom of his eyes again at the thought of his mom and possibly the fact he'd never see her again.

Sucking in a short breath, Wren stood herself up and crossed the carriage to sit beside the boy.

"My name's Wren," She introduced herself as if he didn't just hear her name blare loudly out of the speakers and echo all across district eight.

"I know," Niko nodded slightly. "I'm Niko."

"I know," Wren repeated his words and put on a very pressured smile.

Confusion etched across the boy's face, "Why are you being nice to me?"

His sniffles and painful voice bled through his words. Wren protested almost immediately, shaking her head in protest. "We're gonna stick together, me and you, I've decided."

"We are?" Nike spoke with a slight hiccup following his speech.

Humming lightly, Wren turned her gaze out the window behind them, gazing out at the assortment of scenery flying by. "I'm going to look after you, Niko. I'm going to get you back home to your family."

"Why would you want to do that? Don't you want to get back your family?"

Wren deliberated for just a moment, shifting in her seat. "They won't miss me,"

Lie.

"You, however, will be sorely missed. You don't deserve this. No one does. Which is why we're going to get you out."

"You're kind." Niko murmured, his clammy hands dragging down his tear stained cheeks.

A blonde woman entered through a vault door. She possessed a gentle and kind appearance. Her hair, a lustrous shade of gold, cascaded down in soft waves, framing her face with a touch of elegance.

Her fair complexion exuded a natural glow, accentuated by a sprinkling of light freckles across her cheeks and nose, as if kissed by the sun. Her stance seemed to carry a youthful vibrancy, lending an air of warmth and approachability to her presence.

But, her sky, blue eyes displayed something quite the opposite. Pain, torture, agony. All adjectives to describe The Hunger Games.

Cecelia Septimus was to be their mentor. The woman won the 60th games eight years ago and had been the only victor for their district since then.

"I want to start off by saying how sorry I am for what's happening to you two." She sounded, in Wren's opinion, trustworthy enough, but, still, the redhead demonstrated the art of suspiciousness and would stick to her ways until she could be completely sure.

At the side of her, Niko muttered a few wavering words of gratitude whilst Wren, sticking to her silent promise, said nothing.

"You can call me Cece," Cecelia proceeded, stepping further into the carriage with her hands clasped. "And my job is to support you and train you the best I can to help you as much as possible whilst you're in that arena."

"There's no point," Niko mumbled, in simpler times he was quite the optimist, but now... "For me, at least."

"Look at me," He gestured between himself and Wren. "I'll die in the blood bath."

Wren had to hold back a very untimely scoff. She suddenly found herself having a difficult time to imagine the events destined to unfold for her.

There was no doubt in her mind they'd she be able to give the games and swiping the victory title good go herself if her priorities weren't set in stone. Yeah, she was over-confidendent and cocky but, she'd be dead in a week. Her arrogant personality didn't really matter when put into retrospect.

"You never know, you remember Finnick Odair won his games at 14? You have a week of training, have a little faith," Cecelia's reassurance was weak and with little to no belief behind it.

Niko opened his mouth, it seemed arguing was his coping mechanism, but, closed it, probably rethinking the worth.

"Wren," Cecelia's soft voice called for the girl to speak up, "How are you feeling?"

Wren pulled her chewed up nails from her mouth to allow herself to speak. "Spectacular!"

Cecelia faltered on her way to take the seat opposite the kids. She glanced rather briefly at Wren as if quickly figuring her out. She was met with a grim expression and the aftermath of her sarcasm.

The blonde woman brushed off the unwanted reply and stayed consistent with her gentle tone, "You seemed to handle it really well, when you were picked. I respect that."

Wren raised her eyebrows, humming in a slightly passive aggressive response.

An awkward tone was set. Silence from the two teens that had been entered into a death match and one of it's many winners.

The door of the carriage slid open once again and a younger woman, her decorated face easily to be mistaken with an artist's work, glided across the floor to join them.

She held herself much more confidently and much more happily.

"My love bugs!" Cherry threw her arms out and up to the heavens as if she was nothing short of ecstatic to see them. She practically danced across the floor, pecking each sorrow cheek.

"We must attend dinner in the sixth carriage." Cherry's glistening eyes creased at the sides as she grinned harder than Wren had ever seen. She wondered how real this was.

With grimly forced attitudes, Wren, Niko and Cecelia followed Cherry though the train.

The sound of the metal clacking was unnerving against their ear drums.

Each small compartment was of decor and furniture the two tributes could never have dreamt of. A luxury bathroom, a spa, master bedrooms, a huge kitchen and even a miniature greenhouse each decked out gloriously.

And when they finally came to a stop, gathering in a large dining room in one of the bigger carriages, wonder filled their vision and marvel clouded their minds.

District eight had a grandly, opulent façade yet in harsh reality, daily struggle for food and the endless battle with hunger was as common as breathing.

A parade of exquisitely crafted dishes lay across the length of a broad table. Intricate and colorful salads, with vibrant vegetables and fruits Wren had never seen before, were presented like works of art. Plump fruits, exotic meats, delicate sides and mouth watering deserts. All served upon golden players just for them.

The room sparkled with dazzling chandeliers, and the wooden table was adorned with fine linens, expensive china, and polished silverware. The teens were silenced to astounded gaping.

Niko had eyed the food first, itching to delve into the meal. Whereas, Wren resorted to skepticism, eyes darting round the room for cameras or unfamiliar faces.

The clapping of Cherry's manicured hands snapped Niko and Wren out of their stricken trances.

"Let us eat!"

Cherry skipped to the table and took a place at the head, Cecelia kept her head down when she followed closely behind, lowing herself into her own chair.

Niko was the third to move, positioning himself opposite Cecelia.

When she came to terms with the standard set, Wren dragged herself across the shing floor of the carriage and chose a seat two chairs down from the rest of her party, creating distance.

Cherry clapped her hands a second time, signalling for the meal to begin. Niko dug in immediately, waffling down as much as he could fit in his mouth.

Wren stared. She recalled the winter months in which she'd often clock Niko out and about, the meat on his bones practically non existent and the striking presence of his cheek bones.

Cecelia ate daintily, silently separating the vegetables from the carbs, and very differently to Cherry's overly graceful method.

"Wren!" A high pitched voice snapped, "Eat, honey, we need to fatten you up."

The thought of eating seemed so normal and standard, nothing like the situation she was in now.

"Wren!" Cherry repeated when the redhead had made no effort to pick up her cutlery.

Lazily, Wren turned to stare the woman dead in the eyes. Her pupils portrayed her very emotions in such intensity, it caused Cherry to recoil just a touch.

"Wren," The softer voice of Cecelia called, "Please eat, you're hungry, i'm sure."

In an effort not to be too difficult but also as difficult as possible, Wren reached out, dramatically slowly, to the plate in front of her, ripped off a singular grape and popped in her mouth.

Cherry's eye twitched and she gaped at Cecelia as she could help the situation when it was clear that the troublesome teen was going to be very uncooperative.

"Listen here, young lady, I don't appreciate this attitude and neither will the Capitol. If you don't sort yourself out, your chances will be effected."

"Your ass sure must be jealous of all the shit that comes out your mouth," And so broke the first string of Wren's patience as did a second at the largely exaggerated gasp, "I don't think the capitol could care less about anything to do with me because at the end of the day all i am is another number, another pointless death."

Cherry's chin wobbled, clearly not used to being spoken to in such a manner.

It was obvious of the challenges that were to come with the female tribute but the clear ignorance to authority and harsh words came as a package deal with Wren's person.

Many wise elders and knowledgeable individuals in district eight had tried to counsel her, offering her valuable advice and sharing non-violent and less chaotic examples of successful resistance against oppression. However, Wren would brush them off, believing she knew better and that they were just trying to dampen her spirit.

Wren's obstinacy and ignorance caused friction among her district and everyone she met. Many admired her passion and courage, laughed at her jokes and remarks, but they also saw the danger in her reckless actions.

All that said, not a single soul habitant in her district had wished harm on her, in fact, they were desperate for her to win as it would bring back light, hope of something more.

The atmosphere within the carriage was laden with an uncomfortable silence that hung heavy in the air, making the clinking of cutlery and distant chatter of the others seemed almost deafening.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮
heyyyyyy, welcome to the first chapter! i've re done the layout of this book and merged both of the first two chapters into one and changed a couple
of things but they are mostly the same.

thank you so much for reading. let me know your thoughts or suggestions!!