CHAPTER 1

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Disclaimer: I do not own anything from The Hunger Games trilogy all rights go to Suzanne Collins. I do however own Quinn and her story.


The string of her bow was wrapped round her neck as the career tribute sat on top of her, pinning her arms. She choked and spluttered as the air escaped her lungs, her blue eyes watered as she struggled against the bigger girl. The knife was just out of her reach but she extended her arms as far she could, focussing on staying conscious; her arm trembled and she felt her elbow joint tear. She refused to die. Chokes escaped her already blue lips and her eyes turned red, blood ran down her neck as the bowstring cut deep; the world blurred until her slender fingers finally grazed the hilt of her knife. With every last ounce of energy, she forced herself closer until she felt the cold handle in the palm of her hand – recharging her batteries. The smirk on her attacker's face was replaced by sheer terror as she reached up and drove the knife through their right eye, entering the brain.

The cannon sounded as hot sticky blood burned her cold and calloused skin. With the pressure on her neck removed she could finally breathe, the clammy arena air caught in her throat, making her cough. She couldn't fight the grin that appeared on her bloodied face.

"You should have killed me quickly." She smirked.

The bath was freezing when Quinn finally brought her head above the water. Breathlessness always brought back that one memory; she couldn't complain as it was one of the more pleasant ones but she just wished she could forget all together. Goosebumps glittered her pale skin as she wrapped herself in a cotton towel, Quinn was always cold. Physically and mentally, so much so her fellow victors had nicknamed her the Ice Queen.

As she made her way to her closet, her damp feet padding on the marble floor, she thought about her fellow victors. Quinn, as a rule, never got close to anyone after the fate she forced onto her family – she wouldn't allow anyone else to die for her – but she had always had a special bond with Johanna Mason from District 7. She may even go as far as to call her a friend. The two female victors had an understanding, don't get close but have each other's backs, and it worked well for them. They would share a drink and the latest news whenever they were both in The Capitol but they would never allow themselves to get attached. The District 5 girl had also run into Haymitch Abernathy from 12 a handful of times, they had always shared a mutual respect for one another and she had always been on his Christmas card list. Then there was Finnick Odair. Quinn loathed the victor from District 4. She always seemed to be unfortunate enough to run into him whenever she was in The Capitol and each time he cemented her feelings towards him by being his overbearing, flirty and generally obnoxious self. Quinn couldn't see why the women of Panem were so fascinated, in her opinion, he was nothing more than a pretty face with whitened teeth.

She imagined that she would be seeing them all relatively soon as she dressed for the Reaping. A black dress seemed to be the appropriate attire for a death sentence. The young girl knew that she would be back in the arena as she was the only able bodied female victor and if her name wasn't chosen then she would have to volunteer, the sliver of morality she still had dictated it. But Quinn made herself a promise as she pinned her blonde hair up – she was not going to die in that arena.

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The peacekeepers led the District 5 victors to the Justice Building like lambs to the slaughter. The townspeople cheered as they saw their local celebrities lining up beside the two glass bowls on the steps of the building. Quinn's facial expression was void of emotion unlike her companions who were either smiling and waving or crying their hearts out. Pathetic.

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