Chapter One

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Author's Note: Just warning you guys, this story has not yet been edited, so there will be mistakes, repeats, and references to the previous title. I'll hopefully get around to improving the plot and writing quality soon. Enjoy the story! (Unfortunately, I do not, in any way whatsoever, own The Hunger Games or Finnick Odair.)

EDIT: Yes, she is 16. It is the age of consent in Panem. Re-read Mockingjay if you are not clear on that.

•••••

My name is Asphodel Lethe.

I am sixteen years old.

Everyone I love is dead.

All because I refused.

•••••

When I was fourteen, I won the Seventy-third Hunger Games. I was District Five's first victor in fifteen years. Winning came at a price, though. My throat was slit. Not deep enough to kill, but enough to take my voice away. The doctors said I might be able to talk again someday, but for now, I'm mute.

I don't mind so much, really. My mind is all I need.

I stare at my reflection. Shattered, stormy gray eyes and long, straight, jet black hair. Pale skin and a tall, slim, toned body. I'm pretty, I think. Or maybe I'm not. I don't care.

I carefully place a simple silver circlet on my head. I received it when I was crowned victor two years ago. Today is the Reaping of the Third Quarter Quell and I'm Five's only female victor, ever. My crown is all I want from this place. It reminds me that I can still beat the Capitol. I won the Games. I'm a survivor.

My large house in the Victor's Village is completely silent as I dress. A cream, loose sweater; brown, skinny, leather pants; and black boots covers my body. District Five has had seven victors and six are still alive.

I leave my house and see my mentor, Atom Electro, leaving his, as well. He's thirty-one years old and the youngest male victor Five has. He was my mentor and is the only reason I'm still alive. He got me amazing sponsors and provided me with excellent advice.

"Del!" he says happily, hugging me tightly. I return the hug and smile at him. "Are you nervous about the Games?"

I shake my head. I'm prepared to win or die trying.

"Good," he smiles. "Let's get to the Reaping, alright?" I nod and together, we walk to what might very well be our deaths.

•••••

Everybody stares as we walk to the stage. I go first, since I'm the most recent victor. Then Atom, since he won the 58th Games. Then Ryder Isaacs, the victor of the 52nd Games. Oliver Zircon follows as victor of the 49th Hunger Games.

Our last victor won the very first Hunger Games at age thirteen. His name is legendary. Wilson Prescott. He's like a grandfather to me, to be honest.

"Good luck," Ryder mouths to me, smiling. I nod as if to say 'You too' and smile back.

Our escort prances onto the stage. She appears absurd, but she's actually quite nice. Her name is Valentine Emerald and let me tell you, this woman is obsessed with gemstones. She currently wears a pencil skirt with sequins and three dimensional butterflies in various shades of pink. A pink, sleeveless, cowl-neck shirt covers her torso and a gem flower necklace hangs from her neck. Matching hot pink peep toe heels are on her feet and her platinum blonde hair is in perfect corkscrew curls.

"Shall we," she chokes back a sob, "start with the ladies?"

I'm a victor, I remind myself. I can survive this.

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