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chapter one

VICTORY TOUR EVE
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When Yelena was in the Arena, all she wanted was to go home. Which given the circumstances of being sentenced to a televised fighting pit of death at sixteen, that doesn't sound at all shocking. She ached and yearned for the comforts of District 8 she had taken for granted all of her youth.

The consistently overcast sky as gray as the pavement, blurring clouds and earth together. The bustle of the working crowds that were solemn but more honest than the boisterous and cackling Capitol people. Even the scent of the factory fumes that would layer with the faint but sweet aromas from the few restaurants and shops along Silk Road. God, she never thought that she would miss breathing in polluted air.

But the air in that Arena wasn't the slightest bit refreshing. In fact, it was so clean it was suffocating. Crisp, clear, and cool, like a blade stuck in her windpipe, making it harder to breathe with each inhale of her lungs. It felt artificial. Like another hologram, another trick, another illusion created by the Capitol to twist the lock even further that held them here. Here in Hell.

She thought she would feel a sense of relief once she finally got what she wanted. To come home. To allow her alert stare to soften with the swirls of gray, to feel her rigid bones slacken at the careful murmurs, and to caress her flailing lungs with a breath that finally felt familiar.

That's the thing about the Capitol. They manage to ruin everything. Because their ghosts have followed her home, claiming every street, every room, every corner and even every cell of Yelena's being, leaving her haunted.

Snow falls strangely in the Victor's Village. There's no other way to describe it other than strange. Almost as if it's not even real, just like the lives the Capitol give the Victors as a reward for becoming a pawn in their games. Perhaps that's on purpose.

Yelena's knee bobs up and down rapidly, causing the wood of the steps for her porch to creak in response as she sits and waits. A window away, one can hear her mother scraping plates in the kitchen, the screeches of silverware along porcelain intertwining with her murmurs of frustration. Yelena gnaws on the inside of her bottom lip as Bobbin Hart attempts to whisper consolations to his wife.

"I thought for sure she'd at least eat more of the cake." There's the  sound of water running from the sink. Her mother huffs, while her dad merely sighs.

"She probably doesn't have the stomach for much right now." He clears his throat. "Even if you make your famous peanut butter frosting."

There's a splash from Yvette carelessly tossing a plate. She sounds like she'll cry again. The eleventh time today. "When is my babygirl going to come home again, Bobbin? When is she really going to come home?"

Outside, the sixteen year old Victor uncomfortable shifts, jaw clenched as she tunes her out again, shrinking further into her wool coat. Snow falls and melts into her dark and tangled locks as she blinks flakes out of her lashes. Impatience begins to knot in her gut along with the unease. Her dark but blank stare shifts away from the gravel walkway of the Victor's Village as she waits.

Only a quarter of District 8's Victor's Village is actually lived in. The rest are empty mansions with darkened windows that surprisingly remain unvandalized. Cecilia's house is well lit, small signs of children revealing themselves, bicycles and other toys littering the yard. The only sign of Woof is a dim window on the top right corner, a shadow slowly hobbling across every now and then.

There's the familiar scent of smoke making its way through the cool air, and Yelena glances to the house diagonal from hers. His screen door slams behind him, boots stomping across his porch as a flame flickers in his cupped hands. Soon, a small plume of smoke dances its way into the early evening air.

She tries not to stare, but she does. Rudy Twill must feel it, because as he leans against the paneling of his home, his gaze finds hers. Yelena wills herself to wave, maybe a meek smile or even a nod, but simply remains frozen. Like a held breath.

He inhales deeply, then releases the smoke from his lungs with annoyance. Rudy forces an awkward and short wave of his hand, flashing a close-lipped smile in the latest Victor's direction as his nostrils flare. She gulps, just starting to wave when he props himself up, flicking his fresh cigarette into the snow and spinning on his heels back toward his screen door. Her hand awkwardly falls back to her lap just as it slams again.

"I'm late!" a voice calls, snow and gravel crunching beneath their boots. Raven strands fall into her eyes as she whips her head toward the source, spotting that familiar head of blonde hair. Chenille trudges forward quickly, a big and beaming smile pulling at her lips. "Sorry!"

Yelena stands to greet the older girl, shoving her chilled hands into her pockets again, shrugging. "It's okay. Any trouble?"

The blonde links their arms together, shaking her head fiercely. The two cousins fall into stride naturally. "Oh no, no. Just finishing up another dress for our shop. We got more fabrics from your dad's factory."

A nod. "Are they nice?"

Chenille smiles. "As usual." The snow begins to slow, it covering a mere half inch of the frozen ground. They make their way toward the town, leaving the few acres of grass District 8 has behind. "Mom's been showing me how to work with tulle better."

"How's that going?" Yelena asks. quirking a dark brow.

Tugging off one of her hot pink gloves with her teeth, her cousin reveals swollen and bloodied fingertips that clearly have been mercilessly pricked. Her speech is garbled from the wool. "Awesome, can't you tell?"

A small giggle falls from the younger girl's lips with her breath. Chenille laughs too, stuffing the glove back into her pocket rather than unlinking arms. She grimaces and sputters at the remaining sensation of wool along her tongue.

It's not long before she begins another detailed and embellished account of her day at the store. Most find her endless ability to carry a conversation with even a wall annoying, but not Yelena. There is comfort in her scattered stories and bubbly chatter. It's one of the few things from the Victor's reality that still feels untouched by her ghosts. She listens silently, nodding and humming in response every now and then as they maneuver through the streets of District 8.

Their District is usually described as having more pavement than sky. Only a few areas of its outskirts have grass sprouting from the earth, and even those manage to be littered with chunks of misplaced cement, broken glass, or thread. All the sidewalks have significant cracks and are mostly uneven. Before her Games, Yelena's near brushes with death were from stumbling along her trek to school and almost sprawling along the pavement.

Silk Road is the only street with somewhat clean brick and well-fed citizens. That's where her family used to live before the 67th Games. All the shops, tailors, and restaurants line the street, their owners usually residing in apartments above, Chenille and her parents included. The factory owners were the few people able to live in the townhomes just past Thimble, one of two of the only restaurants in the District. And usually, they're the only ones who can afford a meal there.

The two girls pass Chenille's family's Tailor Shop, the windows dark. Yelena feels a pull toward her reflection, watching their strides carefully. Her cousin continues to babble, hardly paying any mind.

Part of her half-expects, half-hopes, to see what a resemblance of what she'd see on her morning walks to school. Both girls in their cleaner, freshly ironed clothes, skin vibrant and a real light in their eyes, and an even more genuine smile. They were of the few that could afford to experience glimmers of happiness. Not rays of constant sunshine, but a few glimmers.

To her disappointment, she isn't met with such a thing. Purple crescents decorate her flesh just below her bottom lashes, reminding her why they're even there in the first place. Sleepless nights still plague her even with the mixture of prescriptions in her systems. While the blonde's reflection seemingly remains untouched, hers is not. As mentioned before, the Capitol always has a way of ruining things. Yelena forces her gaze forward as they turn the corner.

The factory sector is called The Latch. That's where the clouds tend to become darker, constantly looking like a storm is coming from the East, plumes of smoke billowing thickly. The charcoal swirls have ceased at this hour, most of the factory workers likely in their homes by now.

Their section is called The Stitch. Almost all of District 8 resides there, and a lot of Mr. Hart's employees. Of all the factory owners to work for, he still maintains his humanity.

Chenille and Yelena delve deeper into the labrinth of narrow streets and alleys, tenements towering above as the stench of garbage and smoke grow more acrid with each stride. The Victor eyes apartment numbers as they pass each dirtied brick wall. 134. 136. 138. She locks gazes with a man in apartment 140, and attempts an awkward and small close-lipped smile. He only stares back at her.

142. 144. Yelena counts silently in her mind, lungs clenching in her chest as they get closer and closer. They're approaching a new block when her brown gaze falls upon 146, the six missing with only a shadowy outline hinting it was ever there. With that, her feet sink into the concrete with her gut. She barely notices Chenille's surprise as she keeps walking, only to be jerked back by their linked arms.

"Whoa," she gasps, stumbling dumbly. Her green eyes bore into Yelena's cheek. "A warning, maybe?"

The raven-haired girl ignores her, gnawing on the inside of her bottom lip until it's burning and raw. Her lungs begin to heave in her chest thanks to the iron fist that squeezes relentlessly, and she releases a shaky breath in a futile attempt to slow her heart. A part of Yelena swears she sees a whisper of his feathery brown locks, that soft smile tugging on his sunken cheeks.

There it is again. Another ghost haunting her. She almost wills the phantom to really materialize, no more limbo between reality and her mind.

But Reed Twill is gone. And this apartment isn't his nor his late father's anymore. Rudy hasn't dared to walk down this street in over a year, even long before his brother's Reaping.

He's smart for that, Yelena's mind echoes.

"You sure you want to do this?"

Chenille's voice jerks the younger girl's stare away, heart hiccupping in her chest."Hm?"

Her green eyes study her cousin softly as she gnaws on her bottom lip, jerking her head toward another apartment across the street, a lamp inside glowing a dull yellow. Sitting on the stoop, a short but husky man waits, trunk-like arms folded across his chest.

Patch's bald head makes him look older than he is, only aging out of the Reaping three years ago. Memories of him roaming the halls in school with a pen always sitting between his glasses and ear flash in her mind. The drawings he'd sketch on his skin are no longer temporary, the tattoo ink claiming his flesh.

Yelena always thought he was cool. Brave and bold enough to allow his designs out in the open for all to see, while hers hid in a sketchbook beneath her pillow.

She glances back to her District partner's old door. The thought of her Victory Tour awaiting her tomorrow looms in her head like a dare. Finally, she nods, pulling Chenille forward this time.

"Definitely."

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Hi!!

I hope you enjoyed! I'm sooo excited for this story and these characters. I've done more research on District 8 (it's been a while since my Hunger Games knowledge was fresh) and because it was the first District to full blown rebel after Peeta proposed to Katniss, you're definitely going to see more of the rebellion pre-Quarter Quell.

Now I have to figure out how Yelena and Finnick will actually get together *scratches head* I have this tendency to come up with these really cool in depth plots for my OC's and then kinda forget how to work the love interest in there, but we'll get there!!

Please let me know what you think :)

Word Count: 2135