it was a tragically beautiful morning for such a somber day.

yes, the annual reaping for the dreaded hunger games was expected to take place in the square later in the afternoon. and as the cherry on top, it was a quarter quell. the 50th games. double the amount of tributes would be reaped to fight to the death in an arena for the capitol’s entertainment. two females, two male. from each district.

the cheerfully pure sunlight of dawn was almost mocking as you ducked under the fence that surrounded district twelve. the grass was green with the nutrients of summertime, and a gentle breeze danced through the trees of the forest as you made your way to the meadow.

it was a more secluded part of the district, but it was the most beautiful part if anything.

lenore dove was in her rightful place beneath a tree, her beloved tune box (as she called it) in hand as she hummed a sweet little song to her feathered companions: a huddle of a dozen or so geese.

when she noticed you approaching, she smiled, beautiful as ever. as if there wasn’t a reaping later this afternoon. as if neither of you were in danger of being chosen.

it made your heart ache. because you knew that she was just as worried as you were for the upcoming hours. you couldn’t imagine a world without her in it. the horror of the idea of her name being drawn, of having to watch her be killed-

no. it wouldn’t happen. crazy talk.

it was almost worse when you thought of your own name being picked. being dragged away from her, and from home, as bleak and dull as it was.

lenore dove grinned knowingly once you approached, her soft voice ringing through the quiet of the meadow when she spoke.

“you think too much for a day of such little choice,” she mused fondly as she watched you take your place next to her in the grass. she took your hand gently, her other setting the tune box to rest beside her.