hunger games au! tribute!sevika x tribute!reader
tags: reader is from district 10, sevika is from district 12, canon-typical violence, angst
a/n: i blame suzanne collins. english is not my first language â please correct me if you find any mistakes, ty. writing this was a torture never doing anything like that again :/
you donât know what a person actually feels when theyâre burning alive. not until the flame reaches you and you jump back in escape but itâs too late. you got hurt and now youâre going to burn too. just like them who you watched from afar.
thatâs how you would describe being chosen for the hunger games, held by almighty capitol. or how you like to call it in your district â the topside.Â
seventeen years you watched the mandatory-to-watch broadcast of the games, where innocent children were killing each other or getting killed. and then how the victor was celebrated by the whole country. by the topsiders especially.Â
but no child can comprehend the possibility of being chosen to get murdered on the screens of thousands of people just for entertainmentâs sake. and a reminder, of course. you canât overcome the capitol.
despite the nudging voice that tells you this isnât real and if it is you should flee, you act brave. say all your goodbyes to your parents, your older brother who you know hated himself for inability to volunteer because of his age and to all of your friends. you hope they will actually miss you.Â
you listen to your mentor leelan whoâs a middle aged woman with clever, but beaten look in her eyes and almost dozen ideas for you to win although she knows that youâll probably die like all the others. you respect her determination. you even laugh at whatever nonsense your escort and the prep team says.Â
âis there anything youâd like to say to your family, watching this right now?â the host, a man wearing ridiculously bright glasses and blazers asks.
âput the kettle on, iâll be home in a blink of an eye,â you blink at the camera. âand donât eat all the cookies, achilles. you think youâre watching me, but i have eyes everywhere,â you narrow your eyes now and hear the immediate laugh from the audience.
âoh, siblings,â the host chuckles, shaking his head.
youâre almost a perfect tribute, it seems to be. appearing to the people as charming, but dangerous and sharp, you win over many hearts soon enough. didnât even have to be a career. no one except your team knows that you clench your fists until your nails sink into your palms enough to draw blood. no one except an avox, a girl who crossed capitol so they cut her tongue, who came into your room in the middle of a night because you started hitting a wall during your panic attack.
if it wasnât for that, leelan could almost let herself believe in your win.Â
youâre excellent with blades and axes, probably wonât have much trouble with finding food and even can make a trap. all the things youâve learned thanks to your district which specialises in livestock you even score a 10 â 10 for district 10, as someone from your team said.
but if you act like youâre on the brink of a mental breakdown as soon as youâre out of camerasâ reach, how will you act in arena full of poisonous and deadly forces you have to fight against? the boy from your district is in even worse state. heâs a lost cause.Â
you donât interact with others much at the tribute center, trying to learn as many skills as possible, even though itâd be nice to have some allies. temporary allies, you remind yourself.
however one girl does catch your attention. sheâs tall, dark skinned, her already short dark hair put up and you can see the well-developed muscles in her bare arms. youâre pretty sure it doesnât end with just the arms. which surprises you because even if youâre the ones growing the cattle and preparing meat in your district, you donât really get to have much. one would have thought district 12 canât have it better.Â
her name is sevika and sheâs 18. how devastated must have been her family  â getting reaped her last year. youâre not so juvenile yourself too, only a year younger than her.Â
sheâll definitely be fine on her own, you think, watching her tying knots. you approach her, starting to do the same and thinking of all the ways you could start talking to her. but before you finally open your mouth to say something, she leaves to another section. not today, then.
and not all the other following days too.
sure, you did talk to some other tributes. a girl named mary from 5, kind and quiet. twins from 11, who made you laugh so hard you had to physically stop yourself because you remembered that youâre being watch and a hysterical laugh isnât really complimenting. but still not to her and now itâs the day the games start.
all this time itâs like youâve been asleep. now you wake up from the cold before the horn even sounds.the ground is damp and metallic under your back, and for a second you donât know where you are. it could be a slaughterhouse. maybe it is. it smells like one.
the sky above you is orange, like rust bleeding into sunset. youâre standing in the center of what used to be a processing plant. abandoned, decayed. smoke still rises from some of the towers. steam hisses through broken vents. the ground is cracked cement, sliced with rails, stains and patches that could be oil or blood. doesnât really matter which.
they placed you all around a giant broken platform, like a rusted gear in the middle of some long-dead machine.
in its center is the stock â weapons, food, water, gear, traps, maybe even medicine. you can see the outline of a crossbow, a few blades. thereâs a black bag. some kind of armor. a bottle glinting under the lights. a lot of seems like a trap, cursed by the gamemakers.
around you, at the edges of the gear â other tributes stand on their plates. all waiting.
and thereâs sevika, four tributes away. sheâs not looking at anyone. not even the stock. her eyes are low. arms loose by her sides. like sheâs waiting for the whole thing to be over.
she doesnât look scared. just done.
you wish you felt the same.
you breathe in. you donât have much time. you know what leelan told you: âdonât go to the middle. donât be a fool.â but leelanâs not here and you donât think youâll find an axe lying around somewhere in the arena.
you run before you even realize that youâre running. fast and low. like cutting through a herd without startling them. tributes are screaming already. one falls on the platform. another lunges for a bottle, only to get their throat sliced open. blood sprays across a shattered crate.
you donât look. you grab the small axe, half-buried under a sheet of plastic. itâs heavy but familiar. your fingers close around the handle like itâs home.Â
you run again â toward the shadows â and hope for the best. toward the smoke and dust and wreckage beyond the gear. you hide in a collapsed control tower on the outskirts of the plant. its roof is gone, but walls still stand, crooked and blistered by heat. the floor is full of ash. you lie down in it.
your hands are shaking. the axe is next to you, warm from your grip. you think of how are you even supposed to find food or water in a huge dead industrial complex.Â
you get out of your cover and find that around your collapsed towers are another ash towers. you try to find the highest point and when you do, you finally look around. you think you can see a slaughterblock not that far from you. thatâs where you should head next.
you only let yourself to sit, just to wait out whateverâs happening in the gear. you hear the canon and count seven deaths already. seventeen of you left.Â
thatâs when you see your mentor before you. âleelan?â your eyebrows furrow in disbelief âwhat are youâ how are you here?â your hand tries to reach the woman, but suddenly it weighs more than any axe you held in your life so you canât even lift your arms.
the mentor says something to you and you nod, but something feels wrong..
âare you okay?â your brother asks.Â
âare you here too? i donât get it,â you mumble and thatâs when you notice the blue gas youâre breathing all around you.Â
youâre hallucinating. you close your eyes, still hearing their voices. not the worse way to spend you first night, is it? your stomach disagrees.
your eyes open wide just a moment before they start showing the dead tributes in the sky. both from 6, 8, 9 and a boy from 12.
at the early morning the gas disappears, and thatâs when you leave the tower and head to your new destination.
the slaughterblock smells worse than anything youâve ever smelled before. it clings to the walls, seeps from the floor. old blood, rot, bile â all of it baked into the steel and concrete. the heat makes it worse, like someone turned the whole place into a slow cooker for ghosts.
you try to breathe through your mouth, but that just makes you taste it.
the room stretches into darkness, full of rusted hooks hanging from chains, swinging slightly in the stale air. gutting tables still sit in rows, some flipped over, others stained black. broken knives, meat saws, bones â so many bones.
your boots click once on the slick floor, and you freeze. you didnât mean to make a sound. but itâs not just you. you hear it â screaming. no, not quite human. a pig. and itâs not dying quickly.
you follow the sound, stepping slow. between metal slabs and dripping pipes. the ceiling above you groans. you peek through the gap between two cabinets.
theyâre there â two tributes from district 7.
you recognize them. the girl with the long scar down her chin. the boy with unrealistically crooked teeth. theyâre butchering a pig they mustâve found somewhere deeper in the block. itâs alive. was alive. theyâre laughing.
you grip your axe tighter, but you donât have a plan yet. until your foot knocks into an empty metal bucket. it clatters like a gunshot. they freeze.Â
the girl turns first. âwhoâs there?â
you donât answer, why would you? but she sees you anyway and lunges.
your axe meets her before your brain even catches up. the impact jolts up your arm â you feel bone snap, skin tear, the wet thud of meat. she hits the floor, twitching once. doesnât get back up. you hear the canon.
you donât stop. you canât.
the boyâs next. faster than she was, not even stopping to look at his dead ally. heâs yelling something, but it doesnât matter. you swing â he dodges. he slashes with a blade and slices your arm. again â your thigh. you gasp and stumble. he grabs your collar, grinning.Â
you grab his face. the two of you struggle â crash backward â into an old meat grinder.
it groans under the weight.
your fingers find a button. you kick him and press it as quickly as possible and then..
the room is quiet again. except for your breath. and the flies. you stare at whatâs left. then at your shaking hands.
âdisgusting,â you whisper at yourself and hope that this might be to the sponsorsâ liking. a terrible thought, but so isnât everything?
you tear a piece of fabric from the dead girlâs shirt. wrap your bleeding arm. then your thigh. itâs not pretty, but itâll do.
you take their bag which they must have taken from the stock. inside: bandages, antiseptic. painkillers, some kind of sunglasses.Â
the pig they were butchering is half-dead.
but you know what to do with that. you know where to cut. what to keep. what not to touch. it takes you twenty minutes to break it down. maybe less. your axe is sticky. your hands â slick.
you cook a few pieces over a pipe that still leaks fire. itâs dry, but warm. then you pack the rest in cloth, shove it in the new bag. and you leave.Â
you walk deeper into the structure, the walls closer now, darker. youâre so thirsty it makes your head pulse. no water at all. but it has to be somewhere, right? instead, you find a room in the back. some kind of office, long since emptied. the desk is broken. the windows cracked. but thereâs a corner. dry and covered in dust. you sit there. you unwrap your arm. itâs bleeding again. you clean and bandage it, as best as someone who who has very basic knowledge of healing can do.Â
you stay there for few nights, eating your pig, until the thirst becomes unbearable and water fills all your thoughts. not you, unfortunately.
youâre going to die of thirst before anyone gets the pleasure of killing you. thatâs the thought thatâs been gnawing at your spine for the past two hours youâve been walking. the meat from the slaughterblock is still warm in your bag, your wounds are holding. but your lips are cracked. your head swims. everything is too loud.
thatâs when you see it. the pit.
itâs not really a lake. not even a pond. itâs an open crater so wide you canât see the other side through the smoke. the ground falls away in uneven steps of clay and metal and bone, and at the very bottom, thereâs water â sort of.
it gleams in the toxic light, thick with rainbow shimmer, like someone spilled oil across a graveyard. you know that smell. sharp. chemical. like bleach, rot, ammonia.
and the bones. some old, some not.
you swallow hard. you need water, so you find a path â half-collapsed service scaffolding, mostly rust and wire. it takes almost twenty minutes to get down safely. you slip twice. once nearly fall. but your grip holds.
the deeper you go, the hotter it gets. the air sticks to your lungs.
you step through the bottom of the pit like moving through glue. you hold your breath when the fumes spike. the waterâs close. but youâre careful. you know better.
standing by the edge of the chemical pool like itâs a mirror. her back to you. muscles tense. blade slung low, but not drawn. she crouches and pulls a bottle from her belt. dips it low toward the surfaceâ
âitâs poisoned,â you call out, louder than you meant to.
she straightens. turns. her eyes find you â sharp, wary. in less than a five seconds sheâs ready to attack.
but the air shifts and thatâs when you know somethingâs coming. you feel it first â the way your teeth hum. then the tremor beneath your feet. then the shriek.
a shape erupts from the other side of the pool, tearing through bones and rock like theyâre paper. a mutt. at least eight feet tall. boar-like, but deformed, furless, parts of its flesh replaced with glowing panels. its eyes flicker red. its tusks drip acid. it charges.
sevika nods once. âjust donât get in my way.â
the beast hits like a train. you dive left â sevika goes right. you slash its leg and sparks fly, it screeches and backhands you into the dirt. sevika climbs its back, driving her blade between its shoulder plates. it throws her off.
you roll. blood in your mouth. the mutt lunges at sevika â she dodges â you bring your axe down on its exposed jaw. it turns on you.Â
then sevika rams her knife straight into its eye socket. you donât waste the opening and drive your axe into its throat, both hands, full weight. it collapses.
you both stand there for a second, chests heaving.
âthat thing better not come back,â you mutter and slump onto a rock, your whole bodyâs shaking. sevika wipes blood from her face and walks back toward the water.
âyou were serious about the poison thing?â she asks, finally.
âyeah. the fumes alone almost knocked me out.âÂ
you look at her. âwe filter it.â
she raises an eyebrow, sceptical. âyou know how to do that?â
you nod. âi think so. we used to filter rotwater at home. for the pigs. same principle, right?â
âyou filtered water for pigs.â sevika snorts.
âand for us, sometimes.â you stand. âyou need: cloth, rocks, sand. charcoal. some kind of container.â
âcharcoal?â she raised an eyebrow.Â
âburnt clothâll do.â
âyouâre full of surprises, 10,â
âshop kid,â you grin. âaxes, knives, smoke filters. we sold them all.â
you spend the next hour gathering parts.
you build the filter from a broken pipe, with layers of sand, gravel, burnt scraps, and a ventilation mesh sevika pulled from an old cooling unit.
you watch the first drops trickle through into a cracked bowl. you both stare at it in silence.
âfirst sipâs yours,â sevika mutters.
well, canât argue with that. when you drink, it tastes like ash. definitely not that fancy water that comes in all flavours (you didnât even know water could be flavoured before), but not deadly too. you donât have any signs of being poisoned, so sevika takes a sip too. and then another. and other.
âso what does your family do?â you ask out of curiosity and because you donât like silences.
something in her expression flickers.
âmy mother was a medic. my dadâs got a hardware stall,â sevika replies shortly, and you decide not to push. why would you want to know all about her family if later? to face that very family after you kill her or someone else does?
âi was hoping weâd at least get a beautiful arena,â you sigh playfully, after getting a look aroundÂ
she grins. âyeah? so you could at least die somewhere beautiful?â
âsomething like that,â you roll your eyes.Â
after filling your bowls and bottles with water you get out of the pit, thinking where you should head next.Â
âwait,â you say and perform a shushing gesture to silence her. somethingâs wrong. as if the ground is shaking. âdo you feel it? itâs like an earthquakeââ and the surface under your feet collapses right at that moment, sevikaâs strong hand preventing you from falling, but the ground sheâs standing on also starts shaking.
so you run with ground sunk down behind you.
âhey-hey!â you hear two familiar voices, male and female, from both of your sides. twins from 11. âwe were thinking of going into the pit when we saw you two running. whatâs happening?â
âgame makers are expanding the territory of the pit,â you reply, smiling at them and glance at sevika. oh, she doesnât trust them.
âcan we join you?â they ask.
their bags catch your attention. mustâve gotten them from the stock. theyâre quick, clever, funny and you like them. so before sevika says no, you say yes and she glared at you.
âgreat! follow us, we found something like control rooms,â
âcontrol rooms?â you repeat, curious.
and you still feel her piercing gaze.
âtheyâre smart!â you whisper at her and she rolls her eyes.
the control core is deeper than you expected.
you follow the twins through a narrow hallway half-collapsed with rusted panels and ash. above your heads, wires dangle like vines. it smells like electricity, dust, and something else â old blood maybe. the deeper you go, the colder it gets.
the twins are chatty. you like that about them. it makes you feel, for a moment, like this isnât real.
when you finally reach the room, itâs massive. high ceiling, metal walls, rows of broken monitors and blinking consoles. the control core mustâve once powered something big. the lights flicker on and off. it hums, almost alive.
you all sit in a circle. the twins pull food from their bags â sealed packets, dried fruit, bread. you offer them water in exchange. the deal is silent, natural. survival.Â
they talk about the games, previous ones, things they saw from the sidelines. the girl twin says she thinks the mutts are more unpredictable this year. the boy twin jokes heâs waiting for the flying leeches. you all laugh. even sevika smirks.
you slip on the glasses you found in district 7 boyâs bag, that are apparently made for the night vision. so do the twins. sevika takes the flashlight, checks its battery with a tap of her palm. works.
you move in a line. twin-boy in front, then his sister, then you, sevika watching the rear.
the corridors tighten. the temperature drops again. dust floats in the air like snow. pipes run along the ceiling. you check every side door. most are sealed. some open to reveal broken desks, shattered bulbs, spilled tools. in one room you find an old firebox and a control panel half-lit. in another â something you think is a ventilation map. sevika studies it while chewing dried fruit like itâs jerky.
then you see the first snake. it slithers from behind a console. only about the length of your arm. quick. sharp scales. sevika steps forward and crushes its head with the heel of her boot.
you look at the twins. they look at each other.
âweird,â you say. what would a snake be doing in here?
more steps. more snakes. you find another. and another. before you say you should head back, it happens.
the metal grates beneath your feet rattle. you freeze. a low sound starts building, like whispering steam.
and then â a wave. a swarm of snakes floods the corridor from every direction. tiny ones, red-eyed, fast. not natural.
ârun,â someone screams.
you scatter. the hallways twist and split and you take turns blindly, dodging through narrow gaps and hopping over pipes. the air is full of hissing. you swing yat anything too close.
the boy twin stumbles. a snake latches onto his leg. he goes down. his sister screams. no â she runs back, tries to pull him up.
you stop running. your body wants to go back. but sevika grabs your wrist.Â
ânot now,â she growls.
you turn and the last thing you see is the girl dropping to her knees and swinging wildly with a blade as they swarm them both.
you donât look again and you keep running. when you finally stop, your lungs burn. your skin is marked with shallow cuts and dried blood. the snakes arenât following anymore. you collapse against a wall. sevika crouches near you, breath sharp.
âtheyâre gone,â you whisper.
âwe shouldâve taken their bags,â sevika says.
you look at her and she sighs.
âdonât give me that look. itâs awful. but itâs the games. you survive or you die. nothing in between,â
you say nothing because you know sheâs right.  and thatâs worse.
you find a hidden crawlspace near the end of the control core. small enough to feel safe. you both squeeze in. you rest in shifts, but neither of you actually sleeps. you sit back-to-back, watching the same crack in the wall.Â
at some point, sevika says, âthey reminded me of someone. the twins,â
she continues anyway. âwhen i was little, there was this pair in our street. always stealing apples. always climbing shit. i think about them sometimes,â
you shift, âi have a brother,â you say, âolder. wanted to volunteer for me. couldnât. he watched the reaping with his fists clenchedâ
âdid he say goodbye?â
you nod, âtold me to break their rules. and their teeth,â
sevika chuckles. a quiet, worn-out sound. âmaybe you will,â
âmaybe we both will, you say,â
and for the first time since the games started, you think maybe youâre not entirely alone.
then you both watch the faces of dead appear in the sky. itâs only 9 of you left. you and sevika, both tributes from 1, 2 and 3. and the boy from your district. the one you nicknamed the lost cause.
âi donât know how heâs doing it,â you say, furrowing. âheâs so unstable,âÂ
sevika shrugs, assuming that maybe it plays in his advantage.Â
âdo you think itâs been suspiciously easy or weâre just lucky?â you ask her and she raises an eyebrow to see if youâre serious. you are. sheâs confused, so you are to elaborate, âwell, i feel like thirst was the one thing that could actually kill me. there was some gas on my first day, but it wasnât poisonous. were you injured physically?â
âyes, when i was fighting with tributes from 5, but itâs not much,â you reply carelessly, because you almost forgot about those.
you agree when sevika says itâs time for new bandages, and when you unwrap the old one on your hand, you see that your wound has festered and wrinkle your nose. ugly. sevika doesnât look away but sighs. right, her mom was a healer.Â
âdid you even clean it?â she asks but doesnât bother with waiting for an answer and takes the antiseptic and bandages out of your bag.Â
you bite your lips, watching her hands work deftly. âdo you have any other wounds?â you nod and tell her about the one on your thigh. âtake it off,â sevika demands, talking about the bottom of your suit.Â
âarenât you gonna buy me a drink first?â you say resentfully but before she says something insulting you slide your bottoms down enough for her to get access to your thigh. itâs cold â thatâs all.
you both fall asleep. not intentionally and definitely not responsibly.
maybe itâs something about the warmth of someone nearby who doesnât want to slit your throat â at least not now.Â
but you two jump wide awake when you hear screaming. loud and coming at you.
your axe is already in your hands, just like sevikaâs blade in hers.Â
the careers. two from district 1, two from 2 and the last one from 3 â the so-called golden pack. tall, sculpted, polished like statues.Â
they werenât running at you, but from someone. or something. thatâs when you see them. two mutated tigers, striped in glitching patterns, like static crawling on their skin. their jaws stretch too far, and their claws spark on contact with stone. theyâre playing and their favourite game involves tearing someone apart.
you and Sevika exchange one glance. then itâs chaos.
the careers donât hesitate to turn on you â the girl from 1 nearly slices your cheek open, the boy from 2 screams something incomprehensible while flailing his blade.
you swing your axe. she ducks. sevikaâs elbow meets her nose. itâs a war on two fronts.
they pounce and crush the boy from 3 in a snap of spine and spray of red. another screams. the tigers chase him. sevika watches. calculating.
theyâre not attacking randomly. theyâre actually toying.
you slash at the girl from 1 again, landing a deep cut to her ribs. she backs off, wheezing. sevika moves behind her. and then grabs and throws her straight into a tigerâs open jaws. bones snap like twigs.
you almost freeze, but she doesnât. she grabs the next, taking them by surprise â the smaller tribute from 2 â and repeats it. the last tribute â girl from 2 â sees what sevikaâs doing.
she lunges with a roar and stabs her deep, right under her ribs.Â
sevika screams. you turn just in time to bury your axe in the girlâs neck. she goes down.
while tigers play with very dead tributes, you two run as fast as possible before mutts turn their attention to you. when it seems like theyâre not following, you finally let sevika sit and fall next to her.
your hands are already covered in blood. sheâs breathing, shallow and sharp.
âthat bitch,â she mutters.
âyouâre okay. youâre okay,â you lie.
nothing in your packs can help her and you know that next day you have to go and find the careersâ pack, maybe theyâll have something. you press her wound, trembling. her blood soaks into your palms.
âsleep,â you whisper.
the next day when sevika assures you sheâs fine â another lie â you quickly approach the area where your nap was interrupted yesterday. take all the food you see, which careersâve got enough, but nothing of the medicine. you sigh.
sevika doesnât even need you to tell her about that when you come back, your desperate eyes tell her everything. when she doesnât resist eating, you canât help but think that this might be her last meal.
about the first cow you ever helped deliver. about the time you and your brother painted axes with bright pink paint and your father got mad.
you keep talking until something heavy lands on your head. you look up, taking it into your hands.
a silver parachute. medicine.
your heart jumps, but you donât hesitate.
you pour the contents over her wound, hands shaking.
sevika flinches. then gasps. you try your best and she tries to talk you through it. you wrap her tight. close the gash. press your forehead against hers.Â
you did it. you saved her.
a sigh of relief and joy and happiness escapes your lips when comes the realisation. itâs only three of you left now. the boy from your district, you. and sevika.Â
thatâs when you hear the gamemakerâs voice that sounds almost amused. three tributes remain, they say. one final event. a gift for each of you, waiting in the heart of the arena. come claim it.
you and sevika donât speak. you just nod once, gear up, and walk.
itâs inevitable anyway. if you donât go to this feast now, they will still make you face each other, fight and die.Â
you walk through smoke and ruin, past twisted metal and the remains of places you used to hide. itâs almost poetic that the center is the gear â the giant rusted cog that once turned something important but now just rests in the earth like a jaw waiting to close.
you arrive first. heâs already there. the boy from your district.
he doesnât look like he used to. heâs thinner. twitchier. eyes wild, too wide. his shirt is stained with blood thatâs not his. he holds the knife like itâs part of him.
you open your mouth to say something, but he doesnât wait.
sevika moves first â throws you behind a pile of rubble and blocks his blade with hers. they crash against each other, metal biting metal, and heâs stronger than you remember.
not skilled. just unhinged.
you scramble up, your axe in your hands, heart pounding. you circle. he throws a punch at sevika and she stabs at his leg â he dodges, growling.
he drops from aevikaâs line of sight and charges at you. too fast. your axe swings wide. his knife is already in motion.
it sinks into your chest. not fully in the heart, which would be faster, but close. you stumble back and he gasps.
his eyes meet yours, and suddenly he drops his weapon. stumbles away from you like heâs waking from something.
âno,â he says. âno, no, no â i didnât meanâ i thoughtâ iââ he falls to his knees, his hands are shaking and he starts crying.
sevika catches you before you hit the ground.
her arms wrap around you roughly, one hand pressed hard over the wound.
âwhat the fuck did you do,â she hisses â not to him. to you âyou idiot. you stupid, reckless idiot,â  she repeats, over and over, âyou were supposed to win,â
you were supposed to win.
you canât breathe properly. your fingers tremble, âshut up, sev,â the only words you can squeeze out before you you lift your hand and cup her face, making her lean in. her face is all angles and fury and grief.
your lips barely touch. a breath. a tremor.
then stillness. youâre gone in her arms.
sevika doesnât cry. she lays you down gently, like something she carved with her own hands. then she stands. her gaze finds the boy still kneeling. he raises his eyes to her. and for a second, it looks like heâll say something.
he never gets the chance.
viewers are not sure if what happens next is vengeance or instinct. but when itâs over, thereâs only one name left to announce.
you will never know that sevika won the games. you died, thinking it, but youâll never know for sure.Â
you will never know that every month your family receives sevikaâs winnings.
you will never know that the only family sevika has left â her father â gets killed by the capitol three weeks after her win because she refused to play by capitolâs games.Â
and you will never know that when twenty years later a pink haired girl sparks a revolution, she helps adding the fuel to the fire with you in her mind.Â
