Chapter Text
Chrysalis froze as she heard the name.
“Jet Moore!” The smiling lady atop the stage said. Her voice was cheery, much more than it should have been for announcing the name for the male child being sent to his death this year. There was a pause in the crowd and short wait for volunteers began.
There was no point in waiting though, as there were no male volunteers that year. Jet slowly slipped out from his place among the 12 to 14 year olds and walked toward the stage. He reached the stairs and climbed up them to reach the smiling woman, standing beside her and the scowling female tribute.
“Our District 4 tributes everyone! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.” She smiled as she raised the arms of both the child and the teenager. She smiled. She smiled.
—
Chrysalis practically threw herself at Jet when the peacemakers let their family into the room. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him as hard as the smiling lady had squeezed her heart when she read her brother’s name. She felt droplets of water fall onto her shoulder and felt her own droplets fall from her eyes. I love you. She tried to say through her arms. She didn’t think she could talk right now.
Eventually she released him, and he bade tearful goodbyes to the rest of their family. As the peacemakers came to take them away, she took off one of her bracelets, her very favorite one, and gave it to him.
“For keeping.” Chrysalis said, closing it into his hand. “Until you get back.”
“I love you Chrys.”
“I love you too.”
—
She could hear every sound. The flesh caving in on itself and pulling apart as he was carved into, the slashing of the knife against his throat, the scraping of his skin as he slid from standing to sitting against the tree. But most of all she could hear the burbling of the blood coming out of his lips. That burble meant her brother, her only brother, was losing his life. Her brother was being murdered, and Chrysalis was watching it along with her family and the millions of other Panem citizens on. Live. Television.
She watched the blood foam, pooling in his mouth and dribbling down his chin. She watched it stain his grey-blue tunic. She watched as the life drain from his eyes, she watched the life drain from her own eyes because they had the same eyes.
She watched as her older brother passed on.
He was only 12. She was only 12.
She misses him.
— 2 years later —
Chrysalis opened her eyes to damp sunshine and her own empty bed. She was clutching a pillow between her arms and she released it as she sat up. The crashing waves from the beach beside victors village invaded her brain, smothering most of the lingering thoughts from her nightmare. She stood, and smoothed the covers. She replaced the pillow. She folded the quilt that had fallen off during her restless sleep and put it at the end of the bed.
She kept his old place of rest tidy, more so than she ever cared to do for her own half of the room. It was the least she could do.
Chrysalis opened the door and closed it behind her as she exited. Knocking on her younger sister’s door to wake them up, she descended the stairs to the kitchen. Her mom was making sweet rolls, she could tell from the smell.
“Good morning Chrysie.” Her mother smiled gently and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Chrysalis smiled up at her, even if her statement was incorrect. Because her name wasn’t Chrysie, and also because it wasn’t a good morning. Far from it. It was reaping day.
Chrysalis sat at the table with Hydra and Marjory, her older sisters, and their father, engaging in meaningless conversation as they waited for the two youngest of the family to come down. When they did their mother served the rolls and ate with them.
It was silent other then the sounds of eating. Fortunately, Hydra had aged out of the Games, but it still was Marjory’s last Game, and Chrysalis still had a bit more to go herself. It was Zailor and Juliette’s first. Consequently, even they couldn’t bring themselves to chatter about.
Chrysalis stood once she finished, thanked her mother for it, and went upstairs to get ready. Her sisters followed suit at some point or another.
Chrysalis put on her dress, pinned her hair behind her ears, and began putting on her jewelry. A Pearl stud in each ear, two of her nicest bracelets, and the bracelet made of braided twine.
Jet made her that. She had watched his nimble fingers twist the twine this way and that way. He had attached a blue clay bead to it. It was a rectangle with an indented X through the middle. She loved that bracelet with all her heart, even if she had thought it ugly at first.
—
“That looks terrible.” Zailor said. Chrysalis saw her watching Juliette through the mirror. Juliette had attempted to braid her own hair. It didn’t work as well as she thought it would’ve. Juliette frowned. Hydra fixed it without her needing to ask, ignoring the little protests from her youngest sister.
This was the routine on reaping day. Wake up, eat what may be your last breakfast with the family, get dressed, and do your hair and makeup with your sisters. It was actually nice, or would’ve been if the event was different. They didn’t spend as much time together as they probably should’ve. Hydra and Marjory spent some time together, and Zailor and Juliette spent much more time together, but it was rare that all of them, all of the Moore sisters, were together. Even rarer for the mood to be light.
Marjory brushed Chrysalis’s hair, untangling the curls in order to pin it back more effectively. She braided two side pieces, joining them in the middle behind her head. Chrysalis thanked her and Marjory just smiled before going back to her own hair.
They allowed their younger siblings small luxuries on sad days like these.
—
Chrysalis held her breath as the needle entered her skin and as the peacemaker brought it down on the paper. She released her hand and Chrysalis quickly moved past the station to her assigned area, 12 to 14. She held her arms close to her body, weaving through the teenage girls to find her spot.
“Chrys! Get over here!”
Oh! There she was. Chrysalis pushed to the back of the row, to the rope sectioning off the 14 year olds from the 15 year olds. Both Anthea and Islander were already there. Chrysalis smiled at the sight of Anthea, and held her hand out to lock fingers with her.
“How was your morning?” Chrysalis asked. They both reported uneventful. Anthea asked her and she replied with the same. They talked for a moment, pleasantries mostly, for there were other people around and they didn’t like truly talking around their peers. Although, Islander did tell a story about a rather unusual market trip. It wasn’t cards or swimming, but it was interesting enough.
There was a tapping on the microphone as the same smiling lady, Chrysalis still never bothered to learn her name, began her yearly speech. The scattered talking throughout the crowd quickly ceased, and the national anthem began to play.
Chrysalis mumbled her way through it.
The smiling woman eventually began speaking again, and as she walked over to the large fishbowl on the girls side of the stage, Chrysalis tightened her grip on Anthea’s hand, pulling it to her chest, and reached over to Islander to link their littlest fingers.
She reached into the bowl. Her gloved fingers danced about the bowl like a shark searching for prey using a trail of blood.
Chrysalis held her breath. She heard Anthea’s breathing hitch in dreaded anticipation. Islander slightly curled in on herself.
She finally chose a slip of paper, and drew it out of the bowl.
She unfolded it,
And unfolded it,
And unfolded it.
“Chrysalis Moore!” She said.
Anthea let out a gasp, and Chrysalis could feel her blood running cold beneath her skin. Islanders eyes drifted over to look at her friend, filled with horror.
And once again, Chrysalis froze as she heard the name.