We will fight. We will kill. We will conquer. (The Hunger Games)

"KATTIE! KATTIE! YOUR CUCUMBER SOUP IS READY!" The petite voice of Madame Pomfrey called.

Kateryna groaned and rubbed her sleepy eyes. Bright daylight was streaming through the windows, dappled by olive green blinds. The whole of Kateryna's room came to focus. Green, green, green. What was up with Kateryna's obsession with green, of all colors? Even Kateryna did not know herself.

The girl, barely 15, stretched and kicked off the silky covers of her bed. As she padded her long, flexible feet upon her green rug a soft growl came from the corner.

"Why, good morning, Moerta." Kateryna smiled sweetly at her pet fox, a hybrid pet animal that went by the breed name of "waterfox," or "irrogofaux."

"I wonder what today will bring..."

Kateryna, as if on wings, gracefully hovered over to her calendar (again green-themed) which hung near her mirror. Her long, thin finger settled placidly upon a large square set before an extremely accented and decorated square (which had been decorated by the calendar company who had deemed it applying so).

The day before the Reaping. Kat thought, a frown growing on her elfin face as her glance slid over to the decorated square, which declared mightily so "THE REAPING," in capitals, yours truly. Kat hated the Hunger Games. She had to watch it--everybody was required to watch the horrifying events of the Games.

Sadistic. Barbaric. Completely inconsequential. Irritating. Infuriating. Kat could call the Games anything and everything horrible. But shouldn't Kat be happy, happy that she didn't have to compete in those horrible things, happy that she didn't have to apply for tessarae? She wasn't.

She would be glad to run away, pretend to be another District, and be chosen to participate in the Games to fight for all those who have died. But she knew her efforts would be strained. The Capitol would probably find her. They would probably cut her tongue out. Kill her. Imprison her. Neither end would be happy. At least, if she was killed in the Hunger Games, she'd die in defiance, courage, and determination. But to die by the Capitol's hand... there would be nothing left but fear and coldness.

Kat slunk down to the floor. Moerta, her waterfox, trudged its way to Kat's lap and curled up there, licking her white paws. Kat's hands began to run down the smooth coat of Moërta.

"KATTIE!" Madam Pomfrey called once more.

Kateryna sighed. There was no neglecting her homely, plump maid that had pampered and cared for Kat as long as she could remember... maybe she had pampered her too much. Nevertheless, Kat stood up and Moerta jumped out of her lap. She then ran down the stairs, making her unhappy and unsatisfied way to the kitchen.