There was no kindness here; [Open]

Sooner or later, all kindness must come to an end. This, she consoled herself, was a universal truth at least. Even the most philantrophic person in the Capitol would be forced to acknowledge the limitations of how much altruism can be accorded to a person at any one time. So, the day they told her that her name was to be entered in the reaping and that she would have to attend the ceremony like all the other kids, she resigned herself quietly to her fate, and listened to first her mother, then her father, then her sister - all telling her that no, she was forbidden to take any tesserae, that she was only 12 and had one of the lowest chances to be picked anyway, and that if she was somehow reaped out of a stroke of very bad luck, her sister would gladly volunteer for her (because there was no other choice). Lylia refused the last point obstinately, though, and they'd had a minor shouting match about it in the kitchen.

At the end of it, she found herself back out in the wooded area behind her house, barefoot as usual, feeling the gentle crunch of freshly-fallen leaves under her toes as she navigated the maze of trees under the faint yellowish glow of moonlight- silent, unassuming, but very much alert, exactly like the creature of the night she was.

Have her sister volunteer? They had to be kidding. Yeah, she knew it was out of familial love, and who in District 11 could be blinded to how painful it must have been to watch the people you love being unwillingly chosen for the honour of what was essentially a deathmatch? But to have someone you love volunteer in your place, also out of love - sometimes, just sometimes, too much love can kill. How could she be expected to lead the rest of her days with the weight of someone else's life on her shoulders, if it came down to that?

"But you'd die!" her mother had yelled, her voice hitched and raw from the tears she had probably given up on holding back by then.

"The Gamemakers wouldn't let me," she had said a little too bravely. "Not the minute I appear on the platform. They're here to give us a show, aren't they? What better show than to play out to the audience's emotions? What better show than to stage a situation where the little ghost girl of District 11, whose body literally melts under the sunlight, fights for her survival when all the odds are against her?" She swallowed and pushed a stray strand of silver hair behind her ear. "The Capitolites love underdogs," she continued. There was just that edge of defiance in her slightly tremulous voice, that, if she tried hard enough, she might be able to keep for just a while longer. "And I'll make sure they like me. If I get reaped, I won't go down without a fight."

Because that was what she had been doing all this while, hadn't she? Fighting for herself, her dignity, her very existence. Not much of that existed in the daytime, because she had no way of showing herself while the sun shone and the songbirds chirped. At night, though - the stars and the moon and the beautiful night sky was her sanctuary. Her fight was right here.

She slowed to a halt by a particularly gnarled tree, laying her left hand gently on the bark, touching it, letting the sensation of her skin connecting with a being much older and wiser than hers envelope her and her thoughts.

With her name in the reaping now, her chances of living have been significantly reduced than what little they already had been. Her rare condition gave her almost no hope of stepping out of the protective confines of her house in the daytime, because of the way her skin sizzled from the UV rays if she even dared to try. As a child, her parents protected her from the sun, making special arrangements with the teachers and bribing the Peacekeepers, just so she could attend night classes without incurring the risk of third-degree burns each time. The reaping, however, was completely out of their hands. Because, while the District understood her predicament, to the Capitol, she was yet another reason why the Hunger Games stood for all that it did. To show that nobody, not even the infirm and unlucky, would be spared.

As if in slow motion, the girl slid down to her knees, lowering herself onto the ground until she was flat on her back, staring at the stars.

There was no kindness here.
---

The morning of the reaping had dawned far too soon for almost all of District 11. While everyone else traipsed to the square, that forsaken place where two children were condemned to almost certain death each year, a pair of shimmering blue eyes stayed glued to a TV set from within the Justice Building. A special arrangement. The authorities' official line was that it would save them the time and trouble of having to treat her burns, should she be chosen as tribute and having to be presented at the Capitol almost immediately. The truth was, Lylia supposed the Peacekeepers had decided that it would not do to have the Capitol's attention being drawn to a girl buried head to toe in sacks. It could undermine District 11's credibility in the games, turn potential sponsors against the district, and perhaps, even, make them the laughing stock of Panem. They had probably wanted to play up the pathos of the girl who had the odds against her, but only if she had been reaped as Tribute. Until then, they wanted to keep the ghost girl under wraps. To make it seem as though although everything in the authorities' power had been done to help her, the albino girl really did have the odds against her, something nobody could have changed. There was no kindness here.

Her parents had been instructed to bring her in the night before, leaving her in the care of two unsmiling Peacekeepers stationed in the building. Upon arrival, she had been told to sleep on the sofa, with only a thin straggly blanket for company and the TV in the corner of the room. It took only several seconds before they locked her in. She spent the night alternating between wondering if they would lead her out of the room into the sunlight anyway if her name was pulled from the glass ball, and pretending to be back in the woods, running away from it all.

Now, she sat on the sofa, hugging her knees with the blanket pulled up to her chin, quietly watching the faces of the children carefully as her own pale complexion appeared more pallid than usual. The children milling about the square bore an uncanny resemblance to sacrificial lambs being herded into a pen. Somewhere in there, just out of the range of the camera's viewfinder, was her sixteen-year-old sister. Lyra Skyler, normal and healthy Lyra Skyler, who now had a far greater chance of being reaped than her. She crossed her fingers, prayed silently for Lyra's safety, and then realised that she should be worrying more for her own.

---
And so, her first reaping came to pass faster than she had anticipated. Whatever little she could remember of the previous day, physical memories that is, comprised the following: the district escort had stepped up, a video was played, the names were called out, an awkward hush followed before the citizens were instructed to clap, and just like that, the moment had passed, the nerves subsided. All that in a little over an hour.

She racked her chest for an inkling of what she remembered feeling in the immediate aftermath of that day, finally hitting on guilt mixed with relief. Relief, because they had been spared another year, and guilt, because that happiness came at the expense of someone else. She reckoned everyone in the district felt the same way. Everyone else, that is, except the families of those who had been called. Their names were Muncie and Hayes...none of whom she knew, but who would have been led past the same corridor that held her locked door then, being led to the rooms in which they could bid farewell to their loved ones, one last time. So close in proximity, yet so different in fate...

Lylia turned over onto her side, letting the damp soak into a new part of her white, nondescript dress, as the thumb and forefinger of her left hand idly fingered the nearest stalk of grass. A bunch of berries and some edible herbs lay in a neat pile next to her, the result of that night's pickings. There were only a few hours left to dawn, which was when she had to remove all traces of her having been in the woods and disappear.

And that was when it hit her: it wasn't just guilt and relief she felt that day. There was also the slightest hint of disappointment.

Because deep down, she knew that had she been reaped that day, at the very least, Lylia Skyler would have existed a little bit more. If only for a little while.