gregor mcgregor | d2 | cbd 1/3

gregor mcgregor
district two
seventeen

You had dreams bigger than your father's garden, Warrior. The boughs and branches were a refuge from the granite sprawl of District Two, but laurels were the only flowers you'd ever dreamed of. You yearned for skyscrapers and maglev trains, for any station higher than the peaceful life your old man carved out for himself.

So many would kill to have worries no greater than rabbits, but you found the idyllic too idle.

Your mother understood better. When she caught you fat-lipped and black-eyed, she only asked if you'd won. She held the hope that you would follow in her footsteps, or in your father's: keep peace in Panem, settle down back in Two once all was said and done. You'd nod, eyes on the space above her shoulder. No one ever called you peacemaker, after all; you were a warrior to the bone.

It would always be your burden to see a crown of thorns as better than no crown at all.