chrysanthemum miristioma-rhodes || district eleven || fin

Once, a long time ago, there were two large families of the eleventh district in Panem that would find their destinies intertwined through the most trying and tragic of circumstances. After a long period of drought when it came to successes in the Hunger Games, these families and the district they lived in had largely come to expect that any who found themselves unlucky enough to frequent the arena in their district's name would leave not with their lives, but in a large, wooden casket instead.

But then the miracle woman had emerged. Katelyn Persimmon had bucked her district's reputation and emerged victorious from an arena that had seemed specifically designed to drag tributes from their warm, temperate home down. And through her victory, the families found themselves further intertwined in the following years, as first a scion of one, and then the other were likewise granted not death but salvation with their trials through their respective arenas.

But for one pair, the bond was greater than any could have expected. For them, the bond formed in the onset of the second of these three great miracles, before fates would turn around and hope would ignite in a clean orange flame. No, this was back before the scion of the first family would emerge as the king of the scrap heap, back when his death was thought to be a foregone conclusion. The families would be joined together in a grief shared by a select few, of those who had lost a family member to the mercy of the Games.

But then he came home, and the bond that would otherwise be formed due to grief came from celebration, instead. And as the celebration commenced, the bond deepened, and through mirth came love, and then a bundle of joy came soon after.

The families found themselves united in victory the following year. And then once again in grief as two years in succession found a soul claimed in penance for each who had escaped the guillotine of the Capitol's justice. By this point, there was little fear to themselves - only a worry for those they had left behind in the reaping age conundrum.

But time passed, and as the years passed by you grew up with them. Though it would become clear that you'd take after your mother in many ways, from the physical appearance right down to her gift in healing and plant-based remedies, it was your father that shown through in your personality and kind, easy-going nature. A product of love, a union of Miristioma and Rhodes, you may not have had the easiest life growing up, but never did you suffer.

At least, not in the ways of monetary value. As one who held the unique position as a living, breathing branch of both families, every action and emotion brought on by your ties was doubled. Double the love, double the kindness, yes, but double the pain and double the heartbreak as well. A boy as empathetic towards others like you did not see the pain etched into faces, did not see the kids who had died before you had ever been capable of conscious thought as bygone memories of the past but as very real people who had, ever so slightly, left their mark on your form.

And for years, it was just the echo of such pain. After the miracles and murders of the early 70s, it seemed like a respite would at last be gained from the masses. But then you turned ten, and the pain returned anew. First with Faux, and then Asari a few years later. Pain tore open half-healed wounds, carved over scars a decade old, and you felt each and every ounce of it.

So you'd strike out, work twice as hard. Pain was your nemesis as a healer. It was your duty, your calling, your destiny. You'd learn, and grow, and gain your knowledge to alleviate as much pain from your family and indeed the world as well as you possibly could.

It would hurt and tax you to take on such a massive burden all on your own. But it'd hurt more if you simply left it be. And you couldn't let that happen - that wasn't in your nature, nor your nurture.

So you'd go ahead and do it anyway.