A/N: I got 10 votes out of 14 for this to go ahead, and 4 more maybes. So, here it is: An Epilogue.

Can YOU work out who the victor is?


Panem, 50 years after 250th Games

The Lady is in her sixties, but looks older. Life had been tough, what with winning the 250th games and mentoring fifty pairs of unsuccessful tributes after that.

Her district never wins any more.

She wishes she never had done.

Sea-green eyes stare back at her as the stylist ties up the now-grey hair into an elegant bun. She used to be the pride of her district, with her fiery eyes and flowing hair.

Not any more.

Now people would look down as she passed, so as not to meet her eye; salesmen would skip her house, so as not to talk to her.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

No, the worst was the children. The children who admire her, who look up to her and say 'I want to bring pride to my district, some day.' And their mothers…

Oh, the mothers.

She can still remember the face of every single mother of one of her tributes when she would take their child to the capitol, then return without them. Just as she remembers the faces of every family of dead tributes on the victory tour for her games – families of people she has killed.

No matter how hard she tries, how much she drinks, how many injections she has, something like that just won't go away.

It's strange; she can't remember if she had tea last night, but she can remember the deaths of every tribute that she has mentored, ever.

A woman arrives, telling her that everyone's here, that it's time for her to go onstage now.

As she sits down, she surveys the crowd; the scared parents and siblings at the back, hoping for family members' lives; the first-timers at the front, fiddling with posh clothes that only come out once a year; the tall, muscular ones, getting ready to go.

She didn't notice that the mayor had finished reading some boring document until the escort for her district steps up.

It's the same lady as always, with her big, puffy dresses and clashing eyeliner.

Her painted nails dangle over the second of the glass bowls, then selects a slip of paper, elegantly. As she is so close to her, she has an urge to push her into the thing.

But she doesn't.

The name doesn't ring any bells, but that doesn't matter; a volunteer steps up immediately.

And their name does ring bells.

Big, flashing warning bells.

It's Pisces Ruller Jr.

THE END


A/N: It's official: this story is finished. Did you work out who won? You had to be concentrating all the way through the story... ;)

I still have some places left in my new SYOT, see my profile for more on that, 'cause I will update that as soon as I get a new reservation.

Well, it was nice knowing you all, and I hope to see you soon!

May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favour! ;)