somerset cromwell was in love with the idea of a feline who left such a mark that ordinary things became forever laced with pain and memory, much like how a storm's name becomes apart of its legend. today was reaping day. starvation ran the sky, prompting many to enter for more tesserae. mer was never more lucky. the cromwells hailed from the richer side of district 12, and food never ran low.. except, that was all but a lie. perhaps the world ran on cats pretending they weren't doing anything wrong. rich, yes, but it was still a hard life. the dark-splattered tom raised his two siblings, rowdy winter and troublemaking sprig, as their mother didn't want anything to do with them. how unfair, somerset would tell himself, look at her reaping the rewards that /we/ sow. look at her burning the crops i tend to. look at her nailing the coffin to her own future. nevertheless, the cromwell family was seated to watch the reaping. somerset was planted next to his mother and his brother, hoping he wouldn't try and start a fight during the reaping. the eldest cromwell son wore a smile, but the warning glance in the fire of his eyes said everything. "winter," he said, his voice slowly crossing the line between a threat and a reminder. "please, may you stop looking at whoever you're looking at like that?" winter only grumbled, slumping in his seat. but he didn't dare argue. somerset paid no notice to the names who were reaped. they were not anyone he would miss. and in a couple of years, why, the rest of the twelve would likely forget about them. "somerset cromwell." a beat. then two. at first, somerset regarded it as some kind of sick, cruel joke. he knew a somerset cromwell, right? finally, it sunk in. for once, his heart hammered with fear. for once, he wanted to shun the world, shut it out and leave it for dead. regardless, somerset did the one thing he knew how to. plastering a charming smile, the tom had begun to walk up the stage, almost lazily. he did not care about the murmurs. "isn't that the cromwell boy?" they said. they always said something. no one dared to volunteer. why would they? they regarded him as yet another rich boy. his admirers were paralyzed with fear. they did not love him enough to sacrifice themselves for him. why would they? while he was walking, he was humming. a small, haunting melody left in the wake of his trail. force them to listen to the melody for years to come. they would not forget someone like him. his head was brought high, although his whiskers weighed down with fear. act. do what you must to survive. weave a lie so seamless, yet so entertaining, that the capitol would just have to ache for more. write yet another story he would never touch. if he was not to live, so be it. somerset would lurk in every alluring place, so one could never go back to them without feeling the clenching of their heart.. he had won. he had won. perhaps he would d!e in the process, but he already achieved what he so desperately needed to possess. a shot at being immortalized. he truly was lucky. here's to living forever. _____ woops this isn't proofread btw </3
