The Selection by Kierra Cass is honestly an amazing story. If you haven't read it, I recommend you do as soon as you can. The world is quite interesting, as are the characters. I found myself falling in love with Maxon, just as much as I fell for Peeta. In fact, the reason I love the two of them so much is because of the many similarities I seem to find in the two of them. I saw certain similarities between the main character, America (yes, that's her name), and Katniss as well.

The reason I chose to write this story is because I always seemed to find myself replacing characters like Maxon and America, and finding Peeta and Katniss in their place. I decided to finally turn my imagination into a reality, or the closest thing I could get to reality. I wrote it. Of course, only the main concept is going to be the same. I've simply just changed the characters, the Castes are now the Districts, and it is no longer the country of Illea but of Panem. Also, instead of 35 girls going to the palace in Illea, there are 26 going to the palace in The Capitol.

You won't need to have read The Selection for this to be understandable, but if you haven't, I definitely recommend it. For those of you who have read it, you'll maybe recognize the 'tugging of the ear' if you understand where I'm coming from.

I do not own Katniss and Peeta, or any of the other characters and the world of Panem, sadly. They belong to Suzanne Collins, I am simply just borrowing them. (Fangirl reference anyone?)

Loosely based off of one of my favourite books, The Selection, by the

Amazingly talented, Kierra Cass.

Once upon a time, in a beautiful country known as Panem, there was a prince.

He was handsome and charming. His golden curls fell like a mop upon his head, and his blue eyes were as bright as the sun. Every girl in the country held a spot in their hearts for the prince with the golden hair. All of them hoping he'd fall madly in love with them. But of course, there would only be one.

And there already was one.

She lived by the castle, originally coming from one of the poorest districts in Panem, District 12. Every morning, she would seem to flutter into the castle like a beautiful butterfly. Her hopes higher than the sky, her heart brighter than his eyes.

That's when he decided to call her his Butterfly. For she was delicate and beautiful, yet strong and curious.

It didn't take long for him to fall madly in love with her. He'd walk through the basement of the castle every day, simply just to catch the smallest glimpse of her. And he would. He'd catch her humming a tune he'd never heard before as she healed the injured guards or sick maids. He'd hear her laugh along with the other healers in the castle.

Eventually, when he had fallen off of a sprinting horse and broke his right leg, he was brought to her, to his Butterfly. The prince had never heard her speak before, just her gorgeous laugh and the humming of her voice. But he swears when he had finally heard her speak, there was a melody playing far off in the background, making her voice seem like a song. And it would happen every time she spoke. A constant lovely melody filling his ears.

And he remembers when she had touched his leg, a simple warm hand gently upon his skin, he thought it had already healed. One night, she had stayed with him in his room working a night shift, when he saw her sleeping, her blonde curls sprawled onto the couch, her porcelain skin shining in the moonlight which sunk in by the open window.

She had insisted on staying with him, in case he had pain during nighttime, she would help him. And he remembers her persistence, her loving heart making its way into her words. And that's when her knew, he was officially a goner.

He remembers staying with her another night, the two of them sitting on the couch by the open door which led to the balcony, her eyes an even brighter blue than his. He had kissed her, and she had kissed him as well. A spark of energy few into his veins, his heart vibrant. And he had told her how he felt, not caring whether or not she would say it back.

And she didn't. She never did.

The next day, The Selection was announced, the tradition each eldest prince would have to endure. The tradition he wasn't looking forward to. The Selection was told to be a wonderful event, one filled with love and honour. There would be two girls from each District, and the Capitol of course, coming to the palace, simply for him. He would get to know the lovely girls, and in the end, he would have to power to choose who wold be his bride, and the future queen of Panem.

The prince had argued, explaining how he didn't want any other girl considering he already found the one he wanted to marry. But his father denied his sons heart, and told him that marrying a girl from the poorest District would be a disgrace to the kingdom.

"The only reason I'm including District 12 in this event is because The Selection is a tradition I didn't invent, and can't change. I would seem awfully rude and maybe even evil if I took them out of it," the king slurred, his wife nodding in agreement. "I can't afford Panem thinking of me as unfair. It would ruin our reputation, and could maybe even cause a rebellion at the sudden change."

"Well, God forbid the people of Panem see you for who you truly are, Father," the prince had said sternly, and walked out of the room before the king could've said another word. He wanted to run, run away with her, and leave the castle. He had two younger brothers, surely one of them could take his place.

He had made his way to the basement, wanting to tell her his plan, but instead of entering the room and finding her calming presence, he found emptiness and sorrow, the same feeling the castle occupied before she had arrived.

He knew something was wrong, and he head out to find her. The prince searched the entire basement, running into every room. Finally, he had run into one of her best friends.

"Where is she?" He had asked frantically, his eyes seeming to lose its brightness in the dim basement, where no light would ever come through. Her friend was shocked, not expecting his question. No one thought he would care, wasn't he supposed to have his Selection?

"She left," the friend explained softly, a hand pressed onto his shoulder. But he felt nothing. No softness, no warmth. For it was only her who could give him that. "She's going back to 12."

"But… Why?" The prince didn't recognize his own voice, chocked up on words. He had never chocked on words before, princes weren't supposed to choke on their words. But he couldn't help it, she had that effect on him.

"Didn't you know this wasn't permanent," she stated in confusion. "This was only practice for her healing back in 12."

"But I'm sure if I ask for her to come back, she will, right? I mean, she'd much rather be here than in 12," he said, and closed his mouth tightly after he spat out the last words as though they burnt his tongue. He did not want to be his father. He would always be fair, to everyone.

"I'm not quite sure," she said softly, confusion making its way upon the princes face. "She spoke about a boy. A boy who, when he sang, the birds seemed to stop and listen."

There was a pause.

And then a sound.

The sound of emptiness, the sound of hollowness.

And then, the prince heard his heart shatter.

The shards of a broken heart seeming to cut the veins in which worked his function, considering he could no longer seem to move, to speak. And he was positive that his heart would never be able to love anyone else like he loved her.

Although a broken heart was on his mind, 26 girls came to the palace for The Selection, for him. None of them being the girl he wished could've entered. And he had tried to love, tried to force himself to love them.

But you weren't supposed to force yourself to love someone, you could try. Try and make a stronger relationship, but never could you fool your heart into doing something it didn't accept doing.

So he decided not to choose based upon love, but who would make a better queen.

There was a perfect candidate for queen. She was nothing like the girl. She seemed to hold no love for anything else but Panem, her eyes always stern. Her beauty was not elegant, not obvious, but she seemed graceful. Her hazel eyes held pride, as did her heart. And her hair was golden as well, but never would it dance down on her back like his Butterflies hair always would.

Although she didn't seem to love him very much either, she looked devoted to getting the crown, not him. And that's what he wanted.

Finally, he had chosen her, the country was proud and delighted with the choice from District 2. She was in love with her country, and she was in love with her crown. The king was proud of his son, as was the queen, and together, they gratefully handed their positions to them.

Four years later, the selected, or now, the queen, was still in love with her position, more than anything. And the prince, now the king, was still heartbroken over a girl he could never have.

Finally, she had gotten pregnant, as the wishes of the country. The king was thrilled, but the queen was still more occupied in her fame than her child. He remembers trying to get her to be happy, to explain how this was their child, their baby. But truly, they were only failed attempts to get himself to find something in her heart he could fall for. He remembers she had just nodded solemnly, and changed the subject.

That's when he knew, he could never love her. He couldn't even make his heart desire her love anymore.

When it was time for her to give birth, he remembers her not bothered about the pain, but wondering whether or not their child would be a good ruler for the country. The king had insisted on having the gender a surprise, despite her attempts of wanting to know, so she could be prepared. But he had won this argument.

And the baby was born.

A boy.

He had a head of blonde curls, and was the tinniest baby the king had ever seen.

But this wasn't just any baby, this was his baby.

When they told the queen it was a boy, she smiled brightly, the king surprised. But his shock had vanished once she had said that she was glad it was a boy so she didn't have to have another child, or wait until she gets a boy who could finally rule the country.

When the king was handed his son, his eyes became watery, the brightness in his eyes becoming stronger. And for the first time, he felt a few pieces of his heart glue themselves back together.

Although he ached for this baby to be her baby as well, it wasn't. The king held his son as though he was holding something much more than a baby, much more than a prince.

He was holding life, he was holding love.

Slowly, he wanted to hand the queen her son, but she denied it, explaining she needed rest so she could get back to work as soon as possible. She even denied naming him, explaining how she would let the king do so.

That night, the kind sat on a rocking chair in his son's bedroom, humming the tune the girl would always hum to him softly. He wanted to sing, but every time he would try, he wished the birds would stop and listen.

But they didn't. Besides, it was night, what bird would be awake at this time?

As he stared down upon his son, whose eyes were blue and bright. Even brighter than his father's. Bright with innocence, without any heartbreak. The world could not touch him yet, for all babies were the same. Babies held a power all adults wish they could have. The power of being unbreakable, untouchable.

Unfortunately, his son would never get to remember his young years of being untouchable. Maybe that's what made him untouchable.

Not remembering.

The king looked down upon the prince, a smile forming upon the king's lips, and the baby's as well. Or the closest thing a baby can get to a smile. As the king noticed the resemblance between him and his son, his son whose entire hand grasped onto his finger, he made him a promise.

"I promise," The king began in a soothing voice. "I promise you, when you fall in love with someone, when you love that person as much as I loved her, you will get to marry them. You will have to power to marry for love. I will not let you have it any other way, even if I die doing so. I promise."

The king looked at his son's soft features, his blue eyes looking up at the king as though he were the most amazing thing in the world, his lips tugging up loosely. The king managed a small chuckle at his son's love.

Gently, the king pressed a kiss onto his forehead.

"I love you, Peeta," he said softly. "And so will someone else."

And then the king looked out the window, and there, on the branch of a tall tree, sat a mockingjay.

Butterflies and Mockingjays

There was no use in ignoring it when I knew it was going to happen sooner or later. I knew that the question was held tightly in the back of her lips, and that soon, it would make its way out of her mouth, and into the air. I know she didn't want to ask, and I know that she knows I don't want her to ask, but we both know that she's going to have to ask. And I'm going to have to agree.

Although the question wasn't asked yet, I knew it was coming, and I tried to prepare myself for it. But it seemed impossible to prepare myself for this, despite the fact I knew this would be coming for months. The media wouldn't stop booming about it since the prince had finally turned 17, and the question became harder to escape every day, considering everyday they would speak about it more than the previous day.

And eventually, it became inevitable. The girls at school would blabber about it continuously, the girls at work, and the closer to the event we got, the more people would begin to speak about it. The boys began talking about it as well, a fear that the girl they planned on marrying would be selected, that they would end up alone.

Due to the lack of money and food in our district, we marry early, businesses rising stronger when two children from different backgrounds marry. I know a girl in my class had married two weeks ago, she was the daughter of the butcher, and she married the baker's son. Because of the merge, business grew wider for now pastries could be filled with delicious meat, the perfect meal.

Despite the teenager's hopes, it's always the parents who chose who they would marry. This practice was much more popular with the Merchants rather than here, in the Seam. Obviously, most of the time, parents would make their children marry the children of a friend who owned a strong business. It always worked that way.

Rarely would anyone marry for love in District 12. Rarely would anyone marry for love in Panem, actually. Love was a rare experience which was strongest upon families. Mother's, father's, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles were really the only lasting love you get. Of course, that is unless they die.

The mines are not safe, in fact they're everything but safe. And because of lack of safety the Capitol provides us, the mines collapsing were something that happened very often. And of course, people die. People from the Seam, they die. Not the merchants, for they own simple businesses in town. They were much safer than we were.

They were the lucky ones. We were stuck with the uncertainty of death, not enough food, and barely any shelter. It was an unfair deal that we had been granted, and it was something I had to live with.

"Katniss," Mom says softly, and I suddenly stop drying the dishes, knowing what was coming. "I think you know what I'm going to ask." I feel my heart beating faster, the blood pumping throughout my veins instead of flowing effortlessly.

"I do," I state dryly, not knowing what else to say. I never really knew what else to say. I found myself often caught on an overlapping lapse of thought which couldn't escape through my mouth. It was though I knew what I wanted to say, but I just couldn't.

"Katniss I hate to have to ask you," she says reluctantly, beginning to choke up softly. I know she never wanted to have to count on her oldest for something so important before, that she and Dad could've handled it well on their own. "I never thought I would have to."

I turn to face her, placing the plate softly on the counter. She stopped folding the laundry, yet she clutched onto the shirt tightly. Her eyes are rimmed with red and I know why. I know that she would never force me into a marriage.

My father and mother had always told me, ever since I was young, that I would have to freedom to marry whoever I wanted, out of love. They wouldn't force me into a marriage with someone I didn't know. Someone I didn't love. And now, she feels as though she is.

The reason they wanted me to choose upon love instead of business, instead of money, was because of them. My mother was one of the lucky ones who got to choose who she wanted to marry. Originally, when her parents had shipped her off to the castle for better knowledge on healing, they had high hopes the prince would fall for her.

Apparently, every boy in the district already had. They had gotten countless offers for marriage, but her parents held onto them, and waited for her return. Even though they knew the Selection was arriving, they still held their head high, knowing that he would most likely fall for her if he saw her.

I was told my mother had a certain effect on people, an effect every girl wishes she could have. Although every girl desired it, no one really knew what it truly was. Was it only her beauty? Was it her beauty and her kindness? Was it her warmth and softness? No one knew, but none the less, it was wanted.

I remember my mother told me that when she came back from the castle, her parents were let down that she hadn't charmed the prince. But she became a better healer, which was deeply needed in twelve. And her parents, who owned a small clothing shop, were ready to let her marry the head Peacekeepers son.

But she denied the offer. Her parents were shocked, and they wanted so much to convince her into marrying him. To force her. But there was no use, she was already at The Seam the next day, my father waiting for her by the door, a smile upon his face.

My father always told me he was hated having to bring my mother into poverty like his; that he had to bring her in his awful world of death and sorrow. But my mother would always answer with the same words. "But there is love."

"Mom," I begin, the thought in my head slowly untangling itself from a large knot of words I couldn't seem to comprehend through my mouth. "It's alright. Just say it." Although I know what she's going to say, I need to hear it. Or else, it still won't feel real.

"Katniss," she begins, placing the shirt on the couch, making her way forward to me. Gently, her warm hand slides into mine, and a soft smile forms on her lips. "We don't have much money. We don't have much in general. So Katniss, I was wondering if you wanted to sign yourself up for the Selection. To help us"

And when she finished, I felt reality crash into me at full speed. I knew I couldn't say no, although I wanted to. Although I felt I should. I knew that this was what I had to do, for my family.

Even though there were about a few hundreds of girls aged between fifteen and seventeen in twelve, and even though my chances were low, I would sign up anyway. Being chosen for The Selection would mean money would come in from the palace every week for my family. Although in the Capitol it didn't seem like much, to us it was a fortune.

"I'll do it." Hearing those words escape my mouth felt like they didn't belong to me at all. Like they belonged to one of the Merchant girls who thought they were madly in love with Prince Peeta, even if they didn't know him.

I never understood how they could be so positive that he was the one, yet they didn't know him at all. They just thought they knew him, from interviews and magazines. They based him off the countless interviews he had and the stereotype that he was a prince. And because he was a prince, he must be charming, and kind and amazing.

I hated girls like that. What if he was rude, and cruel? What if that was all just an act and he was a snob like they always are. But maybe that was a stereotype of our own, here in The Seam.

My mother had met the king when she had been shipped off to the palace for training. She says the only reason she got in was because of her kind reputation, and high grades in school. My father used to think otherwise. He said it was because King Graham had seen a picture of her, and he thought she was so beautiful, he insisted on having her.

"Why didn't he love her then, Daddy?" I would always ask, my seven year old spirits high, my heart open to everyone.

"Oh he did," Dad said as he held my three year old sister, Prim, in his arms. "The only reason he didn't was so I could have her to myself!" And then my mother kissed him, and I laughed, and Prim giggled, although she most likely didn't understand what he was fully saying.

"That was nice of him," I added, a wide grin on my face. My father smiled, handing Prim to my mother and coming over to place a kiss on the crown of my head. "It sure was my little Mockingjay."

And I was right. My mother said that despite the fact that she didn't get to know him too well, he was the kindest of all his family. He would complement everyone, and wear a smile on his face every day. She says his hope never faltered and his eyes never seemed to darken, for they were always as bright as the sun.

Of course, if Prince Peeta was raised by King Graham, than he must be just as kind of course. So maybe the girls were right. If it weren't for the queen that is. Queen Dea was the opposite of the king. It was obvious considering she didn't seem to hide her narcissistic and cruel behaviour. She only seemed to focus on the higher Districts of Panem, and paid attention to nobody, barely even her son.

The odds of him being like her were low considering they barely seemed close, and he seemed very close with his father. I remember whenever they would interview him when he was young, whenever he would get nervous, he'd glance to his father who would hand him a reassuring smile.

In all honestly, Prince Peeta seemed… genuine. He didn't look like his mother either, and certainly didn't behave like her. He was humble and kind. He seemed as though he didn't know he was the prince at all sometimes. Maybe that's why they all like him so much.

But even though he's kind and hopeful, he must certainly be a good actor. All Royals have that in common. It was in their blood, in their veins. There was still a chance that this was all an act, even though I wished it won't be. If I get selected, which most likely won't happen, I want him to be kind, not self-centered.

"What are you gonna do?" Prim's voice echoed throughout our house as she walked through the door. She walked over to give my mother a hug, and then one for me as well. "What's going on, Katniss?"

Prim. The real reason I'm singing myself up for something I wish I didn't have to sign myself up for. She was filled with hope, and goodness, and kindness. She still held some shreds of innocence.

"I'm signing up for The Selection tomorrow," I say calmly, although I feel a large lump in my through. Gently, Prim backs away, shocked. Prim knows how I feel about The Selection.

She knows I think it's foolish and that the prince should marry someone from The Capitol. Besides, princes always pick the higher Districts which offer much richer women who know how to handle fame. Not girls like here in twelve who are going to drown into the pool of mixed judgements and compliments.

"Why?" She asks, her eyes darting in between my mother and I. Despite my feelings for the Royals, Prim adores most of them. She has the same perspective of Prince Peeta like most of the other girl's in twelve do. "I thought your opinion on the Royals was that they're total snobs."

My mother raises her eyebrows at me, making my mind remember when she had said that the king was kind and generous. But marrying someone like the queen makes me doubt it.

"I know, Little Duck," I say, wrapping an arm around her shoulders lightly. "It's just right now we're a little tight on money and if I get in the Selection, we'll be getting lots of money weekly, and maybe more afterwards."

It was true, after you were in The Selection your life could be turned upside down completely. Most of the time, after being in The Selection, the candidates who don't get chosen go live in The Capitol and marry rich men who love them.

Prim's expressions seem to soften after the mention of money, and she slouches slightly, understanding. She was like this as a child, too. She would always want an extra toy when we passed the shop, or another pastry by the bakery, but my father would always feel bad and say no softly.

Mom always tells me that when I was younger, I got to reality much faster than Prim did. I would never ask, never beg, and never cry. I was independent and understanding at a young age, while Prim lingered onto those assets much longer than I did.

"Oh," Prim sighs softly. "I get it now." Slowly, she unravels herself from my arm and heads into the bathroom, closing the door softly. I look towards my mother, whose eyes are gazing down onto the floor.

"Your father would never want this for you, Katniss." Mom says it as though the words hurt her physically. Like she had gotten a punch to the stomach, and punch to the heart.

At the age of eleven, my father died. The mines collapsed, my father collapsed and even though my mother wasn't in them, she collapsed as well. She collapsed mentally, depression and heartbreak taking over her form. It was so awful that I had to begin doing things myself, which led to the begging of my hunting days.

I don't remember much of the crowded years other than taking care of Prim, hunting to keep us alive, cooking, trading and taking control completely. And during this time, my mother always laid in her bed, drowning in her deep thoughts and her hollow feelings.

I had lost two parents when those mines collapsed, but one of them was still physically here, while the other wasn't. I think it was much worse that way, how my mother was still here. Because it was only half true, she was here, but at the same time she wasn't. There was a period in my life where I had lost my mother, where she didn't love us anymore. Where she shredded into nothing. Just breathing and heartbeats. That was all she was for years.

Eventually, she had gotten better, taking her pills that were prescribed, becoming our mother again. Prim forgave my mother in a heartbeat, her kindness and love making its way to her quickly. But I didn't. No forgiving. No love. Not right away at least. I was cold to her, making her realize what she had done. That it can't be undone.

But of course, for Prim's sake, for my mother's sake, and although I won't admit it, maybe even my sake too, I forgave her. Not completely at first, for that was too difficult and it was something my heart couldn't tolerate. But after time, I forgave her more and more each day as she got back to work, as she got back to health.

"No Mom," I say, walking over to her again, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He would want us to be okay. To have money, and to live better than this, okay?" Her eyes look up to mine, and she envelopes me in a hug.

"You've always been so good, Katniss," she says softly, her hand fiddling with my braid, which fell upon my back. "So good." I nod against her shoulder, because once again my thoughts are filled in knots the size of my head.

Gently, she kisses my forehead, and I walk out the door, shoving my braid back over my shoulder where it's supposed to be.

There's someone I have to speak to.

Thanks for reading, tell me how you feel about it!