𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 || Narnia x The Hunger Games Crossover

Chapter One

A/N: The idea for this crossover first came in 2016, back when it was meant to be a collaboration between myself and MollyPevensie, and although the story is now unrecognizable from its original form, I cannot begin without thanking her for those sunny afternoons at our grandmother's house plotting out worlds and characters that I never quite abandoned, and eventually adapted into what you are about to read.

I can only say I am beyond excited to finally share this labor of love with you wonderful people, now that I've been working and reworking it for over two years, and I'm so grateful for everyone who has supported me along the way!

(Trigger warnings and disclaimer in description.)

Dedicated to:
Emily, Abby W, and Abby H

xXx

CHAPTER ONE

Lucy shot bolt upright and almost smacked her head on the low slanting beams of the roof, mid-morning light pouring in through the cracks.

She'd slept in, she was late! School must have started hours ago!

She kicked off her threadbare quilt and scrambled to pull on her shoes, fingers fumbling as she stuffed rubber straps through their buckles, but then the silence struck her. No movement creaked in the house below, no dishes clattered or voices droned, muffled by the paper thin walls. No buggies squeaked in the streets, and even the grinding hum of the factories had somehow been switched off. The air hung eerily still, as if everything in the world were dead except for her.

With a deep and shuddering sigh, she plopped back down onto her makeshift bed.

Of course.

Reaping Day.

She ran a hand through her hair, pushing a curtain of tangles out of her face as her heart throbbed painfully in her chest and she waited for it to calm.

Usually the noise of the family below served as her alarm, but almost everyone in District Eight would be sleeping in today. The ceremony didn't even start til eleven, and nobody but district officials bothered to get there a minute before they absolutely had to.

Lucy pulled a comb from the blue plastic milk crate she kept behind her blankets, and set about the long and arduous task of untangling her copper-colored rat's nest as quiet golden sunlight filtered strangely into her attic crawlspace: the long forgotten tunnel that ran the length of a row of townhouses.

It had no floor, save for the plywood she'd put down herself to avoid crashing through the rafters into some unsuspecting family's sitting room, and it smelled vaguely of must and soft rot from when the roof leaked, but compared to the shelter on Fifth, it was a paradise, and now in the silence it was almost peaceful.

But she couldn't stay for long.

No school meant no shower, so even in spite of her best efforts her curls still frizzed terribly at the ends, and when she'd given up on that she tugged on her stockings without holes and the faded robin's egg frock she only wore on holidays.

Lastly, she tied a stiff little kerchief around her neck, orange and dotted all over with neon pink flowers. Mrs Preston had given it to her on her fifteenth birthday, a relic from her own school years, terribly out of fashion now, not to mention how badly it clashed with Lucy's hair, but still she loved it. It had been a gift, and nobody but the Prestons ever gave Lucy gifts.

She moved to get up, but a second later clambered back to grab a glossy library book from the bottom of the crate, shining like a jewel amongst her other well-worn belongings; strange figures twisting up the cover in reds and greens and blues, embossed willowy women with flowers in their hair, little men with goats' legs.