I decided to pick up Doll Little's story again and change absolutely everything to just my own taste. Please go read it I wrote like 8k words within one day on this story, it's a Hunger Games fanfiction and I think I'm writing it well

BLURB (brace yourselves, it's ridiculously long this time):

In Ancient Rome, the Tarpeian Rock was the cliff that criminals were flung from. Worse than the fear of death was often the humiliation; your dead body forever carrying the image of a traitor. This is not a quiet affair - no pride allowed. Everyone will know of what you've done, and everyone will know never to follow. Only those committing the worst kind of offenses were killed there. The bodies lying beneath will rot in shame.

Welcome to the 100th Hunger Games! For this very special edition, we will have place for twice as many tributes – the latter half being made up out of delinquents throughout each district. If one of said delinquents were to win, all charges will clear, along with, of course, their name.

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My name is Camilla Katherine Little – though it would have been Belladonna, had it been picked by my father, instead of my mother. One of the first things my father taught me was to survive under extreme circumstances with very little resources. The second thing he taught me, is how to throw a knife.

He was always surprisingly indifferent about The Hunger Games. If his only daughter were to be reaped, then he ought to ensure that she would return home; and that seems like the only thought he considered worth sparing the debacle. He was never a stranger to cruelty, and neither am I. I know how to be still like a snake under grass, waiting for the hunter to lower his guard. I know how to avoid casting treacherous shadows when sneaking up on someone and I know how to survive with only my teeth for a weapon. I know what it's like to live in hunger, and I know how to keep moving when all of my body aches.

I was made to be lethal. The Games do not frighten me.

Not like home does.