Quick note, as this has been raised by a few people - italics are not always in entries, as they don't usually get translated when I copy-and-paste from emails to Wattpad. However, I do score the entries as I read them in the emails, so the italics are there. Don't do anything else with them, because it won't help, and your scores reflect that. 

EMERE LANE

There was something about the atmosphere that made him feel unwelcome. People were brisk as they walked across hallways, as if there was always a task to be completed. Emere was dissatisfied with his experience so far, considering he'd done next to nothing in the castle. He'd arrived, gawked at its size and settled into his room. Accidentally, he had fallen asleep the night before. So, with little time to acquaint himself with the layout of the castle, he was lost. Utterly, embarrassingly, and terrifyingly lost.

He tried his best to appear like he knew where he was, but it only made him seem more confused. If the odd looks from the staff gave any hint, Emere was a strange one. He was inside one of the grand hallways, eyeing one of the butlers. The man was tall and had a brilliant bone structure, but that wasn't what drew Emere to the man.

It was the woman next to him.

She was beautiful, by Emere's standards, that is. Her hair was elegant in a way that separated all other elegance, sophisticated, as to eradicate all other signs of sophistication. The woman was important. Even if she wasn't, she justwas.

Emere was dumbfounded enough to back into a wall, two expensive vases to his left and right. He sort of blended in, juxtaposed with the two decorations. It made him feel unimportant. Something about the castle's interior simply forced the negative emotions onto him.

Something of memory clouded his mind, staring at the woman. She reminded him of his mother, and the man- Clyro. Two manipulative people to manipulate his mind from miles away.

I was in love with you, Cly.

Of course, the woman and man weren't his mother and- whatever Clyro was to him. They were two random people to Emere. He watched with curiosity as the woman touched the man's arm with affection, and as he smiled warmly like a son would to a mother.

False, I say, fake.

Emere's head was against the wall, almost like he was glued to it. His eyes were just as stuck, on the pair. Nothing about them really deserved his attention- not yet.

Scream at me, you'll get no response.
I'll dignify verbosity, and that is it.

"Excuse me, sir, you can't lean against that," someone said, snapping Emere out of his trance. He stared at the servant silently, not even reacting to the awkward glance. The servant nodded, walking away, the same as before.

No change.

I never change, Clyro. You know that.

Emere's lifted his body from the wall after processing what the servant had said. He paid attention to the vases, not wanting to break them and make a scene. He had no concern for their value, but for the commotion that would come with their shattering.

If it wasn't for his shoelaces and disoriented mind, the vases would have been fine. But, with the clumsiness that comes as a commodity to bewilderment, he tripped, falling directly on the cream-colored vase. It tipped over, his arms wrapping around it instinctually. It shattered upon contact with the ground; the noise was the worst part. He tried his best to stand, but a few loose shards had lodged themselves in his palms, so he couldn't use his hands for support. He crawled to his knees, his pants tearing on a sharp edge, skin following suit. Overwhelmed, he fell back again, sending the other vase down as well. He winced in pain, but it surely wasn't heard, over the crashes and sneers of the other people. A few of the other tributes had seen.

Shattered.

"Oh my goodness, are you alright?" a woman's voice distracted Emere from the turmoil; he looked up to see who it was. The tone was near-ethereal, yet real to the point the woman was definitely grounded and earthly. He looked up, palms swiping against his pants, leaving bloodstains on the pockets. The blood cleaned from his hands at the same rate his throat was cleaned of air.

There she was. The woman; the striking, yet worldly woman. Queen Isobel was a mere foot away from him.

Maybe, it isn't so bad.

"I am. Thank you," Emere said quickly, waning himself instantly. He felt as if he wasn't worth the interaction- wasn't worth the Queen's time.

"You are bleeding. You notice that, too, correct?" she asked, almost joking with the morbid fact of the flowing crimson. The slight sting in his skin barely bothered him. The shamed feeling was a tad worse than the pain. He lifted his arms, turning his hands over and back again, looking at them like they were unaffected.

"I think I'll be fine," Emere dismissed Isobel's worry, against her intentions of aid. He didn't mean to assume a role of rejection, but it was clear he needed help. He, then, refused said help. Emere wasn't handling the situation very well, to say the least.

"Come with me," was all she said next. She beckoned with one, swift motion of her angelic hands and turned on her heels, drifting away from him like an aromatic wind. The scent would be royalty, if that smell existed. Emere still followed, however, even though instinct told him to run the other way. Her qualities were soft, but sharp with intimidation.

No harm will be done.

She led him to a private chamber, a porcelain sink sat solemnly against a tiled wall. They were both peach in color, bridging a light shade of pink. The tiles weren't squared, but sectioned like octagons, morphing into one another to lose the symmetrical feel of the aesthetic. Every once in a while, the shapes would lose refinement, and a few smudges littered the tile. The sink was the center of the room, with its carefully crafted handles and faucet. Emere questioned if the thing was even meant to work, but the thought was dismissed as Queen Isobel turned the handle, letting a stream of water run wild. The sound filled the room, the hush echoing against the octagons.

"Here, put your hands under the water," Isobel said, stepping away and motioning towards the porcelain. She waited patiently until he complied, before stepping forward again, leaning. She put her hands against Emere's like he was a child, scrubbing diligently, yet softly, so the wounds would come out clean. After a moment, Emere looked up at Isobel, consciously fearful of her; she must've noticed his wide-eyed look.

"What is that look for?" she asked, widening her already prevalent smile. Emere shook his head, looking away and pretending to examine the cuts in his hands. He wouldn't be able to grip anything with his left hand, but only the fingers on his right were hurt.

"Nothing...nothing," Emere muttered quickly, caressing each line of speckled blood with the opposite hand.

Unknowing, yet no hesitation.
I laugh; you are not my mother.

"Emere Lane," she stated simply, "I do know who you are." Suddenly, after she said his name, Emere noticed how warm she became. All of his preconceived thoughts of how the top of the hierarchy acted were proved wrong, next to that porcelain sink, beside some tiled octagons.

"You're so...motherly," Emere said after thinking.

Think, and then you speak.

"I'm an older sister. It's expected of me." She still had an aura of formality, which made Emere uncomfortable. When she spoke, it felt kind, but he felt distance when there was silence. "Are you going to be okay? Do you need bandages?" she asked, looking down at his quivering hands.

No.

"I'll be fine, Queen Isobel. Thank you for your assistance," Emere bowed his head, nearly laughing at himself with how idiotic he felt.

"You're welcome, my dear," she said with another grin, giving a slight nod as she turned. Emere watched her go with a newfound satisfaction. She was different than he'd originally believed. The bite of his hands was swiftly found, causing a single wince to echo through the bathroom. The faucet was still running, making the same hushed sounds.

Different.

JOSEPHINE BRACK

After spending three days in the castle, Josephine already felt like a queen. She had servants, private training, and a bowl of endless chocolate ice cream, which was a necessity that she was never able to have at home. Whenever she asked for something, it was brought to her without question. Ice cream, candy, chocolate and any other food she wanted was at her hands in a matter minutes.

But, despite the endless waves of necessities, Josephine was starting to get bored. She needed something new to do besides staring at the unopened letter and eating food. Something besides sitting in her dorm and staring at the television. She needed to have an adventure.

Explore the castle, it's what Emily would do.

Josephine rolled off the bed, dumping a ton of crumbs on the floor in the process, and looked in her closet. Inside was a mixture of her own clothing and bundles of other clothing for the different costume dinners that the castle was hosting as a 'get to know one another before you get to kill each other!'

After a plethora of searching, throwing half the clothes on the floor, and trying on at least five hundred outfits, Josephine finally found what she was looking for: Black skinny jeans, black tee-shirt, black and green camouflage bandana, and camouflage face-paint. When she was finally finished getting dressed, she looked in the mirror. She looked like an actual spy, because hey, if you're going to go on an adventure throughout an awesome castle, might as well have some fun with it!

After packing a small bag with various snacks, flashlights, pocket knives, and extra candy, Josephine left the room and ran down the first hallway she found, giggling. She felt like she was five again, and she was having the time of her life running around the castle without a single care in the world. She reached into her bag, grabbed a flashlight, then ducked into the nearest room, and shut off the lights. Turning on her flashlight, she searched the room for anything interesting.

On the desk in the center of the room was a manilla file filled with random papers, the writing illegible from her side of the room, so she crossed over and pulled out the thin stack of papers. They were profiles of all the people here, filled with not just the information sent in with the mandatory form, but also any other fact that could ever be needed. She flipped through the stack to find her own.

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Josephine Tyler Brack

Town of Origin: Severna Park

Family: Three sisters, Serenity(20) Camille (18) and Alexandrea (14). Four if you count Emily.

Both of her parents are loyal to the monarchy, and were incredibly happy upon receiving the admittance letter.

Birthday: April 9th, Aged 16

FACTS (you can thank Isobel for this part.)

Favorite Color: Blue

Favorite Animal: We're not too sure about this one, but Isobel insists that it's a manatee. Not exactly sure why. Since most of us are sure it's not a manatee, we will go with a dog.

Best Friend: Emily Karr (and Kira Nickolas)

Significant Other: Not married or in a relationship, but we have our suspicions that one could start soon should she become queen.

Josephine couldn't hold her quiet-spy aura any longer, and she burst out laughing, "A manatee? Really? My favorite animal isn't a dog either!" Tears sprang in her eyes, and she clenched her stomach. Her laughs grew louder and stronger, and she sank to the floor.

"What is your favorite animal then, Miss Brack?" The light flickered on.

She stopped laughing immediately at the sound of the king's voice. Brushing off her now dusty clothes and shutting off the flashlight, she turned to face him.

"I swear I didn't read any one's file but mine. I swear I wasn't trying to do anything. I was just curious." She dropped the file on the desk and felt her cheeks go hot and bright red.

The king chuckled, " I know you weren't doing anything wrong, Miss Josephine. Now, what is your favorite animal? Mine, for example, is a lion."

"My favorite animal is a cat, but not a lion. A regular house cat, your majesty." Josephine stared at her feet, now wishing she hadn't put on the face paint, and that she didn't have a bag overflowing with candy resting at her feet, a couple of gummy worms spilling out.

"A cat? I had you pegged as more of a 'manatee' girl. I'm just kidding, that was Isobel's bet. I went with the dog." His chuckle boomed in the open room, and he walked over to Josephine, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Now, I have a very serious question to ask." He looked at her, his solemn blue eyes looking as if he was disappointed with her in some way, and Josephine felt her cheeks burn a more ferocious red.

This is it. I'm going to get kicked out before this darn thing even fully begins.

"May I please have a gummy worm? Preferably not one that has touched the floor, because even though we have five thousand maids, I'm not sure anyone has been in this room since the final decisions were made. Oh, and if you have one of the green and red ones, that would be great." Josephine looked up in surprise. She wasn't sure exactly what she was expecting, but she sure didn't expect something as simple as wanting a gummy worm.

"Um, sure, I guess. I mean you can have whatever you want, your majesty. You can have the whole bag if you'd like." Josephine stuttered, and she stooped down to pick up the bag full of supplies. She handed the bag of gummy worms to the king.

"The red and green ones have always been my favorite. Partly because not only are they my two favorite colors, but they remind me of Christmas, and I love the Christmastime spirit." He ate the gummy worm. "Mmm. Just as delicious as I remembered from my childhood." He handed the bag back to Josephine and watched as she ate a red-green one of her own.

"You obviously know I never was able to have a child of my own, otherwise you wouldn't be here. You must understand that I've always wanted my own child, and during these three days, I've gained twenty-four more children. I just want you to know that I don't want anyone to die in that arena, but there must only be one heir. Also, you have my vote because of the gummy worm." He smiled a fatherly smile, stole another red and green gummy worm, and began to walk towards the door.

"It was really nice getting to talk with you, Josephine, but I really must get back to work. I'll see you at tonights dinner, which just so happens to be Mission Impossible, so you're all set." He winked, then ducked out of the door, leaving Josephine alone with her bag of candy and the files.

She smiled, and finished off the bag of gummy worms before heading to the dining room.

AYLA LUCAS

NO ENTRY

GAGE CREED

EXTENSION

JAMIR RANDERA

NO ENTRY - ELIMINATED

REGINA BAILEY

My footsteps were the only sound in the hallway, resonating off the empty space and portraits. Each click of my shoes reminded me of the wood floors at home. Of him. Of how he would never make that clicking sound for himself. Of the reason why I'm here in the first place.

I came here because of him, and yet none of it was his fault. Not a single part of it was his fault in the least.

In fact, it was all my fault. If I had never gotten so angry at him, I wouldn't have shot him. I guess one could say, 'well he shouldn't have made you angry.' But, here's the thing. He didn't make me angry at all. And I never should have had my bow with me. I started a spiral down a hill that I never needed to happen in the first place, and look where it got me. I was either going to die, or become queen.

I didn't want to be queen. I didn't want to stay. I didn't want to go back. And I sure as hell didn't want to die. Nothing in this situation worked out for me. No matter the outcome, I would lose, and someone else would win. There was no way for me.

I continued walking down the wood floors, my feet still making the clicking sound, and my thoughts still running haywire. Every corner I turned was a dead end, and everywhere my thoughts took me was worse than the last. I didn't know how deeper and darker my thoughts could turn, but they just kept spiraling further and further down.

You know he hates you, right.

Everyone in the town hates you.

Even you hate you.

Find the stairs, and go to the roof.

Then, let your feet follow what they want to do.

Tears bit at my eyes. I didn't really want to jump, did I? No, I didn't. I didn't even know why my thoughts had gone there, right after I had just told myself that I didn't want to die in the competition for the crown. My knees buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a shivering mess. The tears did nothing to sooth the pain and betrayal I felt towards my own self. They only fueled an anger that was burning deep inside me, about to be unleashed. Still sitting, I turned around and slammed my fist into the wall, knocking down one of the paintings in the process.

My fist slammed over and over into the wall, leaving holes in the first layer of plaster, and blood on my knuckles from the brick and stone behind it. Soon, I had stood up and was kicking the wall with all my power, but still nothing could calm the anger inside me.

By the time I calmed down a little bit, I was out of breath and sweating like crazy. My face was red and burning.

"Miss Bailey! Don't worry, I'm running late to tonight's banquet as well. Did you get lost? Oh." I turned around and found myself face to face with Queen Isobel, who was looking between me and the hole in the wall.

"I- I'm sorry. I didn't meant too... I'll go back to my room now. Y-You go to dinner without me." I forced out, not daring to look the Queen in the eyes.

She sighed, "Regina, don't. It's fine. I'll walk you to your room, then you can get cleaned up and we can go to dinner together. On the way, we can talk about what is going on." She smiled warmly, her eyes revealing that it was genuine.

I awkwardly bent over and picked up the fallen painting, leaned it against the wall, and proceeded to wipe away some of the pulverized powder from the hardwood floor.

"No, no. There's no time for that. We need to get you into a dress, and ready for the banquet. A maid can clean up this mess." Queen Isobel ushered me away from yet another accident created by me, and towards my room. "What you can do, however, is tell me what happened and why."

I looked down at my plaster covered shoes and felt my stomach clench with guilt, "I got angry, and my mind was going places that I knew it shouldn't. My control on myself was slipping, and I felt the only way to let it out was to take it out on something. Originally, it was going to be myself. I was on my way to the stairs. I realized that I didn't want to do that, though. And the wall was the next closest thing." A tear ran down my cheek and dripped onto my bloody knuckles, watering down the blood.

More tears followed; I couldn't believe I just told the queen of this nation that I just threw a tantrum and punched a freaking wall. I bet she regretted that I was chosen. I bet she wished that someone else was chosen, preferably someone who wouldn't ruin her paintings and walls.

The queen stopped walking and turned to look me in the eyes, "Regina Bailey, I know what happened a number of years ago, and I know the reason why. Not the reason that you tell everyone, but the real reason. So, I also know that this very reason still plays into what you did just now. You're fighting with yourself, over guilt, hatred, and many other feelings. Would you believe that I had the same problems when I was your age.

"I have one piece of advice for you, Miss Regina. Remember that others can, and will, forgive you. And also remember that other people are going through the same thing in varying degrees. If you remember those two things, I know that you will make it far in this competition. Trust me. Now, let's go get you ready for this banquet, because I'm famished.

As we walked towards my room, a flicker of hope rose in my chest.

Maybe I can hold the bad thoughts off until I'm in the arena.

Maybe I can enjoy my stay here.

AVALON GREY

Rule number one – don't doubt thyself.

Avalon Grey had been repeating those words over and over to herself ever since she had arrived at the palace. It was the first word that was uttered when she awoke, and it was the last words she spoke before she slept. Every day, every night. Like a mantra that would somehow save her life.

Of course, words had little meaning if not put into practice, and Avalon knew this. Those three little words were engraved in her heart and Avalon made sure they shone through in her actions. She studied hard, often spending hours reading; letting the information on sword-fighting, herbs, and survival pour into her mind. When she spoke, it was with elegancy and grace – like a proper future heir to the throne. Her actions were exactly like what she would be if she won – like a Queen. When she saw her fellow competitors, Avalon always greeted then with a polite nod and small smile. In the shadows, however, she watched their every move. She observed in the corners, did her true research at night- picking up gossip from the servants and watching their training session through her window. Never, ever, did Avalon Grey fill doubt.

Perhaps that was how she came face to face with Queen Isobel of Mare herself.

It started off as one of Avalon's cunning 'observing trips', as she liked to call them. On this particular day, her grey eyes had been following little Evora Gimp, a simple peasant by the looks of things. The crafty girl had pranked a maid by stuffing her washing with several tiny maggots, and it was the scream of terror and disgust that really captured Avalon's attention. As the poor maid dropped her basket of laundry in shock, Avalon spotted Evora doubling over with laughter, crouched behind a merchant's fruit chart. Little fox, Avalon thought. Cunning, sly, and has a mind for trouble. If that girl keeps it up she'd be dead by the first day. Mentally, Avalon crossed the immature teen from her 'Potential Competitors' list.

"Shouldn't be a problem," Avalon muttered aloud, and turned to leave, only to nearly collide into Queen Isobel of Mare. Avalon's jaw dropped open to form an 'o' shape, before she hastily dropped into what she hoped was a proper courtesy. "Forgive me, your Grace. I did-did not realize you were here."

"It's all right, Avalon child," the Queen placed a gentle hand on Avalon's shoulder, making her twitch. "Stand, please."

Inwardly trembling, Avalon arose, feeling a sense of the dreaded doubt creep into her veins. Rule number one – don't doubt thyself. She inhaled deeply, focusing on those three words, and flashed a brilliant smile at the dark-skinned beauty of a Queen. "My Queen Isobel, what a pleasure to meet you."

"As to you," Queen Isobel replied, before turning to her cluster of handmaidens and dismissing them with a wave. Then, she turned to Avalon, offered the shocked girl her arm, and asked, "Will you walk with me?"

"Oh, yes of course, my Queen." Avalon hesitantly slipped an arm into the Queen's, as Isobel started guiding her towards the entrance of the palace gardens. Avalon felt her heart flutter inside of her chest, most likely with excitement. She had not been to the gardens before! The beautiful piece of land was reserved strictly for the members of the Royal Family. Queen Isobel smiled one of her legendary smiles, before entering through the brick archway, Avalon staring in awe that the blossoming flowers around her. There were roses, narcissus, daffodils. Violets, water lilies, and sunflowers. There were even some strange, exotic plants that Avalon had never seen in her life.

"You like it?" Queen Isobel paused, letting Avalon closer examine a single white rose in a cluster of red. "They're quite rare in Mare, white roses. Usually you only see red roses."

"Your garden in beautiful, your Grace." Avalon complimented, but it wasn't a lie. The Royal Garden took her breath away. Right there, a small, sprinkling fountain where several goldfish swam. She almost got lost in her own little world, before Queen Isobel spoke.

"Avalon, dear," the Queen stopped in her tracks quite abruptly, nearly causing Avalon to collide into her for the second time that day. "I heard you back at the courtyard. You said a very queer thing that I found interesting. I believe your precise words were, 'Shouldn't be a problem.' Mind explaining that to me?" She resumed walking, dark hair tossed in the breeze.

"Well..." Avalon's voice trailed off, and her heart once again thudded in her chest. Was this a trick? Was this all an act to see if she would be a rightful heir? What if she answered wrong? What is she got kicked out?

Rule number one – don't doubt thyself.

Swallowing her fear, although it was hard, Avalon decided to go with the truth. "I was observing one of the contestants, my lady. I, well, I've been observing a lot of the contestants during these past few days. My Mother told me to observe is the best strategy, better than skills with any weapon. What use are your weapons when someone already knows your weaknesses?" Avalon paused here to take a breath, but Queen Isobel cut in.

"So," the Queen's voice was thoughtful, her expression one of concentration. "When you stated 'Shouldn't be a problem', were you stating this contestant wasn't a threat to you?"

Avalon nodded, suddenly feeling cold. The words had never been harder to get out. "Yes, my Queen."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the rustling of the wind through the trees overhead, as the Queen walked on. Her grip on Avalon's arm seemed to be loosening, and Avalon realized with a jolt that they were nearing the exit of the garden- the place they started. The Royal Garden goes in a three-hundred-sixty degree circle, with only one exit which also served as the beginning. "Well," Queen Isobel finally stated. Her voice was blank, expressionless, and it made Avalon's stomach twist itself into little knots. "Well," Queen Isobel repeated, this time unlinking her arm with Avalon's, "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Grey. I hope we meet again."

"Thank you, my Queen," Avalon curtseyed, "As do I." But before the last word was out of her mouth, the Queen was ushered away by her handmaidens, disappearing from sight. Unexpectedly, Avalon's shoulder sagged as she started walking back towards her chambers, doubt settling into her heart.

Rule number one – don't doubt thyself.

For the first time she could remember, Avalon found it hard to follow that rule.

ADELE CHAUDHRY

NO ENTRY - ELIMINATED

WILLIS DALE

Dear Valentine,

It's your brother, Wills. You probably assumed that already though, this letter is from the castle, who else could it be from? Meh...You'll probably get another one from the castle to let you know if I die, but... That definitely won't be for a while.

Anyway, I thought I should let you know how I was doing, considering I didn't really get the chance to say goodbye to you all. Tell mom and dad I'm doing fine, I haven't gotten myself into any serious trouble yet. There was this minor incident with some silverware, but don't worry, it was handled. This nice servant lady ended up catching me and made me put them back, but she didn't scold me or tell anyone thankfully. I believe her name was Mrs. Severn? She's really nice, I like her.

Oh yeah, I also tried out sword fighting a couple days ago. I completely sucked at it but it was fun. There was this other guy trying it out too, he's actually pretty good, I think he's done fencing before. He's kind of the only friend I've made here so far, but I kinda like that it's just him, I don't know if I could deal with more friends.

Well... He's mostly a just friend as far as I can tell... I mean he is a real flirt and he doesn't seem to want to stop bugging me, but I don't really mind, I kind of like that too. His name is Adrien, I'm sure you'd love to meet him. I mean, I know I did.

But anyway, I'm sorry for not writing sooner, I meant too, but I'd been busy getting to know my around this amazing castle. Seriously, ahaha, this place really is amazing. You should be jealous, Val. The dining hall is the bigger than our house, the food here is magnificent, and you can't even imagine how nice my room is. And as an added bonus, most everyone here is really nice!

You probably wouldn't like it though, too 'posh' with these all stuck up rich nobles and royalty. Just another reason why it's a good I got chosen instead of you.

Hugs from your favorite baby brother,

Willis Dale

. . .

Willis looks down at the envelope in his hand, recalling the slightly sarcastic words written in the enclosed letter. He is standing in the hallway outside of his room, trying to figure out where to go to send it.

He really had meant to write his family sooner, but he hadn't been lying when he had said he'd been busy. There had just been so many places to explore on that first day, so many people to meet, and Willis guiltily acknowledges the fact that he hadn't even thought of his family once that day.

It has been roughly a week since he first arrived at the castle with the other tributes, and the whole time he had been trying to get to know them as best he could. Of course there had been the easy ones to notice, the ones that stood out like koi in a pond.

He had noticed the variety in the tributes, from kind and active ones to the more shady kinds of people, and then some that are just plain insane. Willis shied away from pretty much all of them though, even after a week of being in the same quarters with them, and the only thought in his mind is that they are his competition. People who could eventually cause his demise.

Of all the tributes, he only really had found companionship in Adrien Thiswood. He wouldn't even have that if the outgoing boy hadn't been trying so hard for it though, as Willis himself hadn't contributed much to forming the friendship aside from awkward smiles and flustered blushes.

Just thinking about him causes a slight blush to tint his cheeks, and Willis directs his attention back to the letter still held in his hand, reminding himself that he still had to send it. The raven haired boy lets out a sigh and starts down the hallway towards the dinning hall, hoping to find someone there he could ask about getting it sent. Since dinner had been served hours ago, unsurprisingly no one was there when he arrives.

Having glanced around the room once, Willis is about to turn away and try somewhere else, when he heard the sound of a running water going on before abruptly going off again. Confused, he looks around the room again, only to see no one. The sound had come somewhere to his left, and as he looks in that direction all he sees is the light seeping under the door to the kitchen.

Hesitantly, Willis creeps over and peeks through the ajar door, only to see that it is Mrs. Severn, the head maid. She is standing at the sink, slowly working her way through the stack of dirty dishes piled next to her.

Not wanting to bother her, Willis is about to back away and into the dining hall again, but he didn't pay attention to the door as he steps back, and his motion causes it to creak. Mrs. Severn looks up with a slightly startled look, and blinks in surprise when she sees Willis standing there.

"William, is that you?" She asks, and Willis smiles sheepishly.

"Yes... It's uh, Willis, though." He can't help but correct her awkwardly, though he was used to the mix up by now.

"Ah, I'm sorry." She apologises quickly, fixing her mistake. "Willis, come on in! Don't just stand there, boy, lend this poor woman a hand." She smiles at him, and Willis knew he didn't actually have to come and help her, but he decides to anyway.

"If I may ask... Why are you doing dishes all by yourself? Shouldn't there be a... Chef or someone designated for this job?" He asks as he picks up a dish, standing next to her at the large sink. He had slipped his letter into his back pocket, reminding himself to ask her about it later.

Mrs. Severn sighs, "Well, yes, but the dish boy is new and he was doing them all wrong, so I decided to let him go and do it myself for now." She chuckles. "But let me tell you, there were a lot more dishes than I had anticipated, two for every tribute as well as every noble! You can imagine, I'm definitely not offering to do this again, that boy can just learn to wash them on his own."

Willis smiles and laughs slightly, though he did feel bad for her, if she really had been in here doing dishes since dinner than she had obviously been here for more than an hour. Her efforts hadn't been futile though, she is almost done now, and the stack next to her is now less than a dozen.

"Now if I may ask, young man, what are you doing wandering around the castle this evening, don't you have better things to do than to stay and help me with this?" She asks, her words surprisingly kind. Willis got the feeling she really wouldn't mind if he didn't help with the dishes, she just wants company.

So he shrugs, "Well, I was looking for someone to mail this letter for me..." He starts to explain, setting a dish he had cleaned down with the rest of the clean dishes. Mrs. Severn notices the letter in his back pocket then and she raises an eyebrow.

Willis realises what she was thinking and instantly shakes his head, "Ah no, that's actually mine! It didn't take it I swear, I wrote it to my sister."

Mrs. Severn smiles and waves her hand in a dismissive way. "It's fine, I didn't believe you had taken it, I was just wondering. But do you need someone to send it? I could always have it mailed for you if you'd like, the least I can do to thank you for helping with these dishes."

Willis blinks and looks up from the dish he'd been cleaning. He hadn't expected her to offer to send it and he didn't know what to say. The maid just smiles again and sets the last, now clean, dish down in the pile with its fellow clean dishes, and dries her hands on her apron.

"Here, let me see, do you have an address already on it?" She asks, holding out a hand, and Willis pulls out the letter with his still slightly wet hands to give to her.

He nods as she looks over the wrinkled envelope with a smile. "Don't worry, sweetie, I'll get this sent for you."

"Thank you so much." He smiles widely and gratefully to her as he sets the last dish down in the pile. If Mrs. Severn's kindness were an object, Willis couldn't help himself but steal it then; just so he could always have it with him.

CYON TARGARYON

I enjoyed the days of luxury while I had it. The castle itself was massive, and had so many various things to see and do that I hardly had time to see and do them all. I trained with swords with the soldiers and guards, spoke with and got to know several of the tributes, and even ate dinner with the royals at the ball they threw for all of us.

Afterward, I was strolling down the hallway that lead into the Grand Hall. Another young woman tribute, named Meg, walked beside me. She was dressed in lavish silk, with jewels that decorated her from head to toe. The suit I wore was tight—much tighter than I was accustomed to.

The sweet aroma from the food in the room on the other side of the wall wafted to my nose. My stomach growled, despite all the food I had already stuffed myself with for the evening.

Meg chuckled. "You ate so much tonight. I don't know how you could still be hungry."

I smiled at her warmly, glancing at her. "And you barely ate a thing."

"I'm not a pig..."

I finished the sentence in my mind: like you.

I shrugged. "I suppose so. I'm actually not hungry. The food just smells fantastic."

She smiled and then gestured to another hall. "Goodnight, Cyon."

I waved at her and kissed her cheek—a tradition among royals. "Goodnight Meg."

I wondered the halls, enjoying the freedom and peace that surged inside me. For the first time in a long time I didn't feel weighed down or plagued by sorrow.

Somehow, I found myself wondering into the library. I often read Aaya to sleep, so I decided to look for her favorite books.

In the back corner, sprawled lazily in a chair, was one of the royals.

"You do realize that they lied to you, right?" Grand Duke Errol asked. He was slim, with dark hair that fell into his eyes. His tall figure was hunched over, relaxed in a cushioned chair.

"Lied? What are you talking about?" I frowned, and crossed my arms. Why would he say that to me? The first thing he says when he sees me?

Errol laughed, slugging from a cup of wine. "Your families won't be compensated when you die."

I gasped, and my chest clenched. "What? That—they promised!"

Again, Errol laughed. "My sister, promised. There's a difference. She's so honorable and good—someone has to keep up appearances. When you die, that's it. Nothing happens. You die, and that's the end of you."

My blood boiled just under the surface, as anger took hold. My stomach twisted into knots. Aaya. Her name was the single thought that my mind could process in that moment. The only image that appeared in my mind was her fragile little body, too ill to move... sick and dying.

The promise of compensation for my family had been the only reason I had volunteered in the first place.

Even though I knew she needed me, she needed the money more. But I was no fool; I also knew that I had no chance at winning. Me? The heir to the throne?

I was going to die in the arena.

And when I did, Aaya had no money—she would die at home, in her bed, with only my sister by her side. It was a place I should be.

Now you have to win, Cyon. Because if you die...

Aaya dies.

That single thought flickered like a flame. It was a new promise, one that I had to ensure happened for Aaya's sake. The only hope inside my soul, was the thought that propelled me forward.

If you die, your little girl dies with you. That thought became a chant, reverberating inside my mind until it danced through my skin, embedded deep inside my bones. Until it became a part of me.

"You're lying." My voice sounded unrecognizable in my own ears. It was husky and deep, but thick with desperation and anger.

I glared at Errol with all the hatred I felt in my chest.

They had lied. And Aaya's life was still at risk because of it.

They had to pay.

Whatever Errol said in response, I had no idea. It was lost in a sea of swirling thoughts, clouding everything except one, distinct feeling that rose up above all the others raging inside me.

"I'm not lying! My sister did. She wants the entire world to be perfect—to have order. Everything has a place," Errol drawled in a bored tone. He gestured in the air at random, as if not really caring about the seriousness of the conversation.

Burning.

It was inside my veins, flowing, pumping, pounding. My heart beat faster and faster, racing and thudding so hard I had to take huge gulps of air to breathe. My fists balled into fists and my jaw clenched so tightly that my teeth ached. All I could see was red.

How dare they do this. They lied. Aaya would pay for their mistake.

I had to make sure they paid for it.

If I died, she died.

If she did, who would exact vengeance?

I turned my back on Errol, leaving him behind and aimlessly wondered the halls. A few members of the household attempted to speak with me, but I was in no mood to plaster a smile on my face as fake as the royals acted.

The entire castle was massive. It was made from grey-stone and white marble. Candles hung and flickered everywhere—in window sills, in chandeliers made from glass and crystal—throwing light and shadows along the walls, moving in a silent dance together. Velvet cloth decorations and paintings hung along the walls, making it appear more light than it did.

Making it feel like it was less of a prison.

The walls lied to.

Everything about castle lied. From the people, to the volunteers, to myself, to the walls and beautiful décor.

When had my life become one huge lie?

Had it been the moment I thought that Aaya's mother and I could be happy, live together, have a family of our own? Had it been when I had thought I could raise Aaya by myself, or that she would be cured? Or was it the moment that I believed she would be okay if I just entered into the arena?

I found my way to the male bathhouse, which really was a drab room filled with two medium-sized pools of water. Once I finished cleaning up, I glanced around the room, searching for a towel. Probably should have thought of that first, Cyon, I thought to myself. My thoughts had been do distant and distracted that I hadn't even thought about it.

Breathing deeply, I tried to calm the anger raging inside me. The urge to exact justice and vengeance on the ones who had lied was still there, pulsing inside my heart, darkening it every second that it lingered there.

Suddenly, a young woman's head appeared through the window on the other side of the room. She appeared to be climbing across the window itself, on the outside.

"What are you doing?" I demanded harshly.

"Um. Just, you know—an evening stroll." The woman, which I recognized as another tribute named Jalace, grunted and shifted her weight where she still hung at the window.

I fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. Instead, I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at her. Stroll? Climbing up the window, which is only one story from the king's chambers?

There had been enough lies for one night.

"Would your evening stroll have anything to do with the king's chamber being directly above us?" I questioned.

She hesitated. It was brief—only an instant, but it was enough. It told me everything I needed to know; she was up to no good.

Whatever her reasons for climbing, it had something to do with the king.

"Look, I'm going to kill the king. Don't try to stop me."

The king... He was important to the queen.

She had lied. They both had. By telling all the tributes that our families would be compensated if we died in the arena...

So many of us had volunteered. Only one of us would survive. How many other tributes besides myself had signed up with the hope that in dying, they would be saving their family?

I couldn't be the only one. The royals... They had to pay for what they had done to us, and for everything they had planned to do to us as well.

The decision that formed in my mind then wasn't slow. Instead it was instantaneous and quick as a lighting flash. It pulsed in my mind, and once it was there, it spread like a sickness, and didn't stop until it reached every pore and muscle, until I was consumed by it.

"Wait," I started, "I want to help you."

MEG CARAWAY

I had seen the castle many times before, but never in such a gloomy setting. When I would visit my father at his job when he was still alive, I was enchanted, always dreaming of becoming a princess someday. I guess my opportunity for me to chase my dream arrived, but it wasn't for the right reasons.

When I arrived, I was ushered into a large room. A huge bed was placed in the center of the room, overflowing with comforters and blankets and pillows—the works. A large bathroom was visible through a cracked door. A large bath and shower could be seen along with many white, fluffy towels.

The living area was nice, although it was the balcony that caught my eye. Sunlight drifted through the glass panes and white curtains moved softly in the air currents. I opened the door and was breathless. The city of Mare, while I had been here many times, was a different sight from above. Older, cobblestone pathways gave way to larger, paved roads. People bustled through the streets. Laughter could be heard. Little did they know that the largest bloodbath seen in decades was about to occur. Or, I suppose, they knew it, but chose to ignore the fact.

In the courtyard, located below my room, I could see little children playing. A little girl with blonde curls was feeding the fish in a pond. The resemblance to Celeste was incredible, and I couldn't help but wonder how she was doing. Was she getting the treatment she needed? Was she going to live? Did she realize I had left her, I had left her alone in the world.

A door opening behind me interrupted my thoughts. I turned around, to find the head maid, Mrs. Severn standing in the entryway.

"Oh my!" She exclaimed, looking a tad bit embarrassed. "I didn't realize you had arrived yet. I'm sorry." She gave me a slight bow.

"No, don't do that." I wiped the tear that had fallen from my eye away and gave her a weak smile. She didn't need to bow, I wasn't anyone worth acknowledging.

"My dear girl," Mrs. Severn looked worried, setting down the buddle of laundry she was carrying and rushing to my side. "Why do you look so upset?"

"I'm fine." I wasn't really.

"Somehow, I don't believe you. Come on, tell me what's wrong." She sat down on the end of the bed, patting the blanket as an invitation. I complied. "So tell me, why the tears?"

I sighed, blinking back tears before beginning. "My sister, Celeste, is very ill. She will die unless she gets the treatment she needs. I—I volunteered because I don't have the money to help her, but I left her on her own. I don't know what will happen to her without me. Where will she go after I'm dead." And then I burst into a soggy waterfall of tears and sorrow. I let all the anguish and heartache I had been holding in for years and years out. I always looked brave around Celeste, but I couldn't be strong any longer.

Mrs. Severn pulled me into a tight hung, her arms surprisingly strong. It had been years since I felt an embrace like that, years since my mother had died. "So let me get this straight, you are upset, not because you are going to be fighting for your life, but because your sister is going to be alone."

I nodded. "Y—yes." I couldn't bear to think about that.

"That is the most unselfish thing I've heard all day." She kissed my head. "I'm so sorry that you are in this situation Meg, but everything will work out. Everything will be alright."

There was something about her tone of voice that made me believe her. Maybe it was because she reminded me a bit of my mother, someone so kind and selfless.

"I promise."

SKYLAR HATTER

NO ENTRY

AMPHITRITE HELIOS

EXTENSION

JALACE HOLLOWAY

Dear Silver,

I'm going to assassinate the king.

Yeah... I know exactly what you would ask: Jalace, are you insane?

Maybe just a little.

Truth is, I'm bored. Not to mention, I re-read my letter from yesterday and bleh. It was too depressing. Seriously? All I did was complain. How do you deal with me anymore?

Right. You're dead, so you can't protest.

Anyway, after the dull day yesterday on our way to the capital, we finally arrived at the castle. It's a pretty great place—it's very luxurious. There are plenty of shadows—lots of places to hide. I've been watching guard rotations in the courtyard; one on each wall every ten minutes. Four guards on the towers—one for each. The king always has two guards with him, and usually he leaves two standing on the outside of whatever door he's standing inside. The queen has two guards and two handmaidens always with her.

Every day the king sticks to a very strict schedule—breakfast with the royal family, meetings, sitting in the throne room with the queen dealing with the problems of the kingdom, lunch in the gardens, various meetings with the court (queen included), dinner and last bedtime. Naturally, the first night that we tributes were here his schedule was interrupted because of the grand ball that they threw us, but for the most part it stays the same.

When he goes to bed, he heads to his room, leaving two guards at his door. There are two in his room, but outside of that he's alone. It would be the perfect time for me to sneak in and kill him.

I managed to hold onto the hidden blades that you gave me. To anyone else, they just look like decorative cuffs.

I think I'll go in through the window. Take out the guards, keep it silent... kill the king. Easy and simple.

~~~

Hours later...

Well... that didn't exactly go as planned.

After making sure that I wasn't being followed, I walked through the endless maze of corridors in the palace until I came to the library. It was one story underneath the king's private chambers, and no one was in there. That made it really easy for me to open the single window in the room, and climb out. I scrambled up the side of the wall. The stones were cracked and old—providing plenty of handholds for me to grasp onto.

There was only one window in-between the library and the king's chambers—the men's bathhouse. Quickly and as quietly as possible, I climbed up to the window of the bathhouse and stopped. The nearest guard paced along the north wall, which meant that if I moved even an inch left or right, he would spot me.

I peaked over the edge, making sure the room was completely clear. When I was sure that the one man inside couldn't see, I clambered across the window, immediately reaching for a stone above it.

"What are you doing?" a sharp voice asked.

Freezing where I was, I cursed and gazed into the bathhouse.

It was another tribute—a man named Cyon if I remembered correctly.

And he was stark naked.

"Um." My thoughts froze—for the first time I had no idea what to do or say. "Just, you know—an evening stroll."

He crossed his arms and glared at me. "Would your evening stroll have anything to do with the king's chamber being directly above us?"

Pursing my lips, I debated. I could swing in and kill him before he had a chance to blink, but doing so would cost me time—valuable time. I had to get to the king's window before the guard change in ten minutes, or they would spot me climbing up the wall from their new vantage points.

But I couldn't just continue—he had seen my face. Once the king was dead, when they searched for the assassin, he would give me up.

I had no choice. I was going to have to try to convince him. "Look, I'm going to kill the king. Don't try to stop me."

His eyes widened for a split second, before narrowing.

Well, I tried. Time to kill him. Just as I was about to jump inside the window and kill him, he placed his hands up in surrender. "Wait. I want to help you."

I raised an eyebrow. "You? Help me? You'd be getting in my way!"

He shook his head, crossing his arms. "They lied. Our families aren't getting compensated once we die. I want revenge, and this is my last chance. Once—once I'm in the arena, there's no guarantee that I will win. I—I have to try."

Something in his words or tone, or maybe just his handsome looks, but whatever it was, made me stupid. I sighed, gave in and motioned for him to join me. I gave him one of my daggers, a smaller one, much easier to conceal.

By the time he slipped outside the window—not so gracefully, by the way—and started climbing up, we had already lost five minutes. Mentally groaning and cursing, I thought, five minutes! I could have killed him in three!

So why did you hesitate Jalace? You never hesitate. Yeah, Silver, I know. Maybe because he's completely innocent. Yeah I love killing. Yeah I'm craving—no itching—for another target. Assassinating an innocent and oblivious man in less than three minutes? There would be no challenge and there would be no point to it.

By the time we reached the king's window, I motioned for Cyon to stop. I peaked over the edge. The two guards were both standing in front of the door. The king was lying on his bed, completely underneath the covers.

"On three," I mouthed to Cyon. He nodded, just as I jumped in through the window, dashing to one of the guards. Before he could do anything, I pressed my fist against his chest and released the hold on the hidden blade, stabbing him.

The second guard stared at me, but hadn't noticed what I'd done. Before he could react, I sliced his throat open. Blood squirted out, making me blink several times.

"What...?" Cyon started.

I turned around to see that Cyon had pulled the covers back.

All that was there were several blankets and pillows.

The sound of hands clapping made me jump. Cyon froze, and stared the same person I stared at:

Duke Errol—the queen's youngest brother. His dark hair brought out his olive skin, and his face was young and charmingly handsome. He was sprawled out in a fancy chair, smirking. "Expecting the king?"

I clenched my jaw, as he motioned for several guards to come in. "What? How did you know?"

"I didn't. Honestly, I wasn't expecting a woman here. I was hoping Cyon would be the one who would come, but you are definitely a nice surprise," Errol drawled, his eyes glazing over me lazily.

I cursed and charged toward the guards. A cold blade bit against my skin.

"Now, I think I'll keep this little event to myself, and my personal guards. After all, you are bold—for a woman. You just might have what it takes to win. I suppose we will soon see, won't we?" Errol raised an eyebrow and snapped his fingers.

Four guards came toward me and I knew it was no use. One kicked my knee out from under me and shoved me into the ground. He pressed his knee into my back, making me groan, as another wrenched my arms painfully behind my back.

"Do forgive me, but because of your feeble attempt, I'll have to keep the both of you in chains until the games begin. I'll make up some excuse to keep the others from wondering. And as for the king's two guards, well they were my personal ones so no one will even bat an eye."

That's how I ended up here—in the dungeon. I'm lucky I stuck your letters in my jacket pocket, along with several blank sheets of paper and a pencil.

I would probably die of boredom without them.

DORN

Dorn tests the edge of the practice blade on his thumb. It's dull, as he expected, but Dorn knows he could still kill a man with it. He looks at his opponent doubtfully.

The sword master at the castle is fit and muscular, but short and altogether not very intimidating to look at. She's also a woman, much to Dorn's discomfort. He has always seen women as fair and gentle, needing to be protected and taken care of.

When Dorn had first arrived at the castle and been told about the training sessions with the weapons masters, he immediately sought out the master of swords. When Della had been pointed out to him, he was sure someone was taking him for a fool. He approached her in the training yard with the best of intentions.

"I believe I am the butt of some joke," Dorn told her gravely in his deep, booming voice. "The men tell me you are the master of swords. Perhaps they mean to say you can point him out to me?"

The woman had smiled sweetly at him. "My, what a big, strong man you are," she cooed, every bit the picture of an infatuated young girl. "Come with me, handsome, I'll take you to the master swordsman." She took his hand then, and before Dorn knew it he was lying on the ground, all the breath blown out of him. She had used his weight against him, grabbing his arm and using her hips to flip him.

"I'm Della, <Mistress> of swords here at the castle," she stated confidently, looking down at him. "Are you ready to learn, or are you just going to lie there?"

Trying to ignore the laughter of everyone who had stopped practicing to watch the encounter, Dorn got up to face her, eyes downcast in embarrassment. "I apologize for my assumptions. I have never met a woman who was a sword master."

A slight smile appeared on her face. "Oh it's alright, not like you're the first, and I daresay you won't be the last! At least you can admit when you were wrong, that's better than most," she said to him quietly. "Get back to work everyone, this isn't a playhouse!" she yelled intimidatingly to those still watching them.

Della insisted that Dorn show her what he's got. Now here they are, Dorn standing uncomfortably, wondering if he can make himself bring his weapon to bear on a woman, and Della limbering up, swinging her sword confidently with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Begin!" she yells with not much warning, and charges him with a battle cry.

Startled, Dorn brings his sword up just in time to block the attack. She continues the assault, the fury of her attacks pushing Dorn into a purely defensive stance. Overwhelmed, he can't help but forget who he's fighting and focus on the swordplay.

Della smiles as Dorn puts all of his skill and strength into the fight. She knew instinct would take over if she pushed him hard enough. The smile quickly turns to a grimace of concentration, though, as she herself is tested by Dorn's prowess.

Dorn is quicker than he looks, and as she swings her sword to slice at his torso, he blocks it and then goes straight into a flurry of blows aimed at her neck. Della just barely gets her sword up in time to parry, and Dorn presses his advantage, aiming one more hit high before switching mid-swing to aim for her legs.

Not believing someone of his size to be capable of such a feat, Della is caught off-guard. The blow lands hard on her knee, and she falls to the ground with a cry of pain. Caught within his battle-lust, Dorn raises his sword to land a crushing blow that would be sure to split open her skull.

Looking down at her in the last second before the swing, he suddenly sees Eleenie, his little sister, lying there holding her hand up in a futile gesture to protect herself, the inevitability of death in her eyes, even though Della and Eleenie bear almost no resemblance. He abruptly drops his sword, horrified at what he had almost done.

Della leans back in relief, then doubles over in pain, clutching her knee. Dorn drops down, hovering over her injured leg, looking at her pleadingly for some way to help.

"It's broken, I need to get to the infirmary," she tells him, pointing in the direction of the medical tent set up on the outskirts of the training yard.

Without a word, Dorn picks her up as gently as he can manage and carries her over to the tent. Once assured that she will receive the best care, he exits the tent and stops just outside. A deep sadness comes over his features as he contemplates what just happened.

"You nearly killed her."

Dorn spins to face the voice, sword half raised.

"Settle down, son."

Dorn lowers his sword immediately, and bows his head in deference to the King.

"Come. Walk with me," King Harold commands, starting off around the castle grounds.

Dorn follows in silence, wondering if he will be expelled from the Games for the incident with Della.

"Dorn, is it? Tell me Dorn, what will you do if you find yourself in a similar situation in the Games? You do understand the rules? It is kill or be killed," the King asks, looking at him curiously as they walk.

"I don't know, Your Highness. I saw... someone from my past," Dorn tries and fails to explain what happened. He isn't even sure himself.

"We all have pasts, Dorn. We can't escape them, and it is foolish to try. What matter is what we decide to do with our futures. What do you want for your future?" King Harold stops to face him.

Dorn steadies himself, afraid that what he say may be considered treason, but unable to stay quiet any longer. "I want to see Mare free of the corruption that has taken hold. Thieves, and worse, roam the streets in broad daylight, free to do as they will as long as the right person gets paid."

The King starts to interrupt, but Dorn continues, speaking more heatedly.

"No, you do not know all that goes on in your kingdom. You have been too lax in your rule. My sister was abducted in the market eight years ago. I used to hope to find her, but now I hope she died a quick death, rather than suffer at the hands of the crime lords you have allowed to flourish in Mare. When I am King, I will have justice!" Dorn storms off before the King can say anything. Tears fall from his face as he repeats to himself over and over that he will do what must be done.

King Harold watches him go, raising a hand to stop the guards who had been quietly following them from going after the man. He feels suddenly weary, the magnitude of his responsibilities weighing heavily upon him. He hopes only that whoever becomes heir will lead the kingdom of Mare to greatness.  

MALA AKINDI

 "A little bit more to the left..." <click> "Aha!"

"You, girl! What do you think you're doing?"

Mala whirls around, deftly slipping her lockpick into her sleeve as she turns to face the approaching woman. "I..."

"Do you know what's behind this door?" Queen Isobel asks, but she doesn't wait for an answer. "Clearly not, as it is the housekeepers' supply room. Just what did you think to accomplish by breaking into it? Do you need a broom?"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I just got curious is all," says Mala, looking at the floor and trying to appear contrite.

The Queen looks her over and her stern face softens. "Well I suppose I can't blame a young girl for her curiosity. It shows intelligence, after all. Look at me. What's your name?"

"Mala, Your Majesty. Mala Akindi," Mala answers, looking her in the eye.

"Mala. Why have you entered these Games, as young as you are? Are you so willing to die?" the Queen asks, scrutinizing the girl.

Mala's eyes flash defiantly. "I'm not going to die. What do you know of death? Living in this fancy castle, with servants to wait on you hand and foot, when was the last time you went outside? Do you know what life is like for us <commoners>? I've survived worse than anything these <games> can throw at me."

"Wha-, I-," Queen Isobel falters, momentarily taken aback by Mala's accusatory tone. She quickly remembers herself and stands straighter. "How dare you speak to me like this? You know nothing of what it takes to be Queen. There are matters of diplomacy and economy that would make your pretty little head spin, <girl>. You believe you could run a successful household? It's not as easy as I make it look, my dear." She turns to leave. "They used to have a saying for luck. <May the odds be ever in your favor>. You'll need it."

As the Queen storms off, she can't help but feel a grudging respect for the girl. She makes a mental note to take a trip to the city and investigate Mala's claims for herself.

Mala watches her go, feeling angry, and also ashamed at having been caught. She's never been caught. What would Rosto say? She knows, he'd say, "A thief that's caught is no thief at all. Cut off her hand, Boris, she's not using it." Mala had been a witness to that gruesome scene more than once.

She shudders, grateful that whatever happens, at least she won't have to go back to that life. Rosto was a cruel man, and Mala deeply regretted signing his contract. When he had found her she was 14, and had been staying in one of the nicer inns, just having robbed the owner of a winery the night before.

How he found her or knew of her nightly activities, she didn't know. He approached her as a fellow rogue, commending her skills and offering her friendship, as well as a purpose. If she joined his guild she would always have a safe place to sleep, and a family of sorts, in exchange for a bit of what she stole.

The idea was very attractive to Mala at the time, as she had been feeling lonely and directionless. So she placed her trust in this man, and signed the contract he presented her without reading it through. She didn't see the words that said her life now belonged to him, to do with as he pleased. If she failed to fulfill her quota or disobeyed the rules of the guild, he would kill her, or worse.

The worst part was there was nowhere she could run, no one who could help her. Because of the contract he could kill her right in front of a castle guard without consequence. That's why she took the chance she did when Rosto offered it to her.

One night, after drinking heavily, Rosto was in a very good mood. Mala had just made off with a priceless heirloom that sold for an exorbitant price on the black market. Rosto invited her to celebrate with him, and after a few drinks he decided to make a wager.

He would wager her contract against another haul of loot that brought the same or more as the heirloom in a game of chance. Though Mala knew she'd never get lucky enough to steal something that valuable again, she had to risk it.

Needless to say, she lost. That's the main reason she's here right now.

She pulls a ring out of her pocket and slips it on her finger. She holds it up to examine it in the light. It's a huge ruby ring, really a magnificent jewel, worth at least twice what she owes to Rosto.

"Housekeeping supplies... Clever lie, Queen Isobel. If I had been trying to open the lock rather than close it on my way out of your treasury, I may have believed you," Mala whispers to the empty hallway.  

JENAE SAYA

The castle, for lack of better words, is huge. The colors are vibrant along every wall, and the decorations still pop out from hall to hall. To be wealthy, what a spectacle. To be able to have enough excess money that one is able to decorate their home, or to provide for two dozen or so more people: food, water, clothing and housing. Life isn't afraid to taint these walls, of course, but the walls will stay pristine nonetheless.

Most of the tributes – or people, as Jenae still calls them – frolic around with one another, creating hushed friendships in darker nights. These people, the ones that will be Jenae's competition, walks in pairs, in trios, in groups. It's almost as if they're oblivious to the fact that in a week's time, they'll be isolated and forced to kill. Or perhaps, they weren't told what would happen if they didn't win. Granted, there are some here that look as if they cannot tie their own shoelaces, but Jenae isn't judging them on their looks wholeheartedly.

For one, there are the small one's she has seen. They aren't even that small really, they're her age, or maybe slightly younger. They're all quick and nimble on their feet, but she doubts they'd be able to outrun a much older person. Or even outthink them. It's the kid's sad reality, but they chose this. Their parents could have too, but that matters no longer.

Then there are the slightly older kids. Meaning, Jenae, Emere, and a couple others. She has a feeling that this batch will make it longer. The younger, the more seemingly attractive. The Court may not want the ones that can actually be of use to die off so quickly. At least, hopefully not. Jenae hasn't seen much of them today, but she plans to.

And finally, there are the elders. They're not even in their thirties, but she calls them elders simply because they're older than regulation work age, eighteen. These are the people with established families, maybe even thinking of marrying someone. What a shame they chose this fate rather than one considering a hypothetical lover.

Thoughts continue to drift as she herself flutters down the stairs. She didn't bother to learn her roommate's name, all she knows about her is that her red hair is actually real and not some artificial color. Then again, if it were artificial, this girl would have to be rich.

One-thirteen, one-fourteen. She counts every step it has taken to reach the bottom of the staircase. One-eighteen, one-nineteen. She did the same thing when walking to her restroom, to the hall, to the dining hall. Each is about two hundred or so steps. She reaches the bottom of the staircase at One-fifty.

"Just who I was looking for!" Emere's voice snaps her out of her head.

She smiles at her friend, her real friend, "Oh, hey! And what for?" In all honesty, he could be calling her to go and scope and boy out, and she would gladly go; he could ask her to help him hide a body, and she would hesitantly go.

"You know how these people are making little pacts?" He asks and she nods in turn. "Well, what if we created a little alliance?"

She ponders this for a bit and makes up her mind: "No. We absolutely cannot trust any one of these people."

It would be ridiculous to do so; they know nothing about these people, where they come from and what their mannerisms are. Nothing to give them insight on where a person's loyalty lays.

"No, Jen! Not with them – I mean us two. You know, Emere and Jenae, the bro-sis extraordinaire!"

She shakes her head, "No, sorry. I don't know them. But I don't know. What does this Emere character know what to do? I haven't seen him at any of the weaponry meetings," she hopes her smile isn't pressing against her face. She likes challenging her friend, and she adores his way of trying to accomplish a task.

"Oh, I'll show you what I, Emere, can do!" He takes her hand and pulls her a couple of yards into a gymnasium. Along the walls are many weapons and target practices, first aid training, and basic survival skills stations. Most are actually practicing, hacking away at dummies.

"You see," he begins, "I know how to master all of these weapons, far better than you could ever imagine!"

"Boasting are we? Nice try, Emere. You're no match for me. Choose a weapon, and I'll prove it." A smirk is obviously plastered on her faces, as Emere raises his eyebrows and grabs some knives. He doesn't know how perfect that knives will fit in her hand.

She catches the packet of knives, taking out a half dozen of them. Aiming, she tries to hit a bullseye. It doesn't even stick. The second knife sticks, but barely. The third and fourth both stick, and are closer to center point. The fifth, her favorite throw, sticks into the wood and is almost at the bullseye. Her sixth knife actually hits the bullseye, but she expects it so it doesn't make much of an impact.

Annoyed, Emere gets something else. Swords. Her face falls, the sword will be too heavy. However, she accepts it, evening swinging it around and practices some jabs. From her eyes, she's doing great, in another's eye, she may look like some twitching fool. But when Emere tries to hit her, she doesn't manage to dodge in time. The blade grazes her side, cutting her shirt and a causing a line of blood to emerge.

"Oh, shoot. Put pressure. Nurse!? We need a nurse," Emere is frantically yelling. Jenae doesn't want to freak him out any more, so she grits her teeth and silently curses.

A little lady, older looking, approaches the duo hurriedly. Her wiry gray hair is held up in a tight, smart bun, and her nurses' uniform is crisp. Hmm, I guess they don't have many injuries in the castle.

The lady looks stern, with her heavy eyebrows furrowed. However, when she introduces herself, her voice is calming. "Oh, what a jiffy. My name is Mrs. Stevens, and I'm here to patch you up, okay."

I mean, I guess you would be here to patch me up. "Thank you, Mrs. Stevens." Gratitude is in her system, but the situation is a little awkward.

Mrs. Stevens grabs a wad of cotton, pouring hydrogen peroxide over it. Gently and with tender fingers, she picks Jenae's shirt up. Once up, she rubs the cotton over her cut. Jenae is ready to wince, and even scream if she feels like it. If people are going to stare at her, might as well make a show of it. But when the cotton makes contact with her skin, she feels nothing. There's a slight bubbling that erupts, but she doesn't feel any of it. Instead of staying completely poker faced, she winces a lot. She squeezes her eyes shut, gritting her teeth, and even throwing her head back.

People are still staring her so she chooses to curse out loud. In reality, nothing hurts at all. "Damn!" Mrs. Steven looks up at her, dazed at the girl's reactions. "Ahh, ow!" She drones her "Ooh" and "Ahh." The more people that stare at her the better.

Emere bends down and, dramatic as ever, grips his best friend's hands. "I'm so sorry, Jenae! Really, I am. I didn't think I would hurt you that bad." He looks deeply into her eyes, and manages to wink. Oh, these two will put on a show.

"Your strike was so heavy, Emere," she actually whimpers, "It's not your fault. I can handle it, don't you worry!" Her eyes hold fake tears, glistening ones nonetheless. But inside, she is laughing.

Everyone is staring at them, and that is until Mrs. Stevens picks Jenae up and announces to everyone, "She's cleared." The people leave, and Mrs. Stevens gives a pointed look at Emere as well. Now alone, the woman glares at her patient. "Lying so soon? That really isn't my forte."

Immediately, guilt etches at Jenae. She doesn't appreciate lying either. "Yeah, I'm sorry. But everyone was here, so might as well make some type of impression."

"Even if you go against your own morals?"

What? "Excuse me?"

Mrs. Stevens replies, "Yes. Exactly what I said. Would you make an impression, even if it goes against who you are?"

Okay, who do you think you are? "I'm sorry, and with all due respect, but I don't think that should matter to you."

Mrs. Stevens says, "Well, maybe not to me now. But think about it, do you want to recreate yourself while you are here?"

"No. I'm fine with myself, thank you very much."

"Lying," Mrs. Stevens begins, "is a form of recreation. Take that in mind, dear, it will be very important. Do you promise to remember?"

What? "Yes," an empty promise.

"As will I." 

IVORY FAIRWELL

Ivory felt more alone than ever as she paced the halls of the castle aimlessly the following week. She would walk through the castle day after day, passing maids and guards who didn't bother to give her a second glance.

"I think that she's one of the tributes, don't you?" A maid whispered to her fellow worker, loud enough for me to hear. The other maid nodded her head in agreement and they continued their walk, holding large trays of food in their arms.

No one noticed the tributes around the castle. The names had been called, and now twenty-three of them would die, and that was that. Only when the final tribute became heir to the throne, would the people of Mare remember who they had been.

It was more terrifying than ever to think that, after all the torture she had been put through, no one would ever remember Ivory Fairwell. Her mother wouldn't care, Jack would move on and Adrianne, oh, God knows what Adrianne would do. Go into a wild frenzy, drive herself completely mad until she found herself someone else who was just as good as Ivory had been. Then, she would forget.

Even with all of the people that passed by in the halls within the course of two hours, a feeling of loneliness worked its way into Ivory's veins. She had no friends here. She was completely and utterly alone.

Oftentimes she would think about the other tributes, wondered how they were and how they dealt with the Reaping. She expected them to be excited and joyful; but once they were dead they wouldn't feel so grateful.

She didn't remember their names, either. The girl that had been called before her, Jenna or something of the sorts, and that was about it. So of course, why would they remember her at all. Ivory was nothing special. She wasn't the odd one out, the psychopath or the clumsy, weak one. She was a perfectly normal, basic girl that no one seemed to think much of.

Of course, she couldn't simply rid herself of her confidence, though. She still knew that there was a chance that she would win, if she tried hard enough. Adrianne had given her the biggest pep talk of her life before they had taken her away, and Ivory wasn't planning on forgetting it just yet.

She leaned herself against the wall of the castle, feeling worn out. Maybe I should rest.

Rest. The word sounded almost unnatural. Ivory had not gotten rest since she had been Reaped. There was no time for rest when there was so little time to prepare herself.

You have to rest, the little voice in her head told her. What good will you be in the arena if you're completely deprived of sleep?

So she silently made her way down to her bedroom in the palace, eyes constantly fluttering shut until she had to force them open.

"Oh, excuse me! I am so very sorry!" A soft voice spoke suddenly, and Ivory's eyes shot open to stare at the woman in front of her with disbelief.

"Your majesty!" She gasped, and the queen let out a soft giggle. She wore a fine white dress, with a long train following her. Two guards stood by her side, both glaring at her menacingly. Ivory shivered, but tried to stand tall and look brave.

"No need for formalities right now." Isobel smiled, her face wrinkling. "And you are one of the tributes, yes?"

Ivory's head bobbed up and down quickly. "I'm Ivory Fairwell," she said hopefully, wishing for the queen to recognize her; but Isobel showed no recognition in her eyes. Ivory ran a hand through her hair nervously as the queen smiled.

"Ah, yes, Miss Fairwell," she said, but Ivory could hear it in her voice that Isobel didn't remember her, "And how might you be this fine day?"

Ivory frowned. She was, in fact, very not-good, but she couldn't simply say that to the queen, could she?

"I'm... I'm not great, but thanks," she murmured.

What is wrong? Would you like me to fetch a servant to care for your needs?"

Nothing a servant can care for. "No thank you, Your Majesty - though I do appreciate the offer. I'm just a little homesick."

The queen's eyes glinted with sympathy. "Oh, dear, it'll be just fine. They'll be alright."

Ivory's eyes narrowing as she heard the soft, knowing tone in her voice. They'll be alright. But I won't.

"Thank you once again." Ivory dipped her head and smiled lightly. The queen nodded in return.

"I wish you good luck, Miss Fairwell." She spoke with a hint of worry in her voice. "And I bid you good day."

Ivory tried to grin and hoped that she didn't look constipated. "And you too, Your Majesty."

She stepped off to the side and let the queen continue on her way down the halls, flanked by the two guards.

"God, am I glad that's over," Ivory muttered to herself when they were out of earshot, but a maid's eyes lit up as she stopped Ivory in her tracks.

"Are you saying that you find the queen's presence unwelcome?"

"Her guards are fairly terrifying, if you ask me," Ivory replied bluntly, "and she makes me feel quite uncomfortable. Thank you for your time." She shoved the maid out of the way, ignoring her look of surprise, and walked back towards her bedroom.

Her head felt dizzy now, and each step she took felt like she was about to topple over. She just had time to close the door to the bedroom before she flopped down onto the bed with a groan of exhaustion. A servant glanced up at her, worry edging his tone as he spoke. "Are you alright, Miss Fairwell?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled, "And I've told you, it's Ivory."

"Ah, yes, sorry, Ivory," he said, and faked a bow. Ivory snorted, appreciating the sarcasm. This servant was the only one of her group that didn't treat her as some sort of queen, and she enjoyed his presence.

"Do you need anything?" Another servant perked up, her blue eyes dull with boredom.

"Rest," Ivory sighed, and before the servant could reply, she had drifted off into a dreamless sleep. 

Peace at last.

EDREA ABELL

NO ENTRY - ELIMINATED

ADRIEN THISWOOD

EXTENSION

MINERVA SINCLAIR

The castle was loud that first evening, Minerva could hear the cries of joy and merriment all the way from her chambers on the far end of the castle. If she thought hard she could see the warmly lit room crammed with tributes decked in their finest garbs mingling with the equally beautiful royals.

Minerva would celebrate when she had won.

The small oaken table that sat in the center of her dimly lit room was covered in her research, the research that she had spent the day so earnestly composing. She shuffled through the rough profiles she had gathered, erasing each tribute's name and replacing it with a number, the tributes could not be humans in her mind. Giving them numbers that represented their level of threat to her just made everything seem so much more simple and organized rather than the chaos she knew this truly was.

The charts and diagrams also gave her a strategy to win, hidden deep within the scribbles of pencil were every tribute's weaknesses and their strengths. Minerva would find every last chink in their armor and when the time came, she would shove a dagger straight into them.

Hour elapsed onto hour and in her complete fixation on her task Minerva forgot about the companion that she had brought to the capital with her.... The little bird who was missing an eye and had a fluffy red stomach was called Chimichunga and he was more than a little curious about his new surroundings.

Chimichunga had watched his friend for a long while, perched upon the table beside her. Eventually though his curiosity and desire for food got the better of him and he hopped to the heated stone floor. Chimichunga would find worms not only for himself, but for Minerva as well. His scaly claws clicked against the floor with each bounce that brought him just slightly further from the room.

Minerva probably would have never noticed Chimichunga's absence had it not been for the scream that erupted from the hallway. "Rat! Dear God! It's a rat with wings!"

Minerva nearly fell from her chair in shock as the scream rattled her from her project. She pushed her thin framed glasses up her nose and her eyes darted through the darkly lit room, scanning it for her bird. "Oh Chimichunga.... I need to remember to feed you," she muttered under her breath as she sprinted across the room and into the hall.

Minerva didn't have to go far before she saw her little black and red bird cornering a small, wiry man who was cringing in disgust. He had wavy black hair streaked with grey and an olive complexion that accentuated the lines in his forehead. She stopped a few feet away, staring at the apparent royal, her mind wheeling. "Duke Errol," she said finally placing the man.

Errol looked up, meeting her eyes. "Call this thing off! Call it off!" He demanded, his eyes shining with a bit of panic.

Minerva didn't have to say a word because as soon as her bird saw her he fluttered onto his owner's shoulder. She attempted not to let her amusement at the man's apparent fear of birds show on her face and let her eyes drift to the floor.

The Duke peeled himself off the wall and backed up, readjusting his silk blouse. "It's Grand Duke Errol to you, and would you care to tell me why that thing isn't in a cage?" He asked with an air of self arrogance. Minerva wasn't sure why he had arrogance, from what she had heard of him he was a dead weight who played off of the queen's sympathy to get his title. He was also sponsoring a tribute.

"Well," Minerva started, watching the Duke's face very closely. "We don't put children in cages do we?"

The Duke frowned and straightened his back. "That isn't funny, you child."

Minerva snorted, "It wasn't a joke. I don't joke."

"You're dreadful, honestly I have no clue as to why we have all of you brats here. The queen should just leave the throne to me." Duke Errol rolled his neck and sent Minerva a complacent smile. "Now if you will excuse me I am late for my evening massage." He turned around curtly and began to walk away.

Minerva hesitated, a second as she evaluated her options. "Enjoy it while you can Errol!" Minerva shouted down the hall, her voice echoing in the empty hallway. "If you think you will get to keep your title after a new ruler is crowned you are positively insane."

The Duke stopped dead in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening as Minerva's words hit his ears. Minerva smiled coyly, knowing she had hit a nerve. "Unless you want to make a deal with me." She watched as the man turned around very slowly as if it pained him. "I know you get to sponsor a tribute. If you sponsor me and get me through the games I can arrange things to keep your lifestyle in check, in fact I could even elevate your position."

The duke said nothing, he just stared at her with a sick expression on his face. Minerva's smile widened, "I'm a woman of my word." She lied, not entirely convinced that she would keep up her end of the bargain if the Duke decide to accept. "You don't have to make a choice yet, though. Take your time and think about my proposal."

Minerva thought she could just make out the slight nod of the Duke's head before she turned away. She wasn't convinced she had been successful with the Duke, however she did know that at the very least she had offered him something he needed. He knew just as well as she did that he would never survive on the streets, a man like Errol would be eaten up and spit out in a matter of hours. Her offer might just get her a sponsor.

With a slight smile she slipped into her room and closed the door, listening once again to the chatter of the party goers far away. She sat down in her seat and looked back down at her papers. None of them would know what had had hit them , and that was one thing she could promise.  

CASPER DELIRIOUS

The first thing that entered my mind when I set foot on the castle was: Woah.

Who wouldn't be wowed by the sheer vastness and beauty? The sight before me dwarfed down every other lavish home that I entered before. It even made the mansion of the Cotours look like a children's play house, and that was saying a lot.

The little girl led me through different corridors and each one was more elegant than the first. We even passed some fountains and a small garden. Just when I thought my mind would go crazy with all the things I've seen, we passed through an archway into a courtyard.

It was the biggest and most beautiful courtyard I've ever seen. The tiles were peach coloured and the landscape was full of tall trees, varieties of flowers, bushes, and different kinds of grass all arranged to create swirling designs.

"Beautiful, is it?" A man's voice said from somewhere behind. I quickly turned around and found myself face to face with the royal family. I remembered my manners and immediately bowed, before addressing the king and queen.

"Your Majesties."

When I looked up again, I saw King Harold smiling. "You have fine etiquette for an individual such as yourself. Come, dine with us before the servants show you to your room." I nodded happily before turning to the little girl, but she was already gone.

-----------------

Dinner with the king and queen was very enjoyable. Even though the topics were always focused on me, I saw that King Harold and Queen Isobel showed curiosity about my life. I told them about my parents and my deceased brother, then the lifelong goal I wanted to achieve.

"That is a big dream Casper." King Harold said, after biting on a scone.

"Yes, but it is the only way I can think of to be able to make Caspian proud. After all it's what he does, help people. Better be the same." I said before shrugging. I helped myself to a small bowl of mushroom a la crème, and from the corner of my eye I saw the king and queen exchange a look.

After thirty more minutes of eating and talking, Queen Isobel finally called the servant girl once more. They talked for a while in the corner before the young girl nodded and walked towards the apparent location of my room.

We stopped in front of a large dark brown coloured door with a brass handle. I hesitated for a split second before pushing. The sight that greeted me made my eyes droopy with sleepy bliss. Now, don't go thinking that my room at home is not nice but compared to this it probably looked so insignificant.

The best part about this room is that it was so simple. The white walls were bare except for a few paintings, a large clock and a stuffed deer's head near the top of the mantel piece. There was a large fireplace with a mantel above it filled with assortments of chinaware displays. Then beside that, were a big lampshade and a green coloured armchair. On the wall opposite the door was a closet filled with assortment of clothes. Most impressive of all was the balcony, fridge and bed. The balcony overlooked a forest, with a small river near the beginning of the line of trees. Then the fridge was filled with all sorts of food and drinks; from scones, ice cream, salad, water, coke etc. The bed on the other hand, was a four-poster with a golden coloured theme.

I immediately tried the bed and I almost had to control myself from passing out. The pillows were so fluffy and soft, and the smell was so refreshing.

"Hope you enjoy your stay here on the palace, sir. Have a nice day." Then the girl was gone again.

I gave a sigh of contentment, running my fingers on my hair. The feeling of the soft bed on my back combined with the sounds of nature eventually lulled me to a peaceful sleep.

---------------

After I woke up from my five hour nap, I was surprised by a line of waiting servants. I was definitely reluctant, but I decided to give a task to the first servant who came back with a schedule for some classes I could take. My mind pondered over many things before I picked the archery class.

Two of the servants came in, despite protests, and helped me pick suitable clothes. Then they accompanied me to the dining hall, where I had dinner yesterday. While we were talking, Queen Isobel told me that for the whole week I would have the privilege of having breakfast and dinner with them. After the breakfast with King Harold and Queen Isobel, I went to the archery class which would take place in the arena.

Being a boy, I knew that I should at least know how to defend or fight for myself and family. Lucky for me, I do know some moves and my knowledge in archery is not blank. So in short, my one-on-one session with the master was easy and full of entertainment. Master Frauld told me to go back again tomorrow and have some more practice before the duels begin.

For the next four days, my life was definitely like a royal's. Every time I woke up there is a servant who would be ready to help me, but after the first day I kept in mind the fact that I cannot rely on them always. So instead I gave them small tasks like finding out class schedules or the best locations in the castle for a stroll.

Then I would go over to have breakfast with the royal family and to archery class. For just four days my skills in archery greatly improved, much to Master Frauld's delight. I couldn't even believe that in the first day the arrow I shot fell to the floor. Now, it got nearer and nearer to the bull's eye.

On the fifth day, I just finished my final day of training (I hit the bull's eye, finally!!) and Master Frauld gave me my own bow with matching quiver full of special arrows. With the victory still fresh in my mind, I decided to go to one of the gardens I found while exploring the castle. I don't know why, but the place quickly appealed to me. It looked much like the courtyard but smaller and was much more abundant with bushes filled with flowers rather than trees. In one corner there was a wooden swing, ringed by colourful bonsais placed in pots with intricate designs. The first time I spent here made me feel at home and safe.

It made me remember my childhood. Caspian.

And now, in this time of great delight I knew this garden would be the best place to be. When I finally came to the entrance, I immediately noticed that I wasn't alone. Standing amidst the trees, I saw a plump elderly lady. She wore a cream coloured dress and shiny black doll shoes. Her grey hair pulled into a tight bun. The lady turned around when she heard my footsteps across the tiled ground.

"Mrs. Severn?" I asked. As soon as the lady faced me, I recognized her immediately. On my third day on the castle, she was the one who accompanied me to the dining hall for a rather special dinner. Queen Isobel's brother, Grand Duke Errol came for a visit and I was invited together with other villagers.

"Good afternoon dear." Mrs. Severn said. "A rather nice place is it not?" I nodded to her in agreement. "I come here often, in the afternoons just to relieve the stress."

"Yeah. It's like the place makes me feel at home rather than homesick." I heard Mrs. Severn laugh at my comment.

"King Harold had this garden made for visitors. Well, almost every garden, but only a few are used. This is one of my favourites."

The two of us lapsed into silence. I pondered over Mrs. Severn's story about the gardens. No wonder they give this warm feeling, it was supposed to make the visitors at ease while they are here. I smiled, King Harold truly is just and kind.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Severn broke the silence. She asked me about myself and why I decided to join the Games. At first, I was reluctant to tell her but eventually I told her about my family especially Caspian. Then I also told her about the goal I had. It got her attention immediately.

"You are the first tribute I got the chance to talk to for this long. The others seemed to have a knack for going to the arena, but you decided to go here instead." Mrs. Severn said.

After that, we talked more about the things I already accomplished in my goal. She congratulated me and said that my brother and parents would surely be proud of my achievements.

DING!! DING!!

The clear sound of a bell rang loudly. I flinched so hard I hit my head on the headboard of the swing.

"We should be going back. I had a wonderful time talking to you, Casper. See you soon, and, keep that kindness in yourself. It may well help in the future." Mrs. Severn said. Then she stood up, gave a nod, and walked back to the corridor.

I sat there, thinking over her words. After a few minutes, I decided that I would like to stay here for a while. I lay back on the swing and looked at the stars, thinking of the happenings during the past few days.

On the horizon, the faint glow of the village looked eerie and secluded.

VIRGIL WADE

EXTENSION

EVORA GIMP  

"I hate it. Not wearing it." I glared at one of my handmaidens, who's name started with S or T or something like that. Folding my arms defiantly across my chest, I tried my best not to glance down at the frilly pink skirt that she had forced me to wear. "Pink is disgusting. Why can't you just give me back my clothes?!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Gimp," the woman looked irritated, but kept her voice calm. "But your previous clothes were not suitable for the palace. If you are to win the competition- "

"-which I will."

"Then you have to dress like a proper queen."

"Humph," I grumbled, feeling a sense of helplessness creep into my veins. It wasn't like this was home, where I could tear off anything I didn't want to wear and change. How much does this thing cost anyway? I thought, feeling my handmaiden's eyes burn into me. She was waiting for an answer. Probably cost more than our whole house. All at once, a feeling of homesickness washed over me, and I bit my lip. Tears welled up in my eyes as memories of Theodore and Matthew and even mother caused my heart to ache. I was already starting to regret my decision to enter

"Miss Gimp?" my handmaiden's voice sounded softer now, more compassionate. "I can fetch you another dress, if you like."

"No," the one thing I hated more than pink frilly dresses was pity, and whatever-her-name's voice was filled with pity. My voice sounded throaty, choked, even, and I swallowed. "No," I repeated, my voice stronger than before. "I'm fine. Can I go now? I want to explore the castle."

"Of course, my lady." My handmaiden bowed, and for the first time I could remember I felt a prickle of guilt for not learning her name. She turned to go, blonde waves catching the light, and before I knew it I had called out, "Hey, what's your name?"

She stopped, not attempting to hide the look of surprise on her face, and said, "Serenity, my lady."

"Serenity," I repeated, letting the syllables roll on my tongue. "Pretty name."

"As is yours, Miss Gimp," Serenity dipped yet another curtsey, before heaving open the heavy mahogany door and stepped out into the corridors, but not before adding, "Oh, and don't get into trouble!"

There it was again. That word. Trouble.

I chuckled to myself, feeling an idea take root in my mind, "You bet."

*

"Any moment now..." I whispered to myself, crouched under a merchant's fruit cart. Perhaps it wasn't the best hiding place I could find – considering that the cart was located smack dab in the center of the castle courtyard, but you could hardly blame me. The servant had reappeared much sooner than I anticipated, and I hardly had time to drop the last of the maggots into the washing basket. My pale hands, once so clean and sparky – courtesy of Serenity – were now coated with dust and dirt. I had hand-picked the maggots myself from the garbage pile, taking out the biggest and juices. I watched with wide eyes as the maid rummaged through the laundry, holding my breath.This is going to be gold.

Then, a scream as loud and screechy as a banshee's pierced the air as the maid stumbled back, dropping her washing. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing as the poor woman started shaking her hand frantically, wailing like the world was bending. Doubling over with silent laughter, I had to hold onto the fruit cart's wheel for support as tears sprang to my eyes once again – except this time they were happy tears. Tears of laughter. Theo would love this, oh god...

"Hey," remarked a stern feminine voice from behind me. "What are you doing here?"

I whirled around, an excuse on the tip of my tongue. However, when my green-blue eyes connected with the woman's searching brown ones, all speech seemed to have been taken from me. Thus, I, Evora Gimp the chatterbox, stood gawking in front of a plump, orderly-looking woman. Her mousy-brown hair, tinted with flecks of grey, was tied in an immaculately kept bun, her black and white uniform absolutely spotless. She looked like a servant, but walked with sort of a regal air around her, head held high.

"Well?" the woman placed a hand on her hip, eyes darting back from my rigid form to the sobbing maid I had just pranked, who was now being comforted by others. "Did you put those disgusting worms into Amy's washing basket?"

"Uh-"all of a sudden, I wasn't a cowering little girl again. Straightening my back, I held my head high just like the hunk of a woman in front of me and snapped, "Why should I tell you? I'm a contestant for the Games, maid. Now, let me leave." I moved to walk around her, but the plump woman blocked my path.

Gritting my teeth, I looked up at her and hissed, "Let me go."

Instead, the woman only tilted her head to the side, surveying me in a curious manner. "You're a feisty one, aren't you? How old are you, child? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

"Fourteen," I confirmed, now feeling slightly uneasy. If this 'Amy' finds out I put the maggots in her washing, I'm toast for sure. "Now can I go? Please?"

The woman made no attempt to move. "You have a sharp tongue." She made a clucking noise in her throat like a hen, her brown eyes softening slightly. "And you're bold for your age. Smart, too, I can tell – if you stop wasting your wits on idiotic little stunts like these." She waved a pudgy arm towards the abandoned laundry basket, for Amy and her cluster of friends were out of sight. "I don't understand why you children do such vile things. Poor Amy. What has she ever done to you?"

I shrugged, feeling relaxed yet uncomfortable at the same time. "I don't know. I guess it's fun." This woman had an air around her that made me want to just talk to her. Leaning against the fruit cart, I sighed and said, "I grew up in a family of six, you know. My two eldest brothers – Theodore and Matthews – they were like my closest friends. We pranked people. It was sort of a tradition among us." Thinking about Theodore and Matthews made me melancholy again, and I paused for a while. A few seconds passed, before I found myself whispering, "I don't think I'll ever see them again."

Leaves rustled in the wind as the woman remained silent for a while, before speaking up, "Why don't you write to them, child? I'm sure they'll be glad to hear from you."

"Oh," a blush crept up on my cheeks, and my ears felt warm. I glanced down in embarrassment at my fidgeting fingers, debating whether to tell the truth or not. "Well, actually, Miss...I can't read. Never learned. Or write, for that matter." Good grief, I hope I didn't just spoil my chances of becoming queen...

The mystery woman's eyes widened considerably so they looked like an owl's, and her tone of voice changed from sympathetic to matter-of-fact in an instant. "Why, you don't know how to read and write?" her voice held no malice or judgment, surprising me. Didn't like, everyone despise people who can't read or write? "Then, child, you must learn at once!" unexpectedly, she began moving towards the corridors, other servants scuttling out of her way. In a daze, I followed.

"Yes, yes," she was mumbling, her eyes taking on a far-away look. "Let's see...Tuesday I have orientation for the new servants,Wednesday I'm full...Thursday. Thursday it is, then!" before I knew it, she had stopped her brisk walk and turned towards me. "What's your name?"

"Evora," I mumbled, still trying to comprehend everything that was happening, "Evora Gimp."

"Good, Evora. I'm Mrs. Severn, head maid. You'll come to my room at one o'clock sharp on Thursday, afternoon, you hear? Sharp. Ask any servant and they'll tell you where it is."

"Mrs – wait, what?" I stared at her as Mrs. Severn started walking off. "Wait. Why?"

"Why, Evora. Hasn't it been obvious?" Mrs. Severn stopped, turned around, and smiled and small, kind smile. "I'm going to teach you how to read."

With that, she bumbled off like an elephant, soon disappearing from my sight. Leaving me standing opened-mouthed with shock and surprise in the corridor.

Who knew maggots could lead to this?