CAPITOL FEMALE - LAVENDER STONE

The minute my stylist decided to put me in a blue dress all the way down to my ankles with blue high heels I decided that it was time to put my style into this look.

"It needs bluebells." I announced looking at my stylist a skinny Capitol person with pink skin and yellow eyes.

"Yes, of course Lavender." The Capitol person replied darting away quietly.

Now I can do what I really want.
I look around the tiny room and I spot a blue coloured piece of fabric I immediately take it shoving it into my purse the stylist had given me.

"Here you go Lavender." The stylist said holding up a bunch of bluebell accessories.

I take them slowly examining each one, I finally decide on a beautiful blue pair of earring and a sequinning device.

"I'm ready." I reply as I look my stylist in the eye, they just nod to me to go on.

"Lavender Arcadia Stone." Wisteria yelled into the microphone.

I step out and I immediately know something is wrong.

What's my friend Alaric Blue doing here?
He's not suppose to be on stage.

"Lie to me and I'll slit his throat." Wisteria whispered so only I could hear her threat.

"Let's get this show on the road." Wisteria said loudly looking at the crowd.

"Yeah, sure." I replied trying to sound bubbly, but it's hard when Alaric is being tortured.

"So, how do you feel being a tribute for the Capitol?" Wisteria asked her eyes never leaving mine.

"It's an honor to be here, I did volunteer." I replied trying to stay happy.

"Do you have any allies?" Wisteria questioned.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. You'll see in the games." I responded.

That's when Wisteria digs her fingernails into Alaric's throat.
She can't do this.

"That's a beautiful dress you have." Wisteria said.

"I know." I replied and I can't help it the anger inside me is rising.

"Do you believe you can win these games?" Wisteria asked calmly.

"Maybe." I replied.

That's when she slits Alaric's throat.

"You murderer!" I shouted and that's when I run off stage.

Wisteria killed Alaric and now she's going to pay the price.
I will win the games and kill Wisteria.
Watch out Wisteria you made an enemy that isn't afraid of you.

~~

DISTRICT 1 FEMALE - ALLIUM ANTHROMIS

Faeries only existed in fantasies.

Just like monsters and ogres were figments of our imagination brought to life in old folk tales. Besides Allium, it felt as if everyone who didn't experience it first hand believed in that. From such a young age she always felt different, like being watched through a veil. Not by some creepy old stalker who hid in the woods and scoped out your house like his next meal, but a constant nagging to turn around and see a lingering shadow.

She never had the courage to do it. Afraid that what she would find would be greater than any story that could ever be told.

This was no story. Just a simple girl living in a broken world filled with destruction and horror. You see, Allium has always been different from the start. Her heart, covered in stone and set to burn in ashes, had been damaged too many times to count. Every feeling was numb and there wasn't a single emotion that Allium felt without some sort of despair.

Even in her happiest moments, the fifteen year-old girl could never manage to crack a smile that was real and not forged from metal. The crimson that swirled her arms, setting her up for a life of murder, although it may not have seem, Allium was deadly.

So when she walked on stage, it was already known that she would be wearing the dress her father had picked out, and she'd be forced to endure every judging eye in the audience that speculated her like an object on an exam table.

Though she might hate to admit it, no, it actually killed her to admit that Cadelon had, in the least, a sense of style. The Persian Blue down of the authentic alliums grazed against her skin gentle as a feather, with a silky material dipping low into deep cut v-neck. It almost seemed provocative for someone of such a mere age. Every stitch was so carefully hand sewn that even when she bent to pick up a fallen flower that it didn't crease or tear. As it flowed down lower into a thatched wide spray that created a dome around her ankles, the sheer way it transformed from water to pure fire was devious.

Not many could pull off such a gown, especially someone with such a reputation to have killed mercilessly. To say the article of clothing she was wearing was pure compared to her soul would have been correct if it were not for the fact it shelved many secrets underneath it's corset. As she came closer to the stage, the walk seemed endless in the five inch booted heels.

With sparkles shimmering against her chest and collarbone, the crowd went wild as they watched from their seats with anxious cheers. They were a mixed array of colors and perfumes that hid the scent of her own honeysuckle and instead became a cacophony of fruits and flora.

Wisteria relaxed in her all powerful form with one arm thrown around the back and a long, slim leg curved over the other. Her hair, usually pulled up into a taut bun was now hanging loosely, enhancing the ridges in her cheekbones as she gave a grin. Motioning with a bony finger, Allium knew she was to take the seat opposite of her.

What she saw next would probably be the greatest shock of the entire games.

Camella sat next to Wisteria with fear clear in her hazelnut eyes. Pressured to wear clothes only the Capitol could dream up with makeup caking her lips and cheeks, she was ridged.

Only Allium could see the real pain that coursed through her entire body with each desperate gulp of air she took in. Only Camella twisted her pinkie in a time of stress or consideration.

"So, Allium Anthromis, welcome to the Capitol," Wisteria said in a way that was practically mocking. The embedded gems in her choker reflected against the light with each passing moment.

"I'm grateful to be here," With drawn out words, Allium spoke deliberately. She'd been rehearsing in the bathroom mirror, "besides, it wasn't an option."

The crowd had it's set of chuckles and laughs before Wisteria had to motion for them to keep going and calm down.

Allium was still in the slight daze as to why Camella was sitting with them. So long ago was it when they'd last met. She assumed it was due to the fact she was careful to shut away and not many had made it past her cold front. Camella was her childhood friend. Together they would go on all sorts of crazy adventures ranging from searching for lightning bugs, to tricking the district ladies into thinking old men were stalking them home. Maybe the innocence skipped a generation because after the first of many surgeries to come, Allium eventually lost interest in life.

It wasn't long after the small outburst that Wisteria continued, "Camella here was just keeping me company while you were away. After all," she moved closer, "you two are just the best of friends."

Allium mulled over her options; whether it was safe to continue this petty conversation, or if it was more of a reasonable response to bring it to the next level and watch as the tension gathered further. In the end, Allium decided that her silence for a response would be the best objective in all things considering.

"There's something about you that I can't help but love, Allium. Is it the fact that your father is the Head Gamemaker?" As if on cue, Wisteria knew just how to manipulate everything until she was in control again.

The dress seemed to stiffen as her entire body lit with heat. The embers that were being stoked slowly all of a sudden leaped with excitement and jumped out of the cavern and into Allium's words. "If there's anything I need to say to that man, it's that when this is all over, and I win, I'll be serving his heart on a platter," she sneered with no remorse, claws finally catching when her swift movements had her half way towards her designated podium before the audience had time to acknowledge what had happen.

Since she was from district one, only three other people stood and watched her with mouths slightly parted but it's likely there would be more soon.

Chills ran up and down her arms despite the boiling temperature. The annoyance of Wisteria almost growling with malicious didn't help her either as she fought to unclasp her clenched fists.

Out of everything, Allium expected that. Daily this was what she was forced to go through. Parties with her father, practically being a doll that he could break and toy with. No, this was fine.

It was when the blood spilled and Camella's head went toppling to the ground that Allium flinched.

~~

DISTRICT 2 FEMALE - AMEILA MONTAIGNE

The stage was cold. Not in the beautiful, chilly with a hint of warm, mid Autumn way. No, it was cold in the bone crushing, soul rotting, out of body experience type of way.
Amelia had to admit--she loved it. With a giggle, she twirled a strand of perfectly curled hair around a finger. The soft oranges they'd applied to her eyelids contrasted the green just enough to pop, and the thickened black mascara only added to the effect. She licked her lips, tasting the rich, strawberry lipstick. Her eyes scattered about, collecting small bits of information while her body concentrated on looking absolutely stupid. The crowd was mostly quiet, oddly enough, and seemed on edge. A small stain lay on the wooden stage, next to the chair where she'd soon be sitting. Her heels clanked against the floor as her broad strides stole her away from the noise of backstage.
It was a shame. In the years past they had gone all out on the interviews, making the stage glow. This year it was so plain it nearly felt extraordinary.
Amelia twirled about in her pretty orange-red dress. It clung to her breasts and waist only to unfold like petals around her legs. Each rippling strand flowed flawlessly. The sheer fabric added in a chill to her bare legs. To counter the simplistic nature, solid black sequins bordered the top of the dress. It was strapless and didn't reach anywhere close to her knees, yet she made it look as innocent as a peach.Like a dim poppy, she thought, growing from the grave. I am Death.
"Next, we have Amelia Montaigne from District Two."
The woman sitting in a solid gray chair didn't know to be afraid of her. Amelia left the stupid smile on her face and sat down in the chair directly opposite. Quickly, she took in the host's outfit. Bubblegum pink. Made of some type of plastic and cloth mixture. Makes her boobs look fake. Bright makeup, long eyelashes. She giggled again.
"Like, I totally love the dress!" Amelia squealed. Her voice held the perfect amount of ditz in it.
The woman, Wisteria Wiles, didn't care for that. She merely raised a slender arm to snap her fingers. Long red nails. "Ah," she said.
"Like, what's the meaning of this?"
"Meaning?"
"What type of info do you want from me?" she asked, giving a coy smile. It couldn't be helped. Amelia knew she was smarter, stronger, and ninety times better than her. It was a given.
Wisteria's dark red lips pursed as she waited. Amelia wanted to charge her--to grasp her by the neck and demand answers. Her gaze turned to the audience. They spoke quietly, ignoring her presence. Don't they get that I'm the most important girl here? She felt like butchering them. The winner's on this stage.
"What a childish girl," Wisteria said. A yawn fell between each word. Who do you think you're talking to? "So. Montaigne, what makes you think you'll even survive the first hour?"
Amelia's rehearsed giggle rang. "Oh," she purred, "I dunno! I'll find some big strong guys to protect me. I'll make friends and stay away from danger."
Amelia's outward appearance didn't even scratch her surface. She was dimwitted at times, but behind that was a well trained, intellectual mind. The second the Games started she was going to let the bloodshed begin. Her desire for death was a disease that spread through her--she longed to feel the blood under her nails, her hair coiling about her face as a fierce wind blew against her, snarling as she struck her enemies down. The Capitol didn't control her. She controlled it. She wasn't the pawn, she was the Queen.
Wisteria didn't seem to care. She snapped her fingers again, impatient. "You think people will protect you?" A sharp, hate-filled laugh. "You're nothing but a toy. Who do you think you're fooling, Montaigne? Your manipulative concepts won't win the Games for you. Nor will your idiocy."
Anger boiled beneath her skin, hot and thick against her cheeks and chest. "Excuse me-"
The back stage door opened.
It didn't creak or make ominous sounds. No scary footsteps. Just people. A body carried in, just out of the cameras view, and placed across from Wisteria. The crumpled up form of an aging mother with a lovely face and polished green nails.
"Why, look who we have here."
Oh, please. Should I truly care about my damn mother? What will you do? Kill her? It was hard for Amelia not to snort as she let out a small gasp in mock-surprise. "Mommy?"
Shaking her head, the hostess nodded to the crowd. Amelia understood. Her mother wasn't here for her but to help control her.
"Mommy! Oh, I'm so happy you're here! I was just telling them how I'll win," Amelia explained. The men set up another chair and sat Amelia's mother in it. Of course, unless one had seen her dress rise to catch how her feet were chained, or had noticed the silver bracelets that attached immediately to the sides of the chair then no one would ever know she was stuck.
They want me to tell the truth. This woman will probably poison her, or order her death, if I don't play along to the Capitol Games. These idiots! Inside, she laughed at them, scorned them. I'll play, I'll play. But only because I'm in control.
Wisteria had more questions. "You're weak. Tell me, why won't they just kill you?"
"Because I'm me," she said. "No one wants to kill me. I'm sweet, kind, loving...and, I mean, the best kisser. Why kill me? What harm can I do?"
"Honey, you've trained for the Games since you were young," her mother said. Damn you.
She giggled again, "Yeah! But I'm not, like, good."
The act didn't seem to fool Wisteria in the slightest. "Oh, a girl like you can do plenty harm. But a pretty face won't win the Games." With an evil glint in her eyes, Wisteria snapped. Behind her the wall rippled. As if by magic, Amelia caught the slightest glint of a needle as her mother drew in a sharp gasp of air. They stabbed her. No, injected her. Because I lied? Amelia didn't find the irony amusing.
"Oh...only ugly ones? What if I became ugly?" Amelia worked hard to add in that childish, sad effect. Her eyes dropped and she sighed.
Wisteria laughed again. Her long nails scraped against Amelia's mothers arm, leaving a tiny white trail in their wake. If they kill her on this stage, will something happen to me? Shit.
"Should I, like, try and get hurt? Then I'll be ugly! I mean, I mean, like, I'm not so pretty now..." It was impossible to stop talking.
Her mother snorted through her pain, "Right." Shut up! I'm winning people over. Making them underestimate me. Go fuck yourself, whore.
"Tension much? Tell me, and don't lie, what good would it even do for you to live? You seem pretty damn useless."
Amelia broke for a second. Excuse me? "You see this dress?"
There was a pause.
"This is a poppy dress. A poppy is a beautiful flower that grows out of graveyards. They're strong and while they may look and be dainty, they cannot be stopped," she said. Amelia barely remembered the act she was supposed to keep up. Her voice grew softer, more sweet. "I don't want to die."
"What makes you any different?" Wisteria made a good point. So she's not all stupid. But she doesn't know who I am. None of them do. If they did, they'd bow at my feet. I am a Goddess. I am death in the finest form.
Simply, she replied, "Because I'm the best thing in this room. I'm the strongest there is."
A few outliers on the crowd laughed, some even daring to clap.
An eyebrow was raised at this. Wisteria pushed back her sleek hair, "Is that so?"
She smirked. "Of course. I'm--I may seem stupid, and girly, but I want to be fierce. Inside, I'm a poppy. This is my graveyard."
The small claps became a roaring thunder at that. They stood, calling out her name. As they should.
"I'm Amelia Montaigne, watch me grow." She giggled, knowing that her act may have been ruined. I can fix this. "Like, this was totally fun! I love speaking like that."
"Well, it was nice seeing you, Amelia Montaigne." Wisteria stood, giving her a fake smile as she nodded her head to the stage exit.
"Bye! Love you, Mommy!"
The lights faded out as she nodded. Metal scraped against wood as an aging woman was taken away. A slight scream, then nothing.
"Hopefully you'll go far. A girl like you shouldn't die too awful soon," Wisteria called after her.
Amelia grinned as she frolicked off stage. Oh, trust me...I won't.

~~ 

DISTRICT 3 FEMALE - ELECTRA

Electra waited her turn to be interviewed with slight trepidation as she observed the interviewer, Wisteria Wiles. Wisteria had a wide smile for each tribute, accompanied by sharp words and pointed looks at each tribute's surprise guest, many of whom seemed to be parents, which made Electra wonder when her own mother had shown up.

After a few more questions for the current tribute, Electra looked away from the stage and stared at the outfit her stylist, Azlynn, had given her instead. It had been modeled after both her flower, the narcissus, and her district's specialty—technology. She was wearing a white dress that came down to her knees, letting the thin, white scar Electra had received from a lab incident when she was 12, show. She had been surprised that it wasn't covered, but she supposed they thought it wouldn't matter. Just above the scar, on the bottom of her dress were carefully shaped pieces of fabric, mimicking a narcissus's petals. From her waist up the dress changed from white to golden yellow, and had been artfully folded and bunched up to mimic the inside of a narcissus. Outlining each "petal" on her dress was a string of diminutive lights, which Electra thought made her look ridiculous.

Her stylist, on the other hand, had endlessly extolled the virtues of her design, explaining that the white stood for purity and innocence, something she'd tried to make obvious by emphasizing Electra's short height, making her seem child-like. In comparison, the yellow-gold top contrasted greatly with her dark hair and white dress, highlighting how narcissus flowers symbolized being egotistical and in the center of attention.

She picked at the hem of her dress absently when her district partner, Jack, poked her, and she looked up in time to hear Wisteria's voice saying "-our female tribute from District Three." Electra stood up and walked onto the stage, thunderous applause echoing around her, and took a seat across from Wisteria.

"To think the one named tributes from three would come to an end," she said, after the noise had died down, her metallic eyes gleaming as she waited for a response. Electra raised an eyebrow at her and offered her a forced smile, but didn't say anything.

After a moment of tense silence Wisteria smiled slyly at her and said "You seem a bit uncomfortable up here. Maybe a familiar face will help with that." She snapped her fingers and Electra's eyes widened in surprise when her brother, Gadge, walked out, instead of her mother.

Upon seeing her, Gadge smiled brightly and hugged her briefly, his skinny arms crushing her carefully constructed dress. Electra hugged him back just as fiercely, and then Wisteria's hand was pulling Gadge away and guiding him to a seat beside her, with a red cushion that had black lines on it. After a moment's pause Gadge sat down, and Wisteria followed suit.

Wisteria laid her hand carefully against the arm of her chair, her fingertips hovering above the chair's arm. "So, Electra, tell me, as a tribute from one of the smartest districts of Wattpanem, how do you think you'll do in the games?

Electra gave a noncommittal shrug before saying matter-of-factly "How well I do or do not do depends on a number of variables which I can't calculate."

Wisteria's mouth tightened at the corners ever so slightly, and she tapped her chair arm lightly before lifting her hand back up; a small shudder went through Gadge's body, catching Electra's attention. She looked more closely at the wires laced across the chair he was sitting in, as well Wisteria's chair, and her eyes widened. Electra could see thin black wires crisscrossing and blending into the chair's design. It was cleverly camouflaged, only people up on the stage could see it. She recognized it—it was one of her mother's inventions, made to store electricity inside whatever the wire was touching. And it was being used on Gadge.

Anger filled her, and her hand curled into a fist by her side before she forced herself to relax, and thinking through and rationalizing the situation. If she answered the correct way, the way Wisteria wanted her to, then Gadge would be fine. If she answered the wrong way, Gadge would get hurt. Simple, just like a math equation. Her mouth thinned at the realization though, and Wisteria's smile widened ever so slightly.

"Of course. But there is one variable you can start looking at now: your competition. Did any of the other tributes stand out to you?" she asks, and Electra's gaze flickered over to the long line of tributes waiting for their turn up on stage.

"A few," she said shortly, and Wisteria's fingers brushed her arm chair once again, making Gadge twitch briefly, but violently enough for her meaning to be conveyed. A little more detail.

Electra looked at her brother, who had a mixture of confusion and pain on his face. A hot, angry feeling bubbled up in her at the sight, but she pushed the feeling down and feigned a smile. "There are three tributes that are only 12 or 13; it's unusual for there to be so many of them in one game." Her words were short and clipped, but they seemed to satisfy Wisteria, at least momentarily.

"Yes, it has been a while since we've had more than one tribute below the age of 14. But I've grown a new-found appreciation from twelve year-old boys after my last games." Electra raised an eyebrow at the words, her mind supplying the image of a young, brown haired boy, Wiley something, from the last games.

"Of course, with these games, age means nothing. It all depends on whether you can bring yourself to kill whoever stands in your way." Wisteria looked at Electra directly. "Do you think you'll be able to do that?"

Electra raised her head to look Wisteria in the eye as she replied. "Yes."

"That was certainly a quick answer," Wisteria said, a dangerous smile on her face. "Quite decisive too." She spared a glance towards the crowd, who seemed a bit bored at Electra's short answers.

"Is there anyone back home cheering for you? I'm sure your brother will be," she said after another brief pause, smiling at Gadge, who nodded a little weakly.

"Yeah, who else would I be cheering for?" he asked, and a feeling of affection filled Electra; that was Gadge, always encouraging her, always knowing exactly what to say to her, no matter the situation.

Wisteria sent him a cold smile, and he looked away quickly. "Of course. Any other special people back home, maybe a boyfriend?"

Electra shook her head. "No, no one else. Just Gadge and mom."

"Pity," Wisteria said, and the crowd made noises of sympathy which Electra forced herself not to scoff at. These people might be feeling sorry for her now, but she knew that once she was in the arena, the only thing they'd care about was when and how she died.

Turning back towards Electra Wisteria said brightly "We're running out of time here, but one last question."What do you think of your chances of winning these games?"

Electra shifted in her seat, feeling uncomfortable for the first time. Images of the previous games flashed through her mind, and she hesitated before answering. "I would say that my chances of winning are of course ameliorated by my intelligence, but whether or not I will win will depend on the arena."

"Too many variables to calculate once again, isn't that right Electra?" Wisteria asked, a mocking smile on her face. Electra gave her another forced smile and nodded.

"Well then, there you have it everyone, our female tribute from District 3: Electra!" Wisteria said jovially, and she gestured for Gadge and Electra to get up. Gadge hugged his sister once again briefly before walking off the stage and Electra followed to thunderous applause.

~~

DISTRICT 4 FEMALE - AMANI ALURAI

Who am I?

It a question that I had been asking myself, day after day, ever since that fateful day five years ago. Ever since I'd found my Father's diary and learned that no, my mother was not dead, as I had been previously told. She was, in fact, alive and well, living only a few streets down.

Maria Juerlia was my mother.

That diary changed my life, in a big way. I learned that I also had half-siblings. Actually, no, there's no plural. Why, you ask? Because Anastasia Juerlia was dead, and I never even got the chance to say hello. I watched as she was reaped in last year's Games, and I watched as she split her skull open falling down a cliff. She was dead, and she wasn't coming back.

That had been the last straw.

I moved out my Father's house, tired of all the lies, all the pleadings to forgive him. I moved far, far, away, to the other side of District Four, doing odd jobs to earn my keep at a boarding house. I never went back to see my Father, nor my Mother, nor my half-brother. And during those lonely nights, I laid on my bed and wondered.

Who am I?

Was I Amani Alurai, the girl whose Mother tragically passed away in a drowning accident? Or was I Amani Juerlia, the girl who came from a broken family, the girl whose sister died in the 101st Hunger Games?

I never found an answer.

And now, here, as I stood behind the humongous mahogany doors ready for the interviews, dressed in a milky-white gown that was shaped like a pastry, I still didn't know. My stylists have told me to "Be myself".

But how can I be myself if I didn't know who I am?

There was a deafening round of applause from beyond the mahogany doors and I inhaled sharply, knowing that I was up next. The doors opened and in stepped the District Three male, Jack Darkwood. He flashed me a cocky smirk, before disappearing into the long, winding hallways behind me.

"Up next," announced a cool, crispy voice that was full of sickly, false sweetness. I immediately stiffened. I knew that voice. It was the voice of the Head Game Maker who hosted the Games last year. The year that Anastasia died.

Wisteria Wiles.

"We have the District Four female, Amani Alurai!" I heard Wisteria yell. One of the Peacekeepers gave my back a gentle shove, muttering something I didn't catch under his breath. I stumbled forward, into the midst of screaming crowds and flashing lights, nearly tripping over my own dress. But none of that matter to me. My grey eyes connected to Wisteria's gleaming metallic ones. She beckoned me to come forward, and as she shifted in her chair, I caught sight of another person sitting beside her. My heart seemed to stop beating for a second, and I felt my jaw drop slightly.

Cal.

My feet moved of its own accord, and the next thing I knew I was seated in the velvet-coated chair next to Wisteria, my strapless dress puffing out. My mind was whirling, and I suddenly felt light-headed. Cal. What is he doing here?

As the crowd's cheering died down, Wisteria turned to me, flashing me a crooked smile, "Hello, Amani."

"What's he doing here?" I blurted out, getting straight to the point. Cal was seated on Wisteria's right side, while I was sitting on her left side. Even though Wisteria was acting as a human barricade between the two of us, I could see that Cal looked...bad. I couldn't exactly place it. Maybe it was the way he was constantly shivering in his chair, the way his head drooped onto his chest. Little things that people wouldn't notice. But I knew better. Cal might be my half-brother, but I knew better. Anger flared in my chest, an emotion I didn't usually feel. My hands curled into fists, and I envisioned my hand colliding right between Wistera's beady little eyes. POW! It would leave more than a scratch, all right.

"Oh, Calviouys," Wisteria waved her hand, dismissing the subject, "He's just here as a special guest."

I felt the burning flame inside me grow, "How the hell did you get him here?"

What I'd really meant to ask was, "How the hell did you know he's my brother?" No one knew. Except Father, and Mother, and Aunt Diana. Unless...she tortured them? I squeezed my eyes shut, and shook my head side to side, probably messing up my hairdo, but I honestly didn't care. They couldn't have done that. They couldn't have hurt them. Did they hurt them? Oh my god!

"I knew that Cal is very close to you, so I brought him here as a little treat," Wisteria's eyes gleamed with triumph, as if silently taunting Amani to break, "Isn't he cute?"

On cue, the audience cooed loudly. My felt my insides twist into little knots. Couldn't they see that he was sick? He hadn't said a word during the whole interview so far. Oh god, please let this be over...

"Now that's all out of the way," Wisteria smiled at me coyly after the cooing from the audience died down, "Tell me, Amani, what are your plans for the Games?"

One minute left.

"To survive," I answered shortly, not making eye contact with Wisteria. One minute. Sixty seconds, and this would all be over. Cal could go home.

Fifty-six seconds. A round of nervous laughter echoed throughout the auditorium, and I could hear Wisteria shift on her seat beside me. I stared downwards at the slick, polished wooden floor, focusing on a tiny speck of dirt someone had left behind.

"Well, that's rather obvious," I heard Wisteria say, and I could hear the smirk, the victory in her voice, "Care to elaborate?"

She thinks she's won. I beg to differ.

I snapped my head up, my wavy brunette hair escaping the tight bun in was previously in. The clips fell to the floor with a loud clatter, but I hardly noticed. The audience tensed, and a heavy silence enveloped the room like a blanket. They were waiting. Waiting for my response.

"Fine," I snarled, my voice sounding unlike my own, "My plan is to survive these godforsaken Games, and to, oh I don't know. Come kill your sorry ass, maybe?" For what you did to Ana. And for what you're doing to Cal. And for the hundreds of thousands of kids who died in vain before you even existed.

The audience gasped in sync, and out of the corner of my eye I saw hands flying to mouths in astonishment. I saw shaking heads, and nervous whispers, stating that this girl is going to get killed for sure. Screw them. Screw them all. I didn't care. I didn't care that I was acting unlike my usual calm self, that I had probably signed my own death sentence.

Wisteria's eyes glistened in the harsh artificial lights, anger flaring inside them. Well that makes two of us, bitch.

The woman shifted closer to me, so that the two of us were almost nose-to-nose. Grey eyes met grey. A storm versus a storm. I felt the audience tense again. Twenty seconds.

"Why do I get the feeling you're holding a lot more inside?" Wisteria purred, feigning innocence. I stiffened, but refused to break eye contact with the Host. She knows. She definitely knows.

"A shady past is never a way to look at the future," Wisteria continued. Fifteen seconds. Almost there. I got ready to tune out her words, to grab Cal and leave, but what she said next made my blood run cold.

"After all, these games were the thing that got your sister killed."

Whispers and murmurs erupted like a volcano around the room, and I spared a quick glance at the audience. I knew what they were thinking. Who? What sister?

Seven seconds. Finally, Wisteria ended her speech with one of her signature smirks, "Don't expect pity and show the warrior you are."

You got that one right.

I will.

I'll show the whole of Panem the warrior I really am.

After all, I am Anastasia Juerlia's sister.

And this time, I'll win.

For her.

~~

DISTRICT 5 FEMALE - TILLA LECTRA

Tillie rubbed one of the pink scars on her arm, the skin stretched smooth and shining slightly. She was prone to scars, and the frilly, tutu like dress she was wearing wasn't good at hiding all of them.

Her stylist made one last adjustment to the dark green bodice that lay flat against her immature chest, its panels overlapping in rounded oval shapes. The skirt was puffy and almost completely horizontal, and the eighty-odd strips of fabric that made it - purple with white edges - overlapped one another, though there were only five to a layer.

"I look like a flower," she murmured, eying herself. The dress did remind her of the blooming vines that grew around Five - she was certain she'd seen a variety in the exact colors she was wearing today.

"A very cute flower, as well, dear," Jonquil cooed. "Now, let's get you in your sandals, darling."

The high sandals only made Tillie think of the vines more - their dark green straps wound up her leg like curling, reaching fingers of the trailing plants.

"Perfect," Jonquil sighed. "I'll send in the team to brush up your makeup, then you can head out and wait your turn!"

"Yay," Tillie muttered, allowing herself one moment of sarcasm before she had to be sweet for the cameras. A thirteen-year-old girl with a finely tuned wit wouldn't attract many sponsors.

She knew what she had to do - be sweet, be kind, be innocent, and she'd get sponsors. It was the sweet thing she was having trouble with. In Five, no one could touch her if she was sassy. Her brains were far too important to lose. The Capitol wouldn't care about that sort of thing. The Capitol wanted to lose her.

Tillie stopped her contemplation as her team of artists swooped in to daub eyeshadow on her and whisk mascara across her eyelashes - "to make those pretty brown eyes pop!" as Sextus said happily. Her nails were checked over for chips and she was deemed appropriate enough to stumble out of the room, her shoes almost tripping her as she met her partner and they travelled down to wait for the interviews.

Tillie took in as deep a breath as she could in the slightly confining dress, watching the other tributes as they stepped forwards for their turn in the spotlight. She knew that she didn't seem to be a threat to any of them, but her frilly skirt hid brainy secrets.

The girl from One was intriguing - the daughter of a Gamemaker, in the games? It was something no one expected - but then, Tillie was sure that during the rebellion, no one expected to start twenty-three children dying each year, either. Life was unexpected.

The interviews sounded different this year. Tillie had watched all the recent ones she could before her Reaping, and even more when she had free time at the Capitol. Maybe it just sounded differently when you were backstage waiting, rather than in the audience. Still, she wasn't very excited about the prospect of something unexpected happening during her interview.

The boy from Four came back with bright streaks of tears down his face, and Tillie desperately wanted to ask him what they were doing out there, but, all too soon, it was her turn for the interviews.

The stage lights that almost blinded her as she stepped out made her nervous - was she smearing the makeup that the stylists had spent so much time on? Was her dress too short, her smile not wide enough? Did the audience only see a scared little girl, trying to hide behind her dress?

Tillie forced the rebellious thoughts from her mind, and sat down as carefully as she could in the stiff skirt, flashing a smile at the audience and the host, Wisteria Wiles. She wasn't going to give a second thought to the people who stared at her in disgust or envy or judgement. She was here to win.

"Our next interview is with Miss Tilla Lectra, from District Five. Miss Tilla, we have a very special surprise for all our tributes today at the interview, you know." Wisteria flashed a smile, and her metallic eyes glinted. "This year, we've brought some guests!"

Tillie gasped as a small figure was brought into view - Clair was here, in the Capitol, all dressed up. Her year-younger sister - secretly her favorite sister, really - looked uncomfortable in a poofy white dress with purple detailing, an innocent version of hers.

"Clairie!" Tillie squealed, and stood to give her little sister a hug. "You look so cute!"

"Thanks, Tillie," Clair said, her bowed lips in a wide smile. "I missed you last week."

An audible coo came from the audience, and Tillie let out a true smile, not the fake one she was wearing. "I missed you too. Have you been in the Capitol long?"

Clair hesitated long enough to worry Tillie. "I just got here. They've been very. . . nice."

Tillie stopped her grinning, her sponsor-grabbing, and stared at Clair. The raised skin on her wrists, the tears that seemed to be forming in her eyes, everything that she hadn't noticed before. Clair was in danger.

She forced a smile. "I'm so glad. I've loved the Capitol too. It's been. . . torture being here without you, though."

Wisteria cut in, a politician's smile on her lips. "Well, this is a sweet family reunion, eh? Tillie, what did you miss most about your family?"

"The safety," she answered, risking another glance at Clair. As long as she kept talking, she'd be safe. "I liked the security. Here, well, who knows what will happen."

There was a soft murmuring from the audience as Tillie's mouth quivered. A girl so afraid of what would happen to her in the arena, at only thirteen? It was sick - but not, Tillie thought, as sick as hurting an even younger girl to scar her sister.

Tillie, though, was used to scars, and she was used to being smarter than everyone thought she was. Being underestimated was what she did best, no matter the scars.

"I'm not expecting to get very far, though," she started, glancing down again. She knew how to make the people love her, to pity her, and then be surprised when she won.

"It's always the young ones. I'll be rooting for you!" Wisteria smiled like she didn't mean it, like she would be happy to see Tilla with an arrow in her chest or an axe in her skull. "Can you tell us a little bit about your dress, and Clair's matching frock?"

"It looks like a flower, doesn't it?" Tilla said, fingering the stiff tulle of the skirt. "It reminds me of the vines that grow outside Five, and on the fences of it. It's called Clematis, and it's got a lot of varieties and actually lots of useful properties involved. They look pretty and useless, but I've seen them destroy whole sections of the wire, and they still get underestimated."

Clair had a rare smile on her face - Tilla could remember all the times the pair of them had wandered the edges of the district after school and brought home baskets of the colorful, flat flowers, then have Lucy press them in the piles of books lying around the house. The memory was so strong Tillie was surprised the audience didn't see it too.

She was startled out of her reverie by a loud buzzer, signalling the end of the three minutes. A lump grew in her throat as she watched a Peacekeeper grab Clair's hand roughly and start leading her offstage.

"Wait!" Tillie shouted, interrupting what she was sure was a very rousing exit from Wisteria. "Clairie. . . I love you."

Clair smiled sadly, almost too sadly for an eleven year old. "I love you too, Tillie."

"Isn't that sweet! Hopefully we'll see more of this young lady in the arena, but until then, Miss Tilla Lectra, everybody!"

Tillie let out another smile as she walked backstage, bypassing the waiting line. It was hard enough for her to keep from crying, but the one thought in her mind kept her from it - They're hurting Clair, and I can't let that happen.

~~ 

DISTRICT 6 FEMALE - NERI RAVENNA

Most people see the world in different shades of grey. They're always going on about 'Is this right?', or 'Is that wrong?', endless wondering, never making a decision.

Well, let me tell you something.

Grey isn't my color.

I had stopped seeing my own little world in shades of grey a long, long time ago.

For me, there's a very distinct line between black and white, between good and evil. I know what's evil and I know what isn't. I know the Capitol is evil—heck, I'd known it for awhile. I know The Hunger Games are evil, but then again, most people do. The world's a dark, dark place. I would know, after what happened twelve years ago. The only light I had experienced during my life was Allison. And Allison was a hundred thousand miles away.

I was alone. Alone in the dark, dark Capitol, to play the legendary Hunger Games.

All I saw was black.

Not white, not grey, black.

But, I'd learned the ropes around here. The same rules back at District Six were put into practice. Allison was the good teacher—she had helped me so much. I kept my head down, talked only when spoken to (or not at all). I stayed out of trouble, never associating with anybody. And I made a new rule, which was strictly for the Capitol, the Games. Never make alliances, because your "allies" would always let you down.

It was no surprise to me that everyone left me alone. Most of the tributes sneered, or just plain ignored poor, paranoid Neri. Even my mentor gave up on me, focusing his energy on my District partner, Arthur. My stylists treated me like a piece of glass that might break at any moment. I didn't mind. Everyone left me alone, just the way I liked it.

However, now, as I sit on the cold metal bench in the waiting room, no one was leaving me alone.

I sat in the furthest, most shadowed corner, counting tiles on the floor and trying to tune out my competitor's nervous whispers and stares. The cold air inside the room caused goose-bumps to rise along my exposed skin and I shivered, my breathing escalating so much that I was practically wheezing. There were too many people inside this room, way too many. My head felt dizzy and I tried not to puke all over the floor. I was too out of place here, in my simple yet elegant satin lavender-blue dress that hugged just the right amount of curves on my body. My bright violet hair was brushed straight down my back—too straight. My face was void of any makeup, save for a little blush and mascara, which I predicted would be running down in thin black streaks quite soon. Everything here felt wrong. There was too much darkness. Too much black. Too much evil.

Too many old memories.

I shook my head, trying not to cry. No, I would not think of that horrible, terrifying day. I would not. Stop it, Neri. Do not think of Him.

The tile floor vibrated slightly under my navy blue heels and the approving roar of the audience could be heard even though the cold, grey doors were locked. Without looking up, I heard the door open and saw out of the corner of my eye the District Five male, Dustin Octavius, walk back in. The Peacekeeper accompanying him glanced around the room, before I saw his gaze land on me. My heart stopped beating and my mouth went dry.

Oh god, it's my turn.

And with that, my brain seemed to freeze up, and my mind went blank. It happens to me, sometimes, when some overwhelming thing happens. My brain seemed to go into a state of nothingness. It's like my brain just refuses to think.

So the next thing I can fully comprehend is that I'm stumbling to the stage, trying not to trip over my own dress, and seeing the people, the flashing lights, the host smiling charmingly at me from the stage. My blood ran cold, and my breathing hitched.

I get stage fright. I hate cameras and the lights that come with it, and most of all, I was scared—no, terrified—of the legendary Wisteria Wiles. A Peacekeeper led me up the stairs to the stage, and gave a rough push towards Wisteria. I walked forward, almost robotically, my mind trying to wrap around everything that was happening. I sat down on a sofa, sinking into it's plush cushions, and immediately Allison's advice flashed into my mind. Keep your head down.

Immediately, I locked my eyes on the ground, my hands shaking on my lap. The audience's cheers died down in a matter of seconds, and I hear the ever-familiar beep of the timer counting down from two minutes.

"So, Neri," Wisteria's voice was smooth, yet held a touch of venom. She was black. Definitely. Evil. Just like all of them. I heard the redhead shift, "I want you to meet someone."

At this, whispers and murmurings arose at once from the audience, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prick up in anxiety. There was a screech on the wooden floor as something got pushed onto the stage from backstage. Judging from the movement, it was probably a chair. I kept my head down, as usual, trying to keep calm. The screeching stopped, and the audience quieted. I felt a sudden urge to look up, but didn't. As the seconds ticked by, the silence got so intense, that I felt compelled to look up.

And gasped.

Because this mystery person was no other than Allison Keene, my best and only friend. My jaw dropped open, and the audience chuckled at my reaction. I felt no humor. This was no comedic scene. Allison was sitting in a simple wooden chair, her blonde hair done in a stylish French braid, wearing a simple white dress that made her look like what she always was to me—an angel. Yet, as my gaze traveled down to her ankles, my blue eyes widened to see that she was shackled to the chair. But the audience couldn't see it—the helm of her dress hid it. It was only due to my sideways position that I had even noticed it at all. As I stared, a thing streak of red flowed down her right ankle, and Allison winced.

They're hurting her.

A raging fury erupted inside my chest, and instinctively my hands curled into a fist. My long, fake fingernails that my stylists had given me dug painfully into the palms of my hands, drawing blood. The wound stung, but it was nothing to what Wisteria Wiles would be feeling by the time I was through with her. Allison shot me a sideways look, giving me a glare that read: Stop it.

"So, Neri," cooed Wisteria, "Tell us a little bit about your history."

And with that, all my previous rage and anger seemed to disappear into thin air, and immediately I dropped my head, staring at the ground again. A few seconds passed, before Wisteria spoke up, "You're a quiet one, aren't you?"

Allison's dry chuckle reached my alert ears, and I perked up, "I think you're wasting your time, Wiles. She's not going to answer your questions."

The audience murmured anxiously.

I risked a brief glance upwards, to see Wisteria's gaze on Allison's face, anger flashing in her eyes. She tossed her hair, before snapping, "This is not your time to speak, Miss Keene."

Allison just dipped her head as a sign of mocking respect, before turning her head away from Wisteria, gazing coolly out at the audience. Despite the restless situation, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of respect for Allison. She was always the brave one. And I had to admit, I was pretty damn proud that I was her friend. I lifted my head up to look at my best friend, and at that same moment Allison turned to look at me. Our eyes connected, and something, a new feeling, seemed to course through my body. And suddenly, I knew exactly what I had to do.

"Neri," Wisteria tried again, but that's about as far as she got, because the next thing I did was stand up straight from the plush sofa, my head lifted high. For the first time, my eyes connected with members of the audience. I briefly heard Allison mutter, "Atta girl."

With a final toss of my head, I stalked off the stage, amidst shocked gasps and dropped jaws. I shoved past several surprised Peacekeepers, before throwing open the door and strolling down the hallway back to the waiting room. There was only one thought circulating inside my crazed, out of control mind.

I think it's time I stopped hiding.

~~

DISTRICT 7 FEMALE - AEREN MARGAUX

Disagreement. That's the only word that could describe Aeren's insights about the place, the host, the interview. The world, in general. She thought about the unfairness consuming the place, the mockery and lies lacing Wisteria's words. She disagreed as the audience agreed with everything. It was all wrong, and she didn't like it.

Aeren's hand tugged at her dress. A pretty good impression of her flower, she thought, yet so unnecessary. Why did they have to do her dress like that? A white, flowing dress hugged her small form, the white morphing slowly into red flame-like shapes which adorn the hemlines. Like they're eating away the purity. Like they're slowly destroying the supposed innocence her whole look portrayed.

That, she liked. Aeren wasn't innocent anymore.

She disagreed, yes, but she didn't even flinch when she caught sight of her father beside Wisteria Wiles. He looked impassive and uninterested, but it's clear he was pained. Either because she's there or because he's there. Aeren quickly dismissed the latter, though. Her father's far more than a selfish creature . . . But then she's fast to empathize with the pain too. She didn't want him here.

"Lovely," Wisteria opened after introducing her to the whole of Panem. As they shook hands, Aeren felt Wisteria's claw-like fingernails dig into her hand. Her eyebrows knit, but she thought how Wisteria had to know it's going to take a lot more than that to paint the look of hurt onto her face.

Wisteria obviously enjoyed each and every second, but she didn't waste time starting what they had to do. "You are, indeed, lovely. But I'm sure you haven't intimidated anyone out there." A cruel snicker played on the host's face, but Aeren didn't care. She wasn't even looking at her; she was looking at her father.

It was a second too long before Aeren finally responded. "Impressions aren't good. You shouldn't judge anyone the first time you've met them," she answered, her eyes travelling back to Wisteria again.

Wisteria wasn't moved entirely, but her eyes glazed in newfound amusement after the first question. It's then that Aeren's just realized the tiny, beeping metal on her father's temple. He flinched and grunted, but he showed a smile both hollow and proud at her.

"Interesting," Wisteria's voice trailed, creating a feeling that her words didn't end just there. "Then what was your impression after seeing your father here? We won't judge you now."

Aeren still held an emotion of indifference. She wanted to test how long Wisteria would drop that cool and composed form of hers, so for as long as it'd take, she wouldn't just back out easily.

"It was a bastardly move. A stupid action. If you really wanted us tortured before the Games, you could've just killed our relatives back at the Districts."

And then Aeren had to recoil. What if they'll do just that?

She instantly felt a surge of victory, though, after seeing Wisteria's infamous scowl. The beeping had stopped, but Aeren wasn't settling in for a positive outcome. This was the calm before the storm. And she'd know how big of a storm it would be, coming from this year's Gamemakers. She had to contain her feelings.

The audience gasped, and Aeren thought about how she'd just sensed their existence at that moment. She let her eyes stray at the mindless beings before going back to the host. For a moment Wisteria pursed her lips and let an eyebrow rise. Then she spoke again, and this time she really had dropped every fake shit she had to produce for the sake of her composure.

"Do you want that to happen, Aeren? Do you want every scar to reopen, every drop of blood spilled?"

"That'd be overkill. An abuse of power. A fuel for your pride's embarrassment."

Wisteria wasn't stunned, not a chance. Aeren stood straighter. Her father was making some sort of motion of the head, something between a shake and a nod. Aeren blinked.

The host smiled at the silent audience, something that didn't reach her eyes. And then she stood and ended the interview, loudly pronouncing Aeren's name. Aeren, with a guarded look, stood and let Wisteria kiss the air around beside her cheeks.

She wasn't surprised to hear her whisper something, though. Like her, Wisteria wouldn't end something so abruptly like that.

"Cadelon would love you dead. You're hitting someone highly, Aeren Margaux. It's not just me you're insulting."

And then that time, Aeren made a genuine smile. She let her face go into a camera, hoping everyone witnessed just how happy she looked. After truly kissing both of Wisteria's cheeks, she whispered back, "Imagine a king who fights his own battles. Wouldn't that be a sight?"

~~

DISTRICT 8 FEMALE - MIZZY HAZE

Anxiety ate away at Mizzy as her turn grew closer. She could barely pay attention to what was happening around her. All she knew was she would have to talk in front of the whole capitol and the districts who watch. An interview with Wisteria. She looked down at the flower vines that wrapped around her right arm. The dress she wore was silky white with faded blue vertical lines.

"Mizzy Haze." One of the peacemakers said. "Get ready to go out." She took in a deep breath and looked forward. She knew a good solid impression would be important. The district 7 male squeezed by, he seemed very young to be here. Mizzy walked out on stage while keeping strong eye contact with Westeria.

"Welcome the district eight female, Mizzy Haze!" Wisteria said with a fake smile as she held out her hand. Mizzy gripped on tightly with her left hand and shook hard. The audience clapped.

"Nice to meet you, Wisteria." Mizzy said with a forced smile. The anxiety disappear when she looked over to the couches and saw Atticus. A confused look took over her features. "A-Atticus?"

"Hi Mizzy." Atticus gave a genuine smile. She had never seen a tribute interview with some one else besides the interviewer and interviewee.

"Please, sit down," Wisteria said and gestured to the couches. I nodded and went to go sit. "So, how was the reaping for you?" Mizzy bit her bottom lip before answering.

"It was very, surprising. I used to joke around a lot about being chosen for the games, but now it has happened." Mizzy fixed her posture as some people in the crowd said quiet 'awes'.

"Karma probably. Something I've noticed about you was your hand. Would you please tell us what happened?" Wisteria smiled towards the crowd for a second as some people cheered. Mizzy looked down at her hand.

"Oh, well about a year ago, I was helping out in my father's factory with some cleaning. I was wiping a machine down and it accidentally started." She trailed off a bit before looking over at Atticus with a small grin. "My hand got caught under the gears but luckily Atticus was there to stop it before it took my whole hand." Atticus grinned back at her as the audience cheered and said lovestruck sighs.

"And I suppose that's when you also met Atticus right?" Wisteria asked. Mizzy nodded.

"He helped me with all the bandaging and the stitches. After the accident he started leaving roses at the door with a note that always asked how was I doing." Atticus looked away as the audience got even louder. The capitol must love stories about romance. "He would sometimes even stay over to help out with school. Since I can't write too well with my left hand."

"How sweet, just very touching." Wisteria said as she wiped a tear that wasn't even there away. "You and Atticus are together? As a couple of course."

Mizzy hesitated for a second before answering. "N-no." She watched Wisteria closely to see if she could tell if it was a lie or not. Atticus let out a small sound and Mizzy looked at him. He held his arm. "We kinda of are though. It happened about two months before the reaping. I just kinda misheard the question." Mizzy gave Wisteria nervous smile.

"It's kinda heartbreaking knowing you're going into the games with such an, disability." Wisteria said with her hand on her chest to add a dramatic effect.

"I wouldn't call it a disability. I still can kind of use this hand and my other hand is perfectly normal. It happened a year ago, I've had time to practice." Mizzy laughed gently. No one ever said it was a "disability" before. Yes, of course I might not have a very strong chance at winning but I won't give up so easily.

"I'm sure Mizzy will have struggles but she will also be perfectly fine," Atticus butted in. "Mizzy has a strong ego and pride. I doubt it could be broken so easily."

"But will a strong pride and ego get her far in the games? Most likely not," Wisteria said, facing Atticus with her eyebrows narrowed.

"I think as long as I am her motivation for winning she could have a chance. Right Mizzy?" Atticus looked over to her. Mizzy looked down at her hands.

"Like you said, it will be a struggle but I do have a motivation. I'm sure the capitol and all of Panem would be surprised knowing someone like me could win." She adjusted her dress and looked up at Wisteria.

"My baby girl won't be going down so easily." Atticus smirked and leaned back in the chair. Mizzy blushed and looked back down at her lap. The crowd was going quite wild over Atticus' words.

"Well, Mister Atticus." Wisteria cleared her throat. Mizzy looked up at Wisteria who seemed very annoyed by all his talking. "You won't be in the games to protect her. Only watching from behind a screen."

"Very true," Atticus said. "I would've defiantly volunteered for the poor lad who was chosen and gone into the games with her. But you see, I am nineteen-years-old." Mizzy gripped on to her dress with sadness filling her. He said that right before she left the district to the capitol. The capitol said quiet 'awes' and quietly cheered. They must really love Atticus. He had the charm, Mizzy was just a bit quiet.

"This is very heart breaking for the audience. Why don't we just cheer for the adorable duo?" Wisteria said with a fake sad smile. The audience cheered with madness. A buzzer went off, indicating it was time for Mizzy to leave. She blew Atticus a quick kiss as she stood up and made the crowd loud once again. She smiled as she started walking off, the vines on her arms blooming into blue morning glories. Some cheered even louder at the flowers.

~~

DISTRICT 9 FEMALE - YUKANA CHAMBERLY

Papa isn't well.

I don't know why I know this. That Gamemaker woman with the loud voice and the bright red hair certainly acts like he's all right. Her questions for me don't regard him at all, but ask about me and my life. I should be the one asking questions. She's asked me many questions and I haven't answered a single one but every time I don't answer Papa's face looks less well.

"Can you say anything, girl?" She sounds like Mama.

"Of course I can. I can say whole lots of things," I say.

The bright woman looks surprised, as if she genuinely thought I couldn't say anything but I don't think that's true. Sometimes people ask questions they already know the answer to just to be mean.

I look at Papa, but he's still not well. I had hoped answering a question might make him happy but he seems just as pained as before.

"How wonderful," the woman says in a voice that says it isn't wonderful at all. "In that case, you wouldn't mind telling us about your family."

"My...family?" I echo. Why does she want to know about my family when my father's right here?

"Yes," she says, slow as if she were talking to a small town. She must understand I am no small child. "Your fam-il-ly." I decide she has a way of turning everything she says into something mean, just like Mama.

"I know what a family is." I push a stray strand of blonde hair behind my ear. "My family just got me and my Mama and my Papa. That's all."

The Gamemaker woman's face looks dull, but not in a normal way. I squint at her, trying to figure it out. There's some kind of malignance to her expression, but not really an active one. More of a sit back meanness.

Bored, I realize triumphantly. She's bored! Oh, wait. If she's bored, she's bored with what I had to say. That isn't good. I swallow and press up against the back of my chair.

The woman picks at her cuticles. "Miss Chambley, how old are you?"

"I turned fourteen last harvest." Sometimes there's a festival around the time of my birthday when there had been a particularly good harvest. The last time I can remember is about five or six years ago. I was hoping that there'd be one this year, but now those hopes don't matter.

I know what the Games are. Papa thinks I'm too innocent to understand and Mama says I'm too dim, but I do. I know that those who ride the train out of the district hardly ever come home. I know that Mama and Papa think I won't come home. And judging by what I can figure out of the woman's expression, she doesn't think I'll come home either.

"What district are you from?" Her voice sounds the way my classmates' do when they're reading off their paper for a class report. She must be going through a list.

"Nine." I frown. "Shouldn't you know that kind of thing?"

The people in the bleachers laugh. I'm not sure that the things they're sitting in are quite bleachers, but they're the closest things I can think of.

The woman scowls at me. Next to her, Papa flinches. As if his flinch set off an invisible wave that ripples all the way to me, I wince. Oddly, the woman's scowl bends around in her face and turns into a smile.

Why is she smiling? Does she not understand that Papa is in pain?

"District Nine makes grain, right?" I nod, but don't say anything. Saying something might make Papa hurt again. The woman jerks a long fingernail at my dress. "How does that represent grain?"

"It doesn't represent grain," I protest. "It represents a water lily."

"Oh does it?" Her lip curls.

"It does," I nod vigorously. "The stylist told me. She asked me when I first got there what my favorite flower was. I told her it was the water lily, and she made me a dress to make me look like one." I stood up and pointed to my skirt. "See the way the skirt is made up of a lot of different pieces of the same fabric? Those are all the petals. Look at how the lower petals are white, and the ones closer to my waist are pink. That's exactly how a pink water lily looks."

"And the top half of the dress?"

I spin around, letting the skirt spray out around me. The golden strips of my top's second layer swing in the air. The lower layer of my top, just as golden as the second layer, is connected to the lowest layer of the skirt and stays firmly in place. I bring myself to a dizzyingly halt.

"The top half looks like the little pollen stems inside the flower," I explain. "I- I don't know what they're called. They have the pollen of the flower, and they're inside the center. This is what the upper part of the dress is supposed to look like."

I run my hand down the fabric of my dress. It's smooth to the touch, and one of the most comfortable things I can remember wearing for a long time. I can remember the way I felt the first time I put it on a few hours ago: light and free. Like I was blooming too. My gaze lands on my snug shoes. They're like a water lily too. The shoes are a dark shade of green, with blue on the bottom, like the lily pads water lilies rest on.

I bend ever so slightly, and straighten my billowing petal skirt. But as I do so, my sleeve accidentally slips up my arm ever so slightly, revealing a deep scar in the tissue of my skin. Gasps are emitted from the audience. My cheeks burn, but I lift my head higher even as I slide back into my seat.

"What's that?" The Gamemaker asks. I can't be entirely certain, but I think I've peaked her interest for the first time.

"A scar," I say. Simple answers appear to hurt Papa the least.

The woman leans forward. "How did you get it?"

I shrug. "This particular one? I can't remember."

She raises an eyebrow. Usually that means other people are surprised a good deal, but I don't think I've said anything surprising. But then again, I don't always think I say something stupid or insulting either, but people think that anyway.

"Why ever not?"

Papa's eyes are closed, as if he's already anticipating pain. Suddenly, I am certain I hate this Gamemaker woman. Papa always says hate is a strong word, and I've always tried never to hate anyone, but in this moment I can't help it. This woman is hurting Papa, my Papa, who's never done anything to hurt anyone, let alone this woman.

"Because I have too many to count." I sit up straight on the edge of my chair. Papa says people take people more seriously like that. "I have scars all over me, inside and out. Scars from work, hunger, pain, and all sorts of things. Ask anybody from a district like Nine: we're all scarred all over, and proud of it."

"Proud of your scars?" She echoes. "But- they make you marred and ugly."

Ugly is one of those bad, forbidden words that Papa always taught me never to use when talking about another human being. This woman is wrong in her use of it, but I think she doesn't care if she's right or not. That stiff, pleased way she said the word, just like Sally Lee Baker or Mama. I think she just said it to be mean.

"No they don't," I tell her. "They make you prettier. But you wouldn't know nothing about that..."

This time, Papa smiles at me before the flinch comes.

~~

DISTRICT 10 FEMALE - AKARI HIJIKATA

There was a light nudge from the inside of my stomach. Knowing my child was in there, sent waves of joy spreading through me. In the same instance, the thought that I would be entering the arena—a fight to the death—with my child's life in my hands, made my chest tighten.

The dress I wore was modeled after the cherry blossom. It was a new trend with the Capitol, and yet none of them knew the deeper meaning behind it. They didn't understand what the cherry blossom symbolized for my people.

How rare and precious life was.

To these people, it meant nothing. They forced people into an arena and expected them to fight and kill one another and yet... They lived and thrived for it.

The tight bodice of the dress seemed to tighten as another nudge pressed against the inside of my womb. The dress was made from thin silk, with a "V" shape over my upper body, to make me appear slim. That part of the dress was white. The sleeves flared out, and gradually turned to a pale pink color—the color of the cherry blossom.

My waist-length hair was braided and twisted into a bun at the nape of my neck. Blossoms were intertwined into the braid, and were also attached to the edges of the sleeves, and at the bottom of the dress. "Now, the district ten female tribute: Akari Hijikata!"

At the sound of my name being called, I stepped forward, focusing on the sound of my heels clacking against the wooden stage to keep from passing out. Wiping my clammy hands on the side of my dress, I faked a smile and took a deep breath. I was never a fan of large crowds filled with complete strangers, but the interview was something every tribute was required to do. As my eyes landed on Wisteria Wiles, the Hostess, my heart hammered in my chest at the person sitting beside her.

Toshiro Hijikata, my husband, was tied up in a chair beside her.

My eyes flitted to his left hip, but his katana and wakazashi were both gone. Of course they would have taken it from him. They couldn't risk an incident, I thought to myself.

Wisteria smiled, though it didn't reach her metallic-colored eyes. There was something evil there that made me want to cringe. Hijikata was in obvious pain. It wasn't noticeable to anyone else except me, but the faint twitching of his eyes, the way his mouth curved down into a grimace, and the way his jaw was clenched, told me everything I needed to know.

He was badly hurt. They had tortured him.

Fear clawed into my chest and I froze, unable to breathe or move.

"Akari! Come here and sit, dear! The Capitol has been dying to speak to you!" Wisteria shouted in her high-pitched, trilling voice.

Hijikata met my eyes. In his I knew what he was telling me: do what she says.

I couldn't mess up. Somehow, I knew. If I messed up, she would kill him. Maybe not on stage in front of the audience, but she would kill him nonetheless. I plastered the biggest smile I could muster and slipped into the seat across from Wisteria and Hijikata.

"So, I know the first question we've all been dying to know is that: are the rumors true? Are you really pregnant?" Wisteria's eyes met mine anxiously, as if she genuinely wanted to know the answer.

Slowly, I nodded. "I found out the morning I was Reaped," I responded simply.

"Oh," Wisteria crooned. It was followed by an "aww," from the audience. "Such a shame. Tell me, will being pregnant affect your skills? I hear you actually know how to fight!"

Ignoring her former comment, I crossed my legs and smiled, glancing at the audience as I spoke. "I've known how to fight since I could walk. My parents taught me about the ways of the samurai. And no. I'm only a month pregnant, so I doubt I'll be in the arena long enough to feel the full effects of being with child."

I have no idea why, but the audience laughed at what I said. I hadn't meant it to be funny. Hijikata's left eye twitched, as if the idea of me being in the arena alone brought him pain.

"A samurai, huh? Oh, how interesting! Tell me about your family!"

I didn't want to talk about my family. They meant everything to me... To talk about them in front of all these strangers... It was as if sharing special secrets that weren't meant to be shared. Hijikata met my eyes and a hint of a smile fell on his lips, as if encouraging me.

Feeling a newfound increase in confidence, I sighed nostalgically. "I have a father, a mother, four brothers and two sisters."

"What a large family! It sounds like you had quite a perfect life. Tell me, what sort of secrets this seemingly perfect girl is hiding?" Wisteria looked at the audience, who cheered, as if they wanted to know everything about me.

I felt naked. Striped. Raw. All my secrets, everything about my life was being thrown onto a silver platter and presented for the Capitol to feed from until there was nothing left. "Well... Everyone has their secrets."

Wisteria lifted an eyebrow. "Such as?" Her left hand slightly moved toward Hijikata's chair.

"Are you familiar with the Japanese term, seppuku?"

Wisteria chuckled half-heartedly. "No... Should I be?"

Hijikata's jaw clenched. I could read it in his eyes. He hated me telling all these people my secret just as much as I did. Swallowing back bile, I smiled until I was sure it reached my eyes. "It means honorable suicide. In ancient times when a samurai failed in battle, he could regain his honor by using his short-sword to cut open his own stomach without showing pain."

The audience, along with Wisteria all gasped.

"When I was sixteen, I was caught stealing weapons from Peacekeepers. I was caught, and would have been killed for it. That is, until my older brother, Gennosuke attacked them as a distraction, giving me time to escape. He... was killed." My heart clenched and tears threatened to spill over, but I stared at a crack in the floor, willing the tears away. I couldn't cry. Not now. Not in front of everyone.

"Before I even told Mother or Father what happened, I took Gennosuke's wakazashi—his short-sword—and stabbed my own stomach, attempting to commit seppuku. Hijikata was the one that found me, and brought me to the healer in district ten, which saved my life."

The audience quickly responded to this with a round of "aww's." They thought that this story—my deepest secret, the story of how Hijikata and I met—was adorable and sweet. The perfect love story.

For years, I had covered the scar on my stomach, believing it to be ugly. It wasn't until after Hijikata and I eloped that he taught me to become proud of it. It was an honor to have such a scar; a scar that made me stronger.

"Is that how you two met?"

I nodded, plastering a grin made of stone. "Yes, it is."

"That is just..." Wisteria clicked her tongue and touched a hand to her chest. "I'm tearing up! Isn't it just the sweetest?"

As the audience responded, I lifted my chin up higher, despite the bile in the back of my throat. They loved this. Enjoyed it. They all thrilled off of such a painful memory, something that had taken me years to overcome.

It had taken me years to turn a scar into something honorable and proud.

Mentally, I closed myself off to their comments, as they cheered, murmured and whispered amongst themselves. All the stares couldn't affect me. I was as concrete as the grin on my face, with each of their laughs and whispers bouncing off of me.

"I'm assuming he's the father then?" Wisteria wagged her eyebrows, and the audience all continued talking, as if it was the latest gossip.

"He is." I smiled, absentmindedly placing a hand on my stomach.

"Well, that's all the time we have! Akari Hijikata from district five!" a bellowing, masculine voice shouted. The audience cheered as I was led behind stage. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed two Peacekeepers dragging Hijikata off stage. He met my eyes and nodded, as if proud of me.

His eyes shifted to my stomach for a fraction of a second. Once again, I placed my hand there without thinking. There was a jagged scar there, reaching from my left side, all the way across to the right. The scar was pale, jagged and ugly, and yet now, underneath it, a new life was growing—something to be proud and admired.

So how could I explain this feeling of despair bubbling up inside my chest?

~~

DISTRICT 11 FEMALE - ADONIS RUNE

Adonis' breath was snatched away the moment she stepped out on stage. Tears rimmed her eyes as they laid upon her dead sister's innocent face, smiling upwards at her from her seat next to Wisteria. Terra's dark hair was pulled back into twin plaits, and she looked as pure as ever in a flowing, cream dress. Her warm, brown eyes were confused, swarming with mixed emotions as they gazed up at Adonis.

For a brief second, Adonis forgot about all the lights and cameras and the brooding interview ahead of her. All she could think of was that the little girl in front of her was alive and well, apparently. Terra was alive. Her joy was short-lived, however. Terra's silky skin shifted like falling sand, revealing tiny rows of pixels, and anger shot through Adonis. Capitol trickery was all it was.

"What a lovely gown!" Wisteria interrupted her thoughts.

Adonis snapped back into reality and focused her attention on the woman in front of her. As the Gamemaker-Of-Ceremonies should be, Wisteria was gorgeous, but Adonis could detect a hatred behind her eyes. She was just as fake as the rest of them.

But Adonis decided to play along.

"Thank you!" She twirled in her lime green dress, grinning widely as the hemline of her playful dress fluttered in the outdoor breeze. Obviously, the crowd was caught way off guard. This was not the Adonis Rune they were expecting. This was not the dark, intimidating fighter that marched on stage during the Reapings. And, quite frankly, they loved it.

Wisteria seemed to have been confused also. "Well, this was not the girl I was expecting to see! The Capitol sure cleaned you up didn't they!" Adonis detected the sting behind her words, but did nothing to reveal it.

She had no plan to injure the Capitol tonight. Wisteria would poke and jab at Adonis all night, trying to get some crazy emotion out of her, but that wouldn't do a thing. She'd lived an extremely rough life; some perky, Capitol woman couldn't do anything but sting her.

And once a bee loses their stinger, they die.

~~

DISTRICT 12 FEMALE - WYNDER DOUGLAS

I didn't want to be here. But then again, neither did any other tribute, unless you were an insane Career.

When I walked onto the stage, the Capitol erupted in roars of applause. I glanced at the audience, their faces glistening with sweat and anticipation. Even the kids in the crowd seemed excited for my interview to begin. They wanted me to be here, they wanted me to be sent to my death as they wanted so many other children to have the same fate. I couldn't smile. This was cruel. But this was life. The Hunger Games were what a whole society had accepted as okay and so it became a norm.

"Wynder," a voice cooed to my right, "Are you ready to join us?"

I raised my eyebrows in confusion as I turned to face the host, Wisteria Wiles. Us? My eyes widened in shock as I saw not only the Wicked Witch dressed in a bubbly blue dress, but my boyfriend Garrett sitting next to her. I rubbed my eyes, worried that someone had slipped a hallucinogen in my drink and was laughing at my stupor. I looked up again. Garrett was still there, sitting casually next to Wicked Witch, as though it was only natural for him to be at my interview. He wore a smashing suit, black with a red tie, which I thought was odd considering he would never be caught dead in one. His chiseled face was left untouched but his longer black hair was slicked back with grease.

"Oh, don't look so surprised Wynder. You should know to expect such things from the Capitol." Wicked Witch motioned for me to take a seat on the elaborate gold chair in front of her. "Please have a seat so we may begin."

I was surprised she used the word please, no matter how sarcastic it sounded.

I sat down, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. I locked eyes with Garrett, green on blue, in silent question. How? He didn't say anything but gave me a weak smile—so unusual from the dazzling ones he normally gave freely.

"So Wynder," Wicked Witch started, her icy eyes blazing a whole through me, "what do you think of the Capitol?"

I had to tear myself away from Garrett and instead focus on the question at hand. "Its fine," I answered half heartedly.

I would have missed the slight movement from Witch if it had not been for the pain that crossed through Garrett's eyes. I had only seen that look once before when he had taken a beating for his younger sister. What's wrong with him? I thought, searching his body for any signs of harm. I found none, but I kept one eye on him as Witch asked me the same question again. "You've got to think more than that," she added.

"I really have no opinion," I said again, it was the same answer but far from the truth.

The pain became evident in Garrett's eyes again. Wicked Witch moved her hand to the arm rest of her chair. I saw the slight movement of one of the sequences, a string attached to it. My gaze followed the string to Garrett's wrist; a pinch in the skin was evident if I looked closely. It had to be a needle and Witch was in charge of injecting him.

The Capitol was hurting one of the only people in the world I cared about, and no one was batting an eye. Witch gave me a look that stopped me from saying anything about Garrett, but that didn't mean I had to be silent. Anger boiled inside of me, threatening to explode. "You want to know what I really think?" I asked Witch, giving her a threatening glare.

She nodded and scooted forward in her seat as though she was expecting some big, juicy secret.

"I think that the Capitol is great, it's a great place to live, a great place to work, a great place to watch the games from the safety of your home." Words were spilling freely out of my mouth now, and I wasn't sure I could stop my rage. "I think the Capitol is so nice, that the people willingly send other people's kids to fight to the death. That's much more fun isn't it?"

The audience was silent as Wicked Witch smiled at me, a bone chilling grin. "We just wanted to hear the truth, didn't we?" At the coaxing of Witch, the crowd moved out of their stupor, yelling in agreement.

The truth, that's was the trigger for torturing Garrett. I had to tell the truth. I gulped.

"Let's move on to a lighter topic," Witch twirled a pointed finger. "Tell me about your dress. How does it represent your chosen flower?"

I sighed, my stylist had prepared the answer to this question in my head, but that didn't mean I wanted to spin.

"Well I've chosen a 'forget me not', it's a tiny flower but many together can be seen for miles. Just like my hair." My stylist had weaved the brown hair into a waterfall braid, even though I protested at wearing it down. Forget me not's were added throughout, giving me a halo of flowers. I stood up, my dress swishing with the movement. "The top is yellow, representing the middle." I pointed at the short-sleeved but tight bodice that was covered in a cream lace. "And the bottom..." I trailed off, brushing my dress before I started to spin. The five sections that made up the bottom of the skirt flared out in the movement. Each point was ended like the petals of a forget me not. I had become the flower.

"Ooohs" and "awws" escaped the crowd as an aerial view of my dress was placed on the screen. Five seconds later I stopped spinning.

"Wow," a masculine voice sent shivers up my spine. It was pained and hoarse but familiar. I turned to see Garrett, eyes wide and mouth open in amazement. He had never seen me wear a dress except on Reaping day, and even then it was a ratty one.

"I think he speaks for all of us," Witch started, the audience cheering with approval. "So, how did you get those scars?"

I became very self-conscious of my body, even if I was in a frilly dress. A record of beatings from my stepfather had been engraved on my skin, worn like battle scars. I was torn, if I told everyone the real reason, then my brothers would be beaten even worse. But then Wisteria's sharp nails looked like they could slice through Garrett's neck with ease.

"My stepfather..." I whispered with a blank face.

"Your stepfather?" Witch prompted, giving Garrett another dose of poison. He let out a barely audible groan. I couldn't lie.

"He would beat me nearly every day. That's why I have scars. Because he is cruel. He broke my nose, he sliced my arms, and he whipped my back." I prayed that the twins would be alright.

I don't know why that made Wisteria happy—no wait—I do. She is insane and cruel.

"We only have time for one more question." I breathed a sigh of relief. This torment was almost over. "Why did you volunteer?"

Why did I volunteer? This was not one I wanted to answer. I didn't wear my heart on my sleeve and it seemed like that was exactly what the Capitol wanted me to do. But I couldn't put Garrett in anymore pain. "Because the sister of the man you see before me was drawn. I couldn't let her die." I could see her bouncy brown curls in my mind—her tiny smile warming my heart. She deserved to live more than me, more than probably anyone. I couldn't let the light in her eyes be distinguished."

"What about you?" Garrett blurted, unable to hold himself back. I saw the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes and my heart broke. He never cried. "You are going to die!" I saw as Wisteria pressed the button again, shutting him up.

"My life is already horrible, you know that. I was ready to die before I met you." I spoke directly to my boyfriend. "If I can do one good thing in my pitiful existence, I can save your sister. I can make a difference." And with that I stood up, not willing to wait for Wisteria to dismiss me. They weren't going to see me cry.

~~

DISTRICT 13 FEMALE - LILITH AMBERSEE

I walked confidently onto the stage, immediately welcomed by a crowd of applauding faces. Tonight felt like a dream, my outfit was slimming at the top with a sparkly green, then bloomed extravagantly at the bottom with various shades of pink. The dress had one dominant strap, and a pair of sparkly white stilettos to match.

Wisteria stood up to greet me with a kind, yet devious smile. She then shook my hand rather tightly, and insisted I take a seat. As I walked closer to the center stage, I noticed a set of three white couches. The third one puzzled me, perhaps I would be with my district partner.

I took a seat and suddenly recognized the person before me. It was my cousin Darius, and she was dressed in a pure white gown. Like everyone else around me, she smiled happily, despite being handcuffed to a restraint out the the audience's view.

"Good evening my dear Lilith!" Wisteria announced, taking the focus off of my poor cousin. "You sure look lovely tonight! Aren't you glad to see Darius after so long?

I smiled brightly, even though on the inside I was scared to death. She wouldn't kill either of us live, right? Then again she seems a bit...off.

"Thank you so much!" I replied. "Darius and I haven't seen each other in years!"

Both of them laughed, though one was far less fear induced than the other.

"I'm sure you two have a lot of catching up to do, but let's put that aside for now." The strange host interrupted. "So tell me, how did you react to getting chosen for this year's games?"

I thought for a second, leaving a moment of awkward silence between us. "Well, it was a surprise more than anything. I always knew when the next games was happening, but I had never expected the Capitol to include us, even despite the rebellion a little while back."

"Well let me remind you dear." She leaned toward me with a grin. "The Capitol never fails to include everyone!"

The audience giggles at the thought. At least in 13, people are somewhat sane.

"Now then. Can you tell us of anything that has happened to you before the games?" Wisteria continued.

I bow my head. "I suppose you could say that. Recently, my mother and father has had some pretty bad chemistry at home. It seems that my mother had cheated on him with one of the doctors. It's kind of a long story... but my home hasn't seemed the most enjoyable place lately."

A collection of awws can be heard in the audience. Wisteria just quietly nods, and Darius looks as if she is surprised.

"At least with the games, you will have some time away from that." My cousin suggests, but our host doesn't look very sincere.

Wisteria lightly sighs. "Let's not make this so sad! Lilith, any tributes you think seem like good allies?"

I brightened up immediately, almost as if I was put under a spell. "I already have an alliance actually! I'm working with Venenius and Aeren!"

Wisteria looks slightly impressed. "Is that so? They are wonderful tributes to talk to. You three seem like a pretty lethal trio."

"To be honest, Venenius looks pretty cute." Darius pitches in.

I roll my eyes. "Please, you think everyone looks cute."

The host gives off a fake laugh. "Now now you two, let's not have any fights! Lilith, do you have any last announcements for our lovely audience?"

I look out into the crowd. "Just know you all will be in for a show. There is going to be a lot of death coming from the three of us!"

The crowd goes crazy. Wisteria stands up to take my hand, and together we curtsy in a very civilized. Beyond all the smiles, I can see the fear and sadness in my cousin's eyes.