District 6 Female: Ashlyn Roxen

A snarl that rippled across the room snapped me out of my daze. Or should I say, three. Even though my head was down, I could already feel the hot breath of the monster and see globs of drool drip down onto the concrete floor beneath me. My head slowly lifted up to be met with a giant nose, above were eyes so dark they seemed to pierce into your soul. And below that, bared teeth sharp enough to rip flesh to shreds with one bite and a shake of the head. Speaking of heads, I backed away, revealing two more of the same exact head.

"Ah! There are three mutant dogs?!" I yelled, eyes widening in fear. Yet behind them, there was only one body....

"Ah! It's a three headed mutant dog!" I yelled again, eyes still wide with fear. The head on the right spat, with spit landing in front of my feet.

"Oh, you want a fight? You'll get a fight." I choked down my fear and spat my own saliva towards the dog's face, landing right into his forehead.

"Bullseye." I gently blew my imaginary gun. Anger rolling off the mutant dog in giant waves, it pounced at me, all three jaws wide. My eyes narrowing, I took the nearest loose brick and flung it into the closest one's mouth, causing a gagging noise. Sort of like the sound you hear if a toddler choked on a string of spaghetti. Except this one was much deeper... and louder. Ther other heads, like comrades, howled in pain and this time, their nostrils flaring, charged like a bull in an arena during a fight.

Hey remember the Book of Life! That bull scene? My eyes lit up at that moment. And with that, I raised my arms and with an imaginary cape, like Manolo, and yelled at the mutant dog heads (minus one who was still choking) "Torro! Torro!" And like the movie, I dodged just as the dog barrelled past me and into the wall, causing crumbled dust to fall from the ceiling.

"Is that all you got huh?" I teased the mutant dog. That's when I saw one the middle head limp, unmoving. Two down, one to go.

"Ah, this is so easy like is that REALLY your best? I could do this all day," I rolled my eyes, fanning myself with an imaginary fan. Even though my face looked bored, in reality my knees were about to collapse from exhaustion and my brain was struggling to find a way out of this place. That's when my eyes caught the gleaming of an iron trapdoor. And with my body out of energy, I used the oldest trick in the book.

"Look doggy! Is that a giant, fat, juicy chicken?" I pointed to the corner of the room. As the last still uninjured head looked to the top right, with a burst of sudden energy I darted to the trapdoor, whipped it open, and jumped in, not knowing what to expect next. 

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District 6 Male: Devin Eifa Alvah

DROPPED OUT.

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District 2 Female: Slate Welby

  DROPPED OUT.  

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District 12 Male: Marcus Silverhand

NO ENTRY RECIEVED.

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District 11 Male: Shadow Thantoes Morte

'The Boy Who Lived.' Shadow's light gray eyes scrutinized this next piece of literature he found himself situated before. Another masterpiece and once more the chance to fill his mind with fanciful thoughts of imaginary beings and lands brought to life through the process of imagination.However, these were not just worlds created by the mystical words of an author. The worlds of these books brought to life to test the many attributes each tribute possessed. To break their resilience and mess with each and everyone's subconscious leaving only one to remain with a shattered conscious and moral fiber.Through the grueling days of being forced to observe or hear the canon signal the death of tribute after tribute Shadow knew he had been placed in the cruelest world known to man. He was ready to find his way of escape. He knew well the only way to freedom was surviving... Surviving this horror and gruesome blood soaked land. Just keep fighting Morte, just keep fighting.Within an instant Shadow found himself stationed in front of a dark mahogany door. Three thick planks making up the structure and two black metal lines lacing across the top and bottom. Haltingly he gripped the silver handle turning it clockwise and pushing inward. Here we go again. Another chance to face my demise. His smokey eyes darted around his purlieus vigilantly taking in the details.A downward sloping passage with stone walls, through which trickling water could be heard, led to a brilliantly lit chamber with a high ceiling, full of glittering creatures. On the opposite end of the chamber from the stone passage was a large, old-fashioned wooden door with a silver lock. Shadow's body slouched forward looking dumbly at the flying creatures. These aren't birds are they? No... They can't be... Their... their keys! Why the fuck are keys flying? He shifted his stance and crossed his arms looking over at the wooden door in the corner of the room. Do we have to get one of the keys into the lock?He looked at the gold laced objects with clean wings as white as the freshest snow. It seems like the most logical option. But how do I get these keys into the lock? His gaze dropped to several brooms lying near his warn sneakers. Maybe I can smack them around with the broom. His long body slowly brought themselves down and reached out a long well-toned arm to grip his fingers around the hilt of one broom. His eyes whisked over the cocoa tinted item. Upon closer inspection he glanced over a simple note as clear as the finest ivory jewelry with black as night ink spelling the simple wording, "One must mount a broom and attempt to pursue the correct key. To help with this my children this broom will fly."All the keys fluttered away quickly, darting around, making it very difficult to catch the correct one. Heck Shadow had no idea which would prove to be the one to unlock him from this chamber of winged metal.Now how do I ride this? Like a witch I guess. The broomstick found its way between Shadow's thick legs and slowly raised his feet from the tile flooring. Ugh ok... Now how do I get it moving? Shadow had little time to think about this before the broom took off madly in a forwards trajectory directly towards the direction of flying metal. The group of flying keys took off in evasive maneuvers prancing off quickly in as many directions as there were stars in the sky.Gripping the base of the contraption he pulled it hard to the right making it turn toward a group of keys fairly close to the teen. Maybe I'm getting a hang of this thing. Speeding toward the keys he reached out a hand grabbing on to one. Success! That was easier than I thought! With a push of the hands the flying broomstick whirled around to the direction of the old-fashioned door and its small lock.A pull of the broom back brought it to a stop inches from the door. Let's hope this works. Against the keys incessant flapping of white rings Shadow pushed it inside the lock and began shimming it trying to grant entrance to the room beyond. However, the key refused to bring motion to the locks stagnant tumblers. Damnit! Ugh this is the wrong key. Quickly forcing the key free from its chamber he threw it at full speed back into the group of winged keys.Looking intently at his entrapment he noticed the strangeness of the lock. Can a strange lock needs a strange key? Darting his eyes out at the swarm of keys he looked over each identical one for something that proved to differ from the others. What about that one? His starred fixated at a fluttering key bearing the injury of a broken wing. It doesn't hurt to give it a shot. Pushing on the bring toward the right brought him speeding toward the group of keys racing off in random directions once more.Shadow's eyes squinted at the particular key keeping his broom squarely centered on the trail of the slower moving key then the rest. The broken wing of the small key slowed it enough for Shadow to quickly reach the key, and wrap his long fingers around the gold lock opener. A sigh of satisfaction escaped his pink lips, and he whirled the broom around forcing it back to the door to grant him escape. The broom raced toward the door and didn't stop until it ran square center into the wood for sending Shadow tumbling to the cold floor. That could have been much more graceful. Breathing out he brought himself to a standing position and shoved the key into the locks and turned clockwise. The sound of tumblers moving filled the room and soon the handle turned and the door was open. Thank god! Kissing the key he through it back with the rest of its colony and slowly began moving himself out of this chamber and into the next.Entering a large room Shadow took in the details of it. A stillness filled the air brining goosebumps to the pale skin of the teen and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. A greenish tint brought in an eerie light from the stain glass window. Large wood chairs covered littered the room only abating to form a small path to a large mirror. It was an old looking mirror in a gold frame with the inscription "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."Looking in the mirror the usual expectation of yourself appearing back to you disappeared. Shadow beheld an image of someone similar to himself, one might even call the figure himself... Just a younger version. Yes, in this old dusty mirror Shadow saw the younger version of himself, a young twelve-year-old being embraced tightly by his mother and father. All smiles and love emitting from the duo and no sight of hate or animosity for the young boy they repeatedly told should never of been born.Glinting eyes as gray as a thick mist on a foggy spring morning brimmed with tears and his fingers found their way to his covered chest gripping the black polyester fabric. They love me... My parents loving me. A pang of sadness raced through the young man's chest and his breath caught in his throat. His feet reeled forward and his hands trailed across the clear glass showing him the image he cherished most to become palpable.His boney fingers graced over the image of his mother tenderly embracing himself in the image. Placing a tender kiss on the teen's gray hairs. You hurt me so much mother, you watched as father abused me. He took my innocence away mommy, yet you didn't care. Fuck mother you abused me yourself! My little body always covered in bruises. That smile on my face slowly fading to the scowl it's fixed into now. But, mother... His eyes darted toward his father. Father, I still love you both. All I want is you to love me back. His hand made themselves into fists and his eyes looked down in deep sadness. Tears started to stream down the young males cheeks. All I want is for you two to love me. Shadow's fingers slowly whipped the stream of clear liquid from contrite cheeks. His eyes beheld one last image of his parents love before his feet wistfully turned his body aside from the mirror of his desire and they started to move themselves away.

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District 4 Male: Kanai Lathan

Out of all the things that Kanai had seen in his admittedly short life, what was before him was the weirdest. And that included seeing, or rather hearing, talking books. His head tilted to the side as he regarded the flying pieces of metal in front of him; it took him several seconds to realize that they were keys.

He glanced over at the other boy who had been placed in the room with him, Shadow something. His companion had a startlingly pale appearance. With his grey hair and pale skin, he resembled a washed out corpse, and the sight of him made Kanai feel uneasy.

Shaking his head, Kanai stepped further into the room, his eyes landing two brooms that he hadn't noticed before. They hovered in the air, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What are those for? A small piece of paper was attached to one of them, and he plucked it off the broom quickly. There was a note written on it in looping handwriting, and he read the short message aloud.

Tributes,

These brooms are no ordinary brooms--they can also be used to fly when you ride them. Use them to find the key to unlock the door.

Beneath that was a quick scrawl of his name, and a second message. To help you reach the key easier, I've had a weight attached to it. Despite your inexperience with broom flying, it should be slow enough to grab easily. Excitement flared through Kanai, and he looked at the brooms more carefully. They looked like regular brooms; maybe a little more beat up than normal, but nothing special. Reaching out a hesitant hand, he grabbed the one nearest to him. It seemed to vibrate in his hand, like it was just waiting for him to jump on and fly on it.

"This is awesome!" he exclaimed, unable to help the childish glee that filled him. He had always wanted to fly as a child. He turned to look at Shadow, a grin stretched across his face. It contrasted greatly with the blank expression on the other's face.

"Here." He thrust the second broom at the pale boy, who gave him a suspicious look before taking it.

Kanai turned the broom over in his hands, wondering if there was a certain way to use the broom. After a moment he asked, "Do you know how to fly on one of these things?" There was no answer, and he turned to look at his companion.

Shadow just looked at him blankly, and after a moment Kanai repeated the question. Confusion swept across the other boy's face, traces of bitterness following before they were swept clean. Then he shook his head, pointing to his ears.

For a second, Kanai blinked, not understanding. Then it hit him, and a soft "Oh," escaped his lips. Pity rose up in him, and he wanted to say, do something, but for once, the plethora of responses usually ready at a moment's notice was gone. After a moment he held out the note for Shadow to read.

It didn't take long for Shadow to hand it back, and Kanai tucked the note into his pocket, reaching for the broom once more. He glanced over at Shadow only to see the other boy already swinging a leg over his broom and tugging the broom upwards.

Kanai's mouth fell open comically as he watched the other boy wobble dangerously on the broom. It tilted from side to side as he tried to adjust his weight, and then it jerked upwards, sending Shadow up into the air like a rocket. Kanai's stomach turned just looking at it, and a feeling of dread curled across his body. There was a startled gasp, the broom twisted dangerously, and then Shadow fell off the broom.

Instinctively, Kanai lunged forward, to try and catch him, stop his fall, he didn't know, but he was too slow. Shadow's body hit the cold, stone floor with the sound of bones breaking and skin splitting. Kanai flinched at the sight, and his excitement waned. Suddenly being able to fly didn't seem nearly as compelling.

A good death will do that, he thought rather cynically, and then blinked in surprise. Since when did he think like that? Shaking his head, he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the broom in front of him, reaching for it with trembling fingers. When his hands were firmly clasped around the handle, Kanai gritted his teeth and swung his leg over the wooden handle, inhaling slowly.

This can't be too hard, right? His heart pounded in his chest a million beats per minute as he clutched at the broom with white knuckles. After several tense moments, he pulled upwards slightly. The broom responded to the movement, lifting him into the air. There was second of complete terror as his feet left the ground and the air around his head became filled with the soft sound of wings.

Then the feeling was replaced with a childish glee as the realization that he was really flying hit him. Despite the fact that there was a dead body on the floor beneath him, Kanai couldn't help the adrenaline and excitement that coursed through his veins. It washed away the fear and shock, making him temporarily numb to everything else.

The key. Right, the key. Dark green eyes scanned the multitude of winged keys, searching for the one that he'd need. It should have a weight on it, so it shouldn't be that hard to see right? It took him a few minutes, but at last he spotted it. A key with a small black weight attached to the end. He started to move forward, but forgot he was on the broom and he toppled the left, dangerously close to slipping off.

He tightened his grip on the handle, hard enough to know he was going to leave an imprint of the hard wood on skin as he struggled to right himself. In the amount of time it took him to do so, he lost sight of the key.

"Come on," he muttered. He searched the room again, letting out a soft huff of relief when he spotted the key again. This time, he was careful as he pointed the broom towards the key's direction. His progress was slow, the broom jerking to a stop awkwardly as he struggled to control it. Thankfully, the keys weren't moving fast, and he was able to catch it mere minutes after spotting it.

He tilted the broom downwards, his palms slipping slightly on the broom handle and key. His breaths were loud in the room, and there was the sensation of falling again before his feet touched the ground. A sigh of relief left Kanai's mouth, and a tiny smile curved around his lips as he dismounted and ran towards the door.

The weight on the key slapped against his hand as he shoved the key into the lock. It took him a couple of tries to unlock the door, his hands suddenly shaky. On the fourth try, there was the sound of the lock clicking and then he pushed open the door.

He exhaled slowly, and then stepped into the other room. It was empty, save for a single mirror standing the in middle of the room. Kanai stepped closer, studying the mirror curiously. It, much like the broom, looked normal enough, aside from an inscription along the top. ishow no tyo urfac ebu tyo urhe arts desire. Kanai mouthed the lines of seeming gibberish several times before he realized what it said. I show not your face, but your heart's desire. He made a soft sound of interest. Heart's desire huh? For the first time since arriving in the room, he looked directly into the mirror.

For a second, the mirror remained empty, and then his face stared back at him. He looked nervous, like he was going to puke. Slowly, the rest of the mirror's foggy white background melted away, revealing a large crowd of people. It took him a moment, and then he realized that he was looking at the rest of District Four, specifically on Reaping Day.

This is sick. This isn't my heart's desire, he thought, feeling vaguely ill. But he couldn't help staring at the mirror again. There seemed to be a commotion in the crowd, and then it switched to show a stage and someone from the Capitol reaching into a bowl with slips. Slips that held the names of hundreds of boys.

Even though he knew what he was seeing wasn't real, couldn't be real, Kanai couldn't help the tightening of his stomach or the way he tensed in preparation. The woman chose a slip, and then read the name aloud. Kanai couldn't hear anything, but he could clearly see her lips form a name, a name that he couldn't decipher, but he knew instinctively it wasn't his name.

The mirror showed his expression again. He looked equal parts sad and elated, a guilty smile curving across his lips. His eyes, like the rest of his Districts', were trained on a faceless boy who was walking towards the stage and the Capitol woman.

I wasn't chosen. The realization hit him hard, and he felt a sudden longing to be the version of himself in the mirror. He wanted to climb into the mirror, switch places with himself. His hand touched the cool surface of the mirror as he stared inside. I show not your face, but your heart's desire.

Kanai swallowed. Why? Why couldn't that have been me? He blinked and then turned away from the mirror, resisting the urge to punch the mirror. What he saw didn't matter. It wasn't real. He had been reaped. He was in the arena. And nothing could change that.

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District 3 Female: Rosella Van Carter

Rosella had always hated the darkness.

The thought of falling helplessly into hell's dark embraces had always scared her. Years of reading taught her of the dangerous things it could foretell, and as she had opened her new book the warm friendly environment of the Shire had disappeared completely, replacing the light with the pitch black emptiness that had washed the feeling of security and happiness away. She shivered, her hands clenched tight over her book and sword, as she recalled all the nightmares she had when she was a little girl—silly ones, according to her conscience, but still so frightening that she would often wake up with a scream tearing through her throat. She felt her arms turn numb as she recalled the last night she spent without a single moment of shuteye in the Capitol, her failure to impress hanging over her head like a rain cloud. The tension in the atmosphere thickened and she began to choke as if the darkness had already begun to trickle down her throat in a soothing yet dangerous manner, ready to clench at the only thing within her that still kept her on her feet.

Was this the end?

Tentatively, she took a step forward, the quiet clicks of her boot's heel and toe over the marble flooring echoing in the silence. She willed herself to inhale deeply, taking all the time she could to gather and expel the negative thoughts that coursed through her entire body...and as she exhaled, she suddenly gasped as she saw, all around her, torches lining the stone walls lighting themselves one by one. In just a matter of seconds, the chamber was bathed in a soft yet bright yellow glow, the flames burning so brilliantly it could have quenched all of fear itself. But her gaze wasn't fixated on the flames for long.

The girl blinked at the sight of a set of giant white chess pieces towering over her, blocking her way to a door on the other side of the chamber. Frowning, she turned back to glance at a black army glaring right at her too. With a gulp at the lump in her throat that had made its despicable reappearance, she revolved on the spot in a good 360, taking note of the formation the pieces were standing on, the black-and-white checkered flooring that she was standing on that vaguely reminded her of a chessboard...

"Do you need any help, my dear?"

Internally, Rosella groaned. How many more people had to announce their presence in so unexpected a fashion that she'd rather stab instead of demand?

"Who's there?" she demanded, forcing her voice above a shout.

"Well, is this really the way to address a Queen?"

Turning around, she noticed the Black Queen beckon to her with a hand, and she obediently approached her, curtsying to her in greeting.

"Sorry for intruding, Your Majesty," Rosella apologized. "May I quickly ask where I am?"

"You are in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, my dear. This was where the Boy Who Lived had once went to school—the same one in the book you are now holding."

"This one?" She held up the book in her hand—Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone—and frowned. "So what am I supposed to do here?"

"You are to successfully win this game against the White army," the Queen instructed her. "Checkmate the king, and you could proceed."

Rosella said nothing. She bit her lip as she turned to glance again at the white pieces, most specifically the White King who stood with a helmet over his head, a sword pinned to the base with his hands. A slight tremor went up her spine as the truth had finally dawned on her.

This time, she could not refuse what was already previously offered to her.

"Do you play chess?" the Black Queen asked.

Rosella nodded slowly. "I have. It's just...I've never imagined playing in such a fashion." She sighed as she contemplated and envisioned the forthcoming battle that had yet to unfold, remembering that everyone in Panem was watching her every move. With a deep inhale, she slowly expelled as much tension that pulled her limbs taut along with the air that escaped her lips before nodding at the Queen. "I accept the challenge."

The Queen nodded as she backed off of the chessboard, and Rosella took her place, facing the white Queen on the other side with a piercing glare.

"Let the chess battle...begin."

With that, the giant white pawn in front of the kingside knight moved first, advancing two squares forward towards the centre of the board with a rather loud shuffle. Rosella pursed her lips before retaliating with the same command: black pawn on G7 to G5.

The knight on B1 instantly leapt forward to C3, the giant horse in its rearing position towering and casting a long shadow over the pawn which she had just moved.

"Okay then," Rosella murmured to herself before turning towards her pawn on D7. "Hey, can you move to D6?"

The pawn obliged as it moved forward onto the designated square before White brought forth their pawn on E2 into the middle of the board. Instantly, Rosella frowned as realization struck her, quicker and surer than lightning ever could.

The White army didn't have anyone to control them. It was as if they themselves had already been programmed to work together in perfect harmony to overthrow Rosella's army. And unlike the white army, everyone on the black side was relying on Rosella to deliver the fateful blows, to advance with attacks that would either help or harm them.

"Pause," Rosella commanded.

Silence resumed as her eyes swept across the board once more, at the pieces which had just moved. It was just like all the times she had played chess against her computer when she was younger, just before her parents allowed her to work with them in the tech factories if she didn't feel like burrowing herself into the pages of a good book. It was through chess where she had gained so much intelligence, where her ability to pinpoint the most optimal of tactics had sharpened over time. If she was to emerge victorious against the enemy commander which might possibly be a computer, an artificial mind behind the moves, she would have to not only foresee the worst that could happen to her army, but also envision the gameplay one step ahead of the enemy fleet and thwart them.

It was all just a game of war. It was just like the Hunger Games itself; it was a war against so many others, and the final victory would be determined by the strategy and mindset of one tribute, and one alone.

With her eyes furrowing again in anger, she raised her fist. "Pawn on B7, move to B5!"

As the game continued to unfold, Rosella's confidence began to tumble from the thin membrane of fear that threatened her to break down in the midst of the battlefield, her voice growing stronger as she shouted commands and relentlessly attacked the enemy. Memories of the things she had lost to the Games, from her parents she left behind to Conn who perished at the bloodbath, began to flood into her mind, reminding her of the true reason she was still fighting. Despite the fear that probed at her chest, she managed to push it away, her voice ringing with conviction. Pieces of various sizes and colours crumbled into debris under the enemy blade, and as the dust and stone grazed soared through the air her courage remained unwavering as battle scars continued to decorate her arms, glistening crimson over the pale flesh that was her own.

Before long, it was down to a queen and king on the enemy side, and herself with a rook, a bishop, a king, and a pawn on her side. She bit her lip as she contemplated her next move, her eyes alighting on her pawn just near the other end of the board, currently not in danger of any kind of threat from the enemy side.

"Pawn on A2, move to A1," Rosella ordered, pointing at the piece. "Promote rank to Queen."

The pawn obeyed as it moved forward, and the Black Queen stepped onto the board, patting the pawn on the back once before she took her place, nodding at Rosella tersely.

The White Queen then countered with a check to the black King on a diagonal line. Rosella shook her head as she found the white Queen's unfortunate flaw—it had landed in the same plane where Rosella was standing at, thus making it more vulnerable to her attack.

And attack Rosella did without hesitation. With her sword raised, she charged at the White Queen and slashed her into smithereens, the thin stony slivers raining all over and around her from where her blade struck. The smile of triumph that decked her face faded suddenly as one shard of terracotta scratched her face, successfully drawing a line of blood just under her left eye, and she gasped as she raised her hand to wipe the sinful fluid away, the stinging intensifying as did her fear. Easy long breaths soon shortened to rapid choked ones as the world instantly narrowed itself to her and the pain from the wound.

"No," she muttered to herself, closing her eyes in hopes of blocking out the pain that overwhelmed her. "You cannot submit to fear. Stay strong."

The silence that rang in the room had never been more pronounced. As Rosella lifted her head, she realized that none of the pieces had moved. In fact, everyone was standing in the same positions, eerily staring down at her like giants would a tiny Thumbelina. With a final scan around the board, she realized that she had just initiated a discovered checkmate; her bishop had now targeted the King, as did she, with the rook covering the only other flight square.

A smirk slowly spread across her face, and she pointed her sword at the King.

"Checkmate," she announced.

Obediently, the King dropped his sword in front of her feet, the blade dropping over the smooth tiles peppered with debris until it vibrated no more.

Was this the end? She turned to the black Queen, who just nodded at her.

"You have played well, my dear. May you have safe travels ahead," she said with a final nod.

Rosella nodded, acknowledging her remaining pieces with a wave before she ran towards the door on the other side of the chamber and forcefully pushed it open. As the door swung under her weight she found herself stepping into another dim chamber, her eyes furrowing at a rather large ornate mirror standing majestically in its center amidst the heap of wooden chairs surrounding it, the glass luminous and clean despite the worn gold frame that surrounded it.

All she could hear was her own footsteps over the stone floor matching the pounding beats of her heart as she approached the mirror, staring at the image within. Her body was still slim and strong, one of a fitting warrior, but the cuts on her face and arms had already marred what used to be the very image of perfection that the White Witch had commended her on just hours before. With each step she took, however, the image began to change, rippling against the glass's surface until it cleared away to reveal another image—an image Rosella almost didn't expect to see.

The image staring back at Rosella resembled her in some ways, except she looked much older, wiser, and definitely more beautiful than she could ever imagine. In one hand she held a book, one that she didn't recognize on her bookshelves but definitely had in her dreams, the title flashing into the girl's eyes just briefly under the light. In her other hand she held a gleaming topaz fountain pen. Her hair was let down, flowing past her shoulders in an unbroken curtain. She was even wearing a pristine white lab coat bearing her district's seal near the left shoulder, not unlike the ones her parents wore every day at work.

Instantly, her mouth dropped open in awe.

"Is...is this it?"

Rosella recalled how much she wanted to write her life story. It had always been one of her greatest desires, and her time in the Hunger Games had actually made her even more eager to do so. It was not every day one could create lifelong memories with memorable characters in stories everyone must have read once long ago, and oh, how desperately she had wanted to put it all into words. Forget the fact that she had turned down eternal power. She didn't need a sorceress or a magical ring to help her attain eternal glory. Everything she had always desired laid in that very image in the mirror. If that wasn't her eternal goal, then what was?

Slowly, she raised a hand, fingertips lightly touching the cold glass as she saw her reflection do the same. An electric shock pulsed through her arm, but she didn't pull away. The connection between past, present and future all lay in that one simple touch, coursing through her like a thread of time, light, and rooted determination.

She already knew what she wanted. And she would not stop at anything to fulfill her deepest desires.

This was not the end.

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District 1 Male: Flame Phoenix Pirkas

  DROPPED OUT.