Ok, this is my first Hunger Games fanfiction. Since Paylor is one of my all time favourite characters, this is about her...

I don't know if I'm ready for this. A few months ago, I was just a factory worker in District 8, leading a sad, poverty-stricken group of workers to defy and fight the capitol. Most of my group was caught and hanged. I just escaped. Now I'm the president of this new Panem, the won that we won, that the rebels won. I'm sitting on a deep purple velvet-coloured armchair, and across from me is a mirror. I look at my reflection, and am astonished at how much I have changed.

Before, they set a prep team on me. They were all so nervous about being around me, as chances are at some point in time I shot one of their friends. But, however nervous they were, they still did a good job. The ragged, dirty bandage that covered a cut on my neck is gone, replaced with a sticking plaster over the cut that you can barely see. My dark brown eyes, which were puffy and fatigued, are slightly better, as the result of several good nights sleep. But it helps that I'm wearing mascara, eye shadow and eyeliner. Ugh, it disgusts me.

The prep team waxed all of my body hair off, which was both painful and pointless. My long blonde hair, which I never cared for in the past, has been styled and braided down my back. My face is various shades of make-up, including dark red lips. But that's the other thing. I actually look good; some people have even called me beautiful. That's something I've never been called in my life. Not ever.

But I have lots of doubts, doubts that run thick and free.

Will I be able to lead this country? Can I keep my people in peace? Will I be a disaster? These thoughts run rampage through my head. I shake my head dismissively, trying to clear them. But they probe my mind, awakening fears I thought were dead. Realising resistance is pointless, I figure out I need something to do. So, I head to Nick, who keeps the diary of events that I have to attend. "Hey, Nick." I say when I finally find him. "Hey." He replies. He sounds stressed. Nick is one of the few capitol freaks who actually look moderately normal, with simple black hair and no cosmetic alterations.

What have I got on today?" I ask. He looks at me quizzically. "You really don't know, why do you think you're so dressed up?" I stare at him blankly and he laughs. Not in a mocking way but a gentle light laugh meant to cheer me up. It work, a smile tugs on the corners of my mouth and soon I'm laughing too. "What have I got on?" I ask again. "Well," Nick replies, "Only your inauguration and your acceptance speech." "Oh." I say.

"I thought you were told." Nick mutters. I shrug. "I probably was, whether I was concentrating or not is a different matter. When is it?" He looks at me and all of a sudden I'm drawn into his eyes, his deep blue eyes, his handsome blue eyes… No! I think, shaking all thoughts of a relationship from my head and trying to concentrate on something else. A deep blue vase on the other side of the room looks nice, so I focus my sight on that, trying to forget that rush of affection I felt for the person who organises my life.

"About two hours away." He says, bringing me out of my thoughts. He looks at me and I'm forced to meet his gaze. "Good." I whisper. "Well then," Nick says, turning around, but I see a blush creep into his cheeks, "I- I'll see you around." I finish his sentence for him. "Sure." He says, then leaves, embarrassed. I spin around and hurry away; my high-heeled shoes make clip-clop noises on the polished marble floor. Annoying things, I think, I hate them. I pull then carelessly of my feet and walk with bare feet.

Since I have two hours to kill I decide to do something whatever that may be. I decide to visit y room, well, when I say my room, I should mean my palace. It's about ten times bigger than my whole house back in eight. I sit down and read my book, which is by someone who lived centuries ago called Jane Austen. We were taught to read at school in eight, but the only thing we had to read were instructions on how to work machinery to make clothes. I've never read a book for enjoyment, and it's quite fun, a good past time.

I'm near the end of the book when a servant named James informs me that the inauguration is in half and hour. I'm racked with nervousness, as I am lead through the corridors, to the hair and make-up. The prep team applies more make-up (If that is possible) and redoes my hair. And then I'm being lead through the corridors toward my inauguration, the event the new country has been waiting for, the event that will confirm me as president, the event I have lived for. And then I realise something; love, doubts and fighting aside

I have a country to lead.