My prep team was onto me as soon as I arrived in the Capitol.

My waist-length black hair has been washed and combed, my eyebrows plucked and styled. All other hair has been removed from my body, and my nails have been cleaned and shaped. I sit in my thin robe, waiting for my stylist to arrive.

A man walks in, with tanned skin and dark hair. His eyes are a startling green, and thin, silver tattoos swirl down his arms and over one of his cheeks.

He examines me, a half smile on his handsome face.

"District 8 works in materials. Which gives us a wide choice." Explains the stylist. "For you? I used leather."
I look at myself in the mirror. Beautiful, terrifying, aloof, cold. My outfit consists of a tight leather top, with criss-crossed silver ribbon and swirling leather spirals on my shoulders and upper chest, tight leather trousers with a wide belt, and heeled black boots. My black hair is piled up on my head and pinned in place, with two strands, braided with silver thread, hanging down on either side of my face, and my eyebrows arch coldly. Black lipstick and eyeliner, and my face is done. My stylist hands me two knives. I stare at them in disgust.
"You couldn't kill a fly with these things," I object.
"They're for appearance only," he explains, soothingly. He places a hand on my muscled arm. "Now go."

The chariot is black and silver, and the horses are beautiful black stallions. I am ready.

As my black chariot starts to move, I'm gratified to see that on the screens I appear almost disinterested. The crowds roar and chant my name. Via Kyara. The Scarred Assassin... but they don't know that... yet.