The girl who is Anna steps out onto a bastard of a field. The ground is dark. Stuck somewhere between mud and hard earth thanks to an almost constant spray of blood which soaks into it. And while the bodies do get drug out of the rings after each match, sometimes a limb will lay scattered somewhere on the bloodearth.

A pale, dirt smudged hand lies at her feet. She blinks. Sniffs the air. Steps over the limb and walks to the center of the large ring. It is gargantuan in her eyes now, but she knows The Arena is tens of times larger than this baby of a field. This is for her. For people in her age group. And size.

She looks around at the screaming fans. There aren't as many as could be found surrounding the larger rings, where the deadliest fighters practice the fine art of euthanasia. And sometimes fail. But she will not. Not today. On the far side of the ring a door that claims ancient by the wear of the wood - but is not - groans open.

Another person her size steps out. Well. 'Her size' of course being relative. He's about five inches taller than her. Twice as wide. He looks mean and angry. He looks like he wants to hit her. She wants to hit him too, but she doesn't. She doesn't want.

But she will.

He beats his chest and hoots as he steps further into the ring. Spinning around and throwing his fists up into the air. The meager crowd cheers louder. And grinning, he throws his head back and bellows out a laugh. Anna watches this. She takes it in and processes it. She decides that he will her attention.

But not because he's so desperate for any, or deserves it. Instead, it's because she dislikes him. He thinks he is special. And he isn't. She is.

Yet he casts eyes on her, with the crowd going wild he pins her with a stare and sneering smile that claims he is better and stronger than her. She is not amused by this idiotic assumption.

Like a bull, once more he bellows but this time he charges. He's large, strong. But slow. She trips him the same way she had the Girl With No Name. But he rolls with it and springs back up, spinning around to face her. Perhaps not as dull as he looked. He starts to circle but she matches him step for step. She could almost smile.

She won't. But she could. Almost.

He's focused solely on her. He doesn't pay attention to his surroundings. There's a rock she spies, a hefty chunk of stone that previous battles had loosened from the walls. Careful to adjust her strides and ignore his jibes, she leads him in one last circle and that's when he meets the rock. He stumbles over it and she leaps forward, rushing him. She shoves her shoulder in the space beneath his ribcage. With strength impossible she forces his hulking frame back.

He hits the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him, in the moment that he needs to gasp for air and recover his doom strikes. That's when the girl who is Anna carefully picks up the rock that is easily twice as large as her head in her two hands and seats herself on the boy's chest. He screams once.

Only once. And it is high pitched with fear and rage. He even attempts to surge up and throw her off but she locks strong legs around his arms and torso. She lifts the rock high. And when she brings it down on the top of his skull with as much force as she can it causes a spray. But only the first time.

After that she repeats the process over and over and over until his face is gone and blood, bone, and bits of black hair stick to the rock and paint her hands pretty colors. With the cleanest part of her upper arm she wipes at her face. Spits for good measure; she wants exactly none of his pretty red in her body. Then she drops the rock in the space where his head used to be and stands up.

The plain, rough dress they put her in is stained only minimally with red. Mostly little dots that match the spray from his skull. She wipes her hands on the front. And very calmly walks back to the door that she entered through. But it doesn't open yet.

She glances behind her. At the silent field. The crowd that stares at her beyond the protective mesh and glass. She stares back. And then they erupt into cheers and applause. She doesn't know it yet but she's the youngest female to not only survive a match like this, but kill her opponent.

Fights like this are harsh. Usually the kids beat each other around. The larger winning. Only when they reach age ten, usually, do the real matches start. Hers will start tomorrow. But for now the door opens with a rumble and The Snake stands on the other side. Candy smile dripping with venom.

"My dear girl," he hisses and reaches out for her. She only just resists the urge to duck away from his grasping fingers. They crawl through her hair in a way that is supposed to soothe. It's supposed to be friendly and warm and intimate. She knocks it away. "You've done well."

His hand settles on her shoulder instead. And although this is still unpleasant she allows it. She knows what she's done. And she can do better.

"The people like you."

It's because they mistook this image of a girl that exists underneath the layer of drying blood, to be true. They look into her eyes and mistook her for a child. An innocent. And surprises are fun. So she had fun with them.

But she says, "They do." She wants to bathe now. She needs to. That Boy is drying underneath her finger nails. In her nostrils the copper-y acrid scent of blood lingers. She's not usually hungry but her stomach growls. "I require sustenance." She stops in front of the door to her chamber, turning to address The Snake in a rare show of civility.

One of his brows arches upwards. But otherwise his sugar-coated blunt fangs still gleam at her from between those thin lips of his. He asks, not kindly,

"Will that be all?"

And in a rarer show of respect, she says, "Yes. Thank you, Master." But it is a farce. Still her always neutral expression never betrays her and his smile widens. Something like pride shines in his eyes.

"Your food will arrive shortly. Eat, drink, and be merry my dear girl. For tomorrow the real challenges begin." He ruffles her hair - and this time she allows it - before stepping back and turning to walk away from her.

She enters her room. And for a moment, after she closes her door and it clicks, clanks, and clunks to let her know she's shut in until the food does eventually arrive, for a brief moment she stands and thinks of That Boy with the mean eyes. She decides that this place is not hell.

But it is something close.