Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, favorite-ed, and/or submitted: 4Love4Love4 (check out her Selection SYOC!), zanzibaby, Booklover0717, theYAfangirl17, Lost Daughter of Gallifrey. mnbvcxz-xx (who indeed got the reference), majestictales, PEETAMELLARKLOVER123 and any guests! Huge thanks to zanzibaby for torturing me with her cupcakes and theYAfangirl for submitting three awesome characters, and reading another one of my stories!! You guys are the best!
Introductions for Elvira (by TheGirlWithTheRainbowTattoo), Taylor and Sirena (by theYAfangirl17)
*note- I have no idea where most of the provinces should be
…
Elvira Entrinken never got mail. But today she had two letters. The brunette studied the envelope. She knew what the bigger one contained. Her bunkmates Kimberly, Pauline, Sasha, and Marcelle all had gotten one, too. Elvira wanted to do what the other girls had done with them and throw it away, but that might not be possible. The envelope was large, crisp and obviously expensive. She traced her finger over her name on the front. Elvira Emily Entrinken. It had been delivered to her home address, not her current residence.
It was a letter to enter the Selection. A chance to become the wife of Prince Ethan. Hmmm. Private in the Illean military becomes princess. Elvira mused, slipping the Selection letter underneath the other envelope. This one had come from home, addressed to Elvira at her base, stationed in New Asia. And it was from her father. She slipped her finger nail underneath the slot and opened the envelope. Why he couldn't call, text or even email her was beyond Elvira. She pulled out the double sided piece of typed paper, and unfolded it.
My dearest daughter Ellie, it began. Elvira wrinkled her nose in distaste. She hated when people called her that.
The letter from our King Jackson and Queen Francesca arrived yesterday addressed to you, my beautiful daughter. It made me very proud to know that in the near future, you, my daughter, could become the princess of Illea. Elvira couldn't help rolling her eyes. She loved her dad, of course, but sometimes he was over the top. Besides, there was already two princesses, Michelle and Andrew's wife Christine. She kept reading.
As the daughter of the Illean ambassador to Germany, you must know you will have very good chances in this contest. My original plan to marry Gerda to Prince Andrew fell through when he chose Christine over your elder sister. I planned to marry her to Prince Ethan, but she is now twenty five, and too old to even be considered. This leaves the task up to you, my dearest Elvira.
When you were preparing to graduate, you made me a promise that you would enter Ethan's Selection when the time came and in return, you could attend the Illean Military Academy, instead of a finishing school of your choice. Well, my daughter, that time has come.
I posted the letter from the palace with this letter. Since you are not in Illea at this time, I contacted the Province of Sonage Services Office. They told me that you (and any other girls of age at the base) will be allowed to fill out the form and post it, along with a picture of yourself to them.
I trust that you will keep your promise to me, Elvira, and fill out the form. I have no doubt in my mind that you will be selected.
Elvira scanned the brief closing, barely managing to suppress a groan. Why had she ever agreed to the ultimatum? She didn't really have a choice, though. Go to some stupid prissy finishing school thing to prepare you for the Selection, and be forced into the Selection, or go to military school and join the army and be forced into the Selection. Still, this was a better choice.
But Elvira didn't want to go to some stupid palace and wear stupid ball gowns and date some stupid prince with a bunch of stupid girls. She wished her older sister Gerda had been chosen over Christine. Then Dad would be satisfied-maybe. She wished her parents had never divorced. Then maybe she would be happy about the Selection. She wished her brother Alabaster had never joined the army, so she never would have either. She wished Gerda had been chosen. She wished she was a normal girl excited about the Selection so this didn't suck so much. Or that she could just be allowed to live her life!
Reluctantly, Elvira opened the first envelope. She glanced at the first piece of paper, a form to fill out, and scanned the letter.
Our beloved prince, Ethan Schreave, is coming of age this month. As he ventures into this new part of his life, he hopes to move forward with a partner, to marry a true Daughter of Illéa. If your eligible daughter, sister, or charge is interested in possibly becoming the bride of Prince Ethan and the adored princess of Illéa, please fill out the enclosed form and return it to your local Province Services Office. One woman from each province will be drawn at random to meet the prince. Participants will be housed at the lovely Illéa Palace in Angeles for the duration of their stay. The families of each participant will be generously compensated for their service to the royal family.
Elvira crumpled the letter and chucked it at the door. She sat down on her bed-the lower bunk she shared with Marcelle-and wished she could do the same with the stupid form. But no, that was not to be. She was most definitely not interested in becoming the bride of Prince Ethan and the adored princess of Illea. It was like some Cinderella story, and she thought it was dumb. Why couldn't the prince just find someone the regular way? Or be forced into a marriage to help the country like Princess Michelle? The whole thing was just dumb.
Why should she have to enter, anyway? Because Gerda wanted her to, to finish what she had started, but with a different guy? Because Dad wanted a princess for a daughter? He was an ambassador already, and they were Twos, so it wasn't like they needed the money. Elvira wasn't in love with Ethan either. Her mother could care less about what she or her ex-husband did. Alabaster, her brother, was a commander in a military, and would probably be dead-set against Elvira entering. Gerda would probably hate her for it. Fortunately, she and Elvira's mother were living in Spain, and Gerda was twenty five, so the worst she could do was send a couple of angry text messages.
Reluctantly, Elvira decided that the only thing she could do was try as hard as she could not to get chosen. Although Dad, a close friend of the king, could probably pull some strings. She grabbed one of Pauline's books and pen from the lower bunk on the other side of the room, knowing one of her four roommates at the base wouldn't mind, and sprawled on the floor, glad that none of her roommates were here; they would surely kid her about this stupid Selection. She studied the form, and began to make herself sound as dull and uninteresting as possible. Sure, they claimed they drew the girls randomly, but because Elvira's dad was so high up and close to the king, and a jerk like Gerda had gotten chosen last time around, she knew it wasn't true. They claimed they were doing that to honor the now rebel controlled territory of Yukon, but Elvira doubted it. Maybe, though.
Name: Elvira Emily Entrinken
Age: 18
Province: Sonage
Caste: Two
Occupation: Private in the military
Hair color: brown
Eye color: grey
Skin tone: white
Height: 5'7
Weight: 125
Languages spoken: English, German, Spanish:
Hobbies: marksmanship
Elvira grinned, hoping her 'list' of hobbies might scare the prince. She briefly wrote her contact and schooling information, and decided to leave it at that. Instead of mailing it back to her dad to give the service office, she decided to mail it herself. But first, she needed a picture. She took out her phone, and went to the camera setting. This would be fun. She wasn't wearing any makeup, and she didn't feel the need to put it on, even though she wasn't against it. Elvira messed up her hair, and scrunched up her face in an attempt of a smile. She added 'duck face' lips for good measure, and wrinkled her nose, twisting her lips into an almost pucker. She opened her eyes as wide as she could, and smashed her chin towards her chest to create some sort of a double chin, before snapping the photo. It was the worst selfie of all time. Elvira almost laughed out loud before a terrible thought occurred to her
The only thing worse than getting picked would be getting picked and having the entire country of Illea see this picture. She decided to take another one and send both. She stated at the camera, and frowned before taking the picture. Perfect. It was totally not princess material. She downloaded and printed out both pictures in on her laptop and Sasha's small portable printer, before sticking them in the included smaller pre stamped envelope to send back. As Elvira set out to mail it before any of her friends found out, she could only hope her plan would work.
…
Taylor Hollister sighed as she got ready for her first escort of the week. She didn't have to stick around much longer here. She knew she could be doing much worse things than standing around looking pretty as 'dates' for celebrities who might need on, and she was fortunate to be a Seven and not an Eight selling her body instead of her looks, and she was lucky to be a professional escort, but it was probably the exact opposite of what she wanted to do. Taylor pulled the black silk dress of the hanger, and stepped into it, pulling it up, and snuggling it against her chest. She reached behind her, and pulled the zipper up as high it as it could go. She stepped outside the dressing room.
"Hey, Stace', could you zip this up for me?" She called to her best friend Stacey. The blonde nodded, and hurried over.
"Wow, Taylor-I mean Chanel- you look hot!" Stacey said. Taylor rolled her eyes at the use of the name she used for work.
"It's the dress." She said, kicking her bare foot out of the thigh high slit. "It does wonders!" She teased. Who would have guessed that Taylor-a by-the-book nerd and bibliophile who knows eleven languages would be prancing around on the arm of well-known Twos all night? But to do that, you couldn't act like a Seven-you had to act like a Two.
"Still, you're gorgeous." Stacey said. "Are you sure you don't want to enter the Selection?"
"I don't have time." Taylor said, fluffing her dark red-brown curls with her fingers. "I plan to become a Six soon."
"Why? So you clean other people's toilets? What's wrong with this?" Stacey said.
"Nothing. It's just not how I want to spend the rest of my life." Taylor grabbed hand mirror and a tube of lipstick. In the common room of Coates Girls Institution which trained girls to be professional dates, girls in flashy, revealing outfits set about transforming themselves into Two look-alikes, worthy of the red carpet. She applied a heavy coat of bright red to her lips.
"Would you prefer to be a hooker?" Stacey cried, anger bristling. "You would have been an Eight if you hadn't of been left here." Taylor winced. Stacey had been a prostitute for three years before coming here last year. There was no way she could enter the Selection.
"I'm sorry, Stace'." Taylor said. "I didn't mean-"
"I know. I just wish that I was in your shoes. Because I can't enter the Selection, and I really want to. But you can, and you don't." She brushed at her eyes, trying not to smudge her makeup.
"Stacey…" Taylor began.
"Will you enter for me?" Stacey begged. "You probably won't even be picked. But you at least try!"
"But what if I do?" Taylor said. Stacey was the master at persuading people, though, and her friend had already dashed away. She came back a moment later, breathless and clutching a piece of paper and a pen.
"Here's your form, T." She said. "You're my best friend. If you don't get picked, then nothing changes. If you do, you become a Three whenever you get eliminated. Think about it. You could do all the nerdy stuff you can't do here. Or as a Six."
"What if the Prince falls for me?"
"Just guarantee that he won't! Besides, you get paid."
"I don't know…"
"Come on, T. Please, for me?" Stacey did that puppy-dog thing with her eyes. Taylor sighed.
"Fine. But I probably won't even get picked." She snatched the form and pen out of Stacey's hand, and plopped down at one of the makeup chairs. "I stop by the service office after my date. Hopefully, I won't be late." She muttered a few choice words in French.
"You won't be sorry, T!" Stacey shrieked. "I know you're supposed to do this!" Without another word, she dashed off to get ready for a date of her own. Taylor shook her head, and began to fill out the form.
Name: Taylor Marci Hollister
Age: 17
Province: Sota
Caste: Seven
Occupation: professional escort
Hair color: dark brown
Eye color: light blue
Skin tone: tan
Height: 5'9
Weight: 117
Languages spoken: French, English, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Latin, Ancient Greek, Mandarin Chinese, Russian, Slavic, and German.
At this point, Taylor stopped. She suddenly realized she had a very good chance of being selected. She looked up at her reflection in the mirror the girls used for makeup. Heart shaped face, dimples that Stacey was always jealous of, classic dark curls and blue eyes, with just enough freckles to be cute. She also spoke eleven languages, and had all the poise of a Two. The only thing working against her was that she was a Seven. Her stomach tightened with fear, and took a steadying breath. She had to do this for Stacey.
Highest grade level completed: twelve, at Coates Girls Institution
Hobbies: Reading, learning, architecture, exercising, playing the flute and piano, painting, cooking, auto tech, gardening.
Address: Coates Girls Institution, Sota
She scanned what she had written. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be selected. Even if she was the first to go, she would still be a Three. Stacey and the other girls at the Institution would get some money, and all she had to do was show up. A line from her favorite poem drifted across her mind. "But we loved with a love that was more than a love." Poe's "Annabel Lee" told a love story so powerful, that the word 'love' wasn't strong enough.
Taylor felt a yearning then, to fall in love. She didn't want to stand on the arm of someone who couldn't get a date to an event for the test of her life. She didn't even want to clean someone's toilets either. Heck, maybe she didn't even want to achieve her dream and be a Three. She just wanted to know what it was like to love and be loved. And the Selection was her chance. Taylor folded the form up, and slipped it into the tight bodice of her dress. She would be selected, and she would win.
…
Sirena Mastrano was drunk. But she didn't care. It was better than nothing. She took another drink of her margarita, and flipped her red curls off her shoulders. She looked around the dimly lit bar, looking for another thrill, another boy, another something. She blinked twice to clear her head, but it did little. Just last weekend, she and the rest of her volleyball team had won the whole college match up. Sure, no one really watched girls college volleyball, but still. After getting her latest modeling contract, she knew many more boys would, just to see her. It felt good being famous. It hurt when all the fame was over and volleyball was over for the year. It would be time to finish up her junior year of college, and focus on modeling full time, now with nothing to distract her. That meant starting again. Or, Sirena glumly thought, stopping. Controlling what she ate until she craved the feeling of hunger, or pain. Controlling what she ate until she didn't eat anything. Until something threw her.
It could be anything from a bad break-up, to a heated group text with her girl-friends, to a bad twist in a stupid television show. When she would skip town and get a five star hotel room and spend the night eating away her feelings and then getting rid of it with a simple trick while leaning over the toilet bowl.
The whole prospect brought on an awful feeling of dread. It was no wonder she was excited to be hung-over tomorrow. This was a low, and it was nearly killing her. She had almost committed suicide this time last year. Maybe I should quit. Sirena mused, swirling what was left of her drink in the glass. She didn't get farther than that. Quit volleyball, modeling, starving herself and binge eating, drinking? She was always looking for the next thrill, and when there wasn't any, life wasn't worth living. Her friends always thought of her as a bubbly fun-loving person, but that only seemed to be the case during her 'highs'. Right now, though, she was at an all time low. And not even alcohol in excess was helping.
Sirena gulped down the last of her drink, suddenly needed to be alone. It was becoming too much. She slipped off her barstool, and grabbed her purse. Her heels clicked on the floor as she hurried to the bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty. She went to the last stall, and locked the door behind her. She pulled down the toilet seat cover and sat down. For once, she wasn't going to purposely vomit up the contents of her stomach. She had better methods to get rid of the pain. A good cry might do the trick. As soon as she sat down, the tears came, accompanied by gulping sobs. Sirena unrolled a wad of toilet paper, and tried to mop of the tears, but only succeeded in smearing her makeup around.
When she finally ran out of tears, Sirena took a steadying breath, and exited the stall. She walked to the sink, gripping the counter for support. I can do this. She told herself. I have to get over this. I can't live the rest of my life on a roller coaster of highs and lows. She turned on the water, and dipped her hands, letting the water wash away the remaining streaks of mascara and lipstick that somehow hadn't made it onto the tissue with the tears. She looked up, finding her face a wreck. Red, swollen eyes, puffy cheeks, not to mention the raccoon mask her eyeliner had created, and the blotchy foundation and blush, and lipstick. She lowered her face closer to the sink, and filled her hands with water before splashing the water onto her face. She repeated this several times, and then wiped off any trace of her breakdown with several paper towels. She studied her reflection in the mirror. Definitely couldn't face the world again like this. Without makeup, she felt almost naked. Besides that, her carefully curled hair was limp. Her dress, though, looked fine. One wouldn't think a tall redhead could pull off a tight fitting bright orange cocktail dress, but Sirena could make any dress work for her.
From her purse, Sirena took out her blush and foundation compact, her mascara and eyeliner, and a tube of lipstick. She began powdering her pale cheeks. Usually she wore more, but she was just going to call a cab and go home and go to bed. Things might be better in the morning. She brushed blush over her high set cheek bones. It wouldn't do to be seen like this, as the star forward on the Midston University girls volleyball team, a well known model, and the daughter of the Midston governor and a retired supermodel. Besides, Mom was pressuring her to stop having fun and start looking for a husband. Her twentieth birthday was less than two months away. Sirena frowned. She didn't need a man to break her heart. She was a feminist, in all ways. Except she washed her hair, wore a bra, and did her makeup. That was just the essence of a woman, and she didn't see why other women didn't, just to promote so called equality. Women were supposed to be women, not men. And they didn't need more rights then them either. Sirena had her share of breakups, but none of the relationships had been the real deal anyway. She finished her eyeliner, and flicked mascara over her lashes. She dabbed on a little neutral lipstick, and moved to stuff everything back into her purse, when an envelope spilled out, her name written on the front. Sirena raised her eyebrows, trying to remember what it was for, but the alcohol fogged her brain. As she ripped at the envelope, and read the first sentence of one of the two papers, it all came back.
Our beloved prince, Ethan Shreve, is coming of age this month.
The Selection.
She had stuffed the letter in her purse yesterday before leaving to go meet a friend, since it looked official. She read the rest of the letter, and glanced at the second sheet of paper. The form. For a moment, Sirena didn't know what to do. Flush it down the toilet? Wad it up and throw it away like a paper towel? Fold it back up and leave it in her purse? Fill it out?
Fill it out? What am I thinking? Sirena demanded mentally of herself. Me, a freaking princess? She surprised herself by laughing. Never in a million years would she have considered it. And now she just stood here with the form in her hand in a crummy bathroom at a bar laughing like a crazed idiot. The sounds coming from within her didn't even sound like her own laughter. The kind of laughing that bordered on crying. Sirena shook her head, and took a deep breath to calm down. Surely she was drunk.
The next thing she knew, she had found an old pen in her purse, and was kneeling on the grimy tile with the form on the sink counter, and she was filling it out.
Name: Sirena Blair Mastrano
Age: 19
Province: Midston
Caste: Two
Occupation: Model and forward on the Midston University girls volleyball team
Hair color: red
Eye color: brown
Skin tone: fair
Height: 5'10
Weight: 134
Languages spoken: English, French
Hobbies: volleyball, fashion, hair, makeup, feminism, parties
Highest grade level completed: Currently a junior at Midston University
Sirena wrote her address and contact information, and she was done before she had even realized what she had done. She checked the time on her phone, but it was nearly one in the morning. The Service Office would definitely be closed by now. Oh well. She haphazardly folded the form up and stuffed it back in her purse. Maybe this wasn't so crazy after all.
…
Thanks for reading!
-Shades