Barely a moment seems to have passed when there is a sharp rap on the door, and I am dragged from sleep by the unfeasibly cheery voice of Xavier.
"Come along, up up up!" he sings through the door. "Today is a big, big day!"
Despite my disbelief that it can possibly be morning already I open my eyes reluctantly, and sure enough the sun is streaming in through the window. We are speeding along so fast it is almost impossible to see anything, but I can make out cliffs ahead, and I know we must be nearing the Capitol. The thought of it sends a sharp stab through my stomach, and I am unsure whether to assign it to fear or excitement, so I don't try. Instead I slip out of bed, not bothering to shower as it seems unnecessary since I still feel unnaturally clean, and tug on the exact same clothes I was wearing yesterday, since there's nothing wrong with them either.
The food carriage is still empty when I arrive but the food is already laid out, the opulence matching the relative banquet of yesterday's dinner, and I once again throw myself into what is now my chair and begin piling up my plate. Heeding the words of Benton I take significantly less than yesterday, but a lifetime of going about my day with hunger biting at my insides means I can't stop myself from shovelling it in at the same speed as before.
I eat alone for a while until I am joined by Nico. He looks no better than he did yesterday, and his puffy red face tells me he has been crying, but he does at least pile his plate high as Benton suggested. It is funny how easily we have both slipped into the role of obedient tribute, following the directions of our mentors without question. Nico and I do not acknowledge each other, and the room is silent until Xavier breezes in through the door, swings into his chair and smiles around at us approvingly.
"Excellent, excellent, excellent. Eat as much as you can, today will require all your energy!"
As far as I can tell from years of watching the games, all that will be required of us today is to be decorated in ridiculous outfits and wave from chariots for twenty minutes. I don't see how that can possibly require energy, particularly compared with the days in the arena which loom so ominously ahead of us, and I am about to say as much when Xavier's head suddenly shoots up and he stares at me accusingly, eyes narrowed.
"Tyla! My dear girl, did you not think it necessary to shower this morning?"
I stare at him in amazement, unable to comprehend how he can possibly have noticed. He raises his eyebrows at me expectantly, waiting for an answer, and I attempt to speak.
"I...I didn't think..."
I'm still so dumbfounded that he was able to notice that I can't form a coherent sentence, but fortunately I don't have to as at that moment Benton swings into the seat beside me and reaches across for a roll.
"Oh come on Xave, who cares really? Not all of the Districts are as focused on obsessive cleanliness as the Capitol are. Besides..." he adds, ducking his head towards me, "She smells just fine to me."
Xavier purses his lips and looks away, and I feel myself blush profusely, though I'm not sure why. I duck my head quickly, but Benton's chuckle tells me he has noticed.
"I don't care of course, the tributes are allowed to do as they please." Xavier sniffs, clearly lying through his teeth. "But it may do you well to clean up as best you can before we reach the Capitol, my dear, or you'll simply have to spend far longer with your prep team."
My head jerks up at this, my blushes forgotten. "Prep team? What do they do?"
Benton gives a dry laugh that rumbles from somewhere deep in his throat.
"What don't they do? They scrub and polish and brush and paint and pluck out every hair from your body." I turn to look at him as he leans toward me conspiratorially. "It's the job of the prep team to make you look absolutely fabulous."
I frown slightly. "Right. For the opening ceremony?" I ask, and he rolls his eyes.
"For the ceremony, the interviews, the games, every second of everyday..." He trails off and raises his eyebrows. "Learn to love your prep team. Trust me."
Looking perfect every second of everyday? That seems utterly pointless. Back at the District, looking good would be the last thing on my mind. I would be far too busy trying not to starve to give any consideration to my reflection, and whilst I understand the tradition of dressing up for the chariots, if it was up to me I would not spend any further time on something as useless as how I looked. But then, it's not up to me. Not anymore. The right to make my own decisions was taken from me at the moment my name was taken from that bowl. I am the property of the Capitol now, to do with as they please, and if they choose to dress me up and parade me about then I can do nothing but obey.
"So they'll dress me then?" I ask. "Choose my outfit for the ceremony?"
Truth be told, this is the thing I am most nervous about. Tributes from our District have spent year after year being dressed in ridiculous tree costumes, and whilst I do not mind being made to kill, being made to look foolish is another thing entirely.
Benton shakes his head and I wait for him to swallow. "Unfortunately not. That wonderful honour belongs to your stylists"
As much as I am fiercely dreading the prep team, his tone suggests that my stylists will be even worse, and I motion for him to continue as he rolls his eyes.
"They're in charge of your 'look', so basically your appearance over the next week is going to be entirely down to them." He shakes his head and sighs.
"It's as bad as it sounds, I'm afraid, but trust me, the only thing to do is keep quiet and go along with whatever they request. They tend to take this rather seriously, and the more 'potential' they think you have, the more 'fabulous' they'll make you look."
An ugly scowl has crossed over his face and I can tell he's speaking from experience. I try to recall what he wore at his own ceremony, but I have no recollection of his games other than his triumphant return, and I certainly don't remember what he was wearing. From his expression, though, it seems like I will find the whole experience as objectionable as I am imagining.
"The stylists, they just adored Benton."
Peyton's mocking voice cuts across the table, making me jump, as she has once again arrived without my noticing. She's almost scarily good at it, and I make a mental note to watch out for her next time. I turn to look at her, and she is smirking across at Benton as he pulls a face at her and bites into his roll.
"They were just beside themselves with glee. They spent the entirety of the games boasting about how handsome their tribute was, how he looked wonderful in anything they put him in. It was like watching them play with their own little dress up doll."
Benton scowls at Peyton, who is still grinning in amusement, and I can't help but smile at the idea of a group of excitable Capitol residents prancing around him as he stands there making the exact same face he is now.
"You can smile all you like, but don't think you won't get the same treatment," Benton mutters to me, but I carry on smiling; I know I can look decent enough, but I also know I will not cause the same level of joy to my stylists that Benton did, making it possible that my experience will be far more bearable than his. I turn back to Peyton and lean towards her.
"So they'll assign me a look, then? What kind of thing will that entail?"
Peyton shakes her head at me, sitting back and folding her arms. "Don't ask me, I'm only good for advice on the games. Benton is the real expert on handling the Capitol."
I turn back to Benton and he shrugs. "All I can say is whatever they want you to do, go with it. Accept that it's out of your hands and just put up with whatever they throw at you; you can't do anything else."
We lapse into silence, and my mind begins to fill with images of previous tribute costumes. I've paid little attention to these, figuring the games were the important part, but suddenly I am struck with fleeting memories of people from our District dressed in ridiculous brown and green tree outfits, or sometimes dressed in what seemed like nothing at all, and I feel a sick twisting in my stomach. It must show on my face, as Xavier leans towards me and smiles encouragingly.
"Don't worry darling. Renic is one of the very best, been with us for years. He will make you look unforgettable."
That's what I'm worried about, I think to myself, casting a glance over at Nico to see if he is as troubled by the prospect of being 'unforgettable' as I am. I am surprised to see that he's staring past me, over my shoulder, but as soon as I turn my head I see what he is looking at. Though the wide train window behind me, coming rapidly into view as the train speeds towards it, is the Capitol. We're here.
My breakfast is instantly forgotten as I make my way across to the window, curious despite myself to catch my first glimpse. I've seen flashes of it on the television, but nothing prepares me for the breathtaking magnitude of the Capitol. Spectacular, towering, sleek silver buildings circle an eerily still lake, monuments, fountains and decorative plants scattered almost like jewellery over its perfect surface. Nico and I stand side by side and stare, unable to take in the magnitude of what we are seeing, and I hear movement as someone moves to stand behind us.
"Spectacular is it not? A real testament to the power and glory of the Capitol" remarks Xavier proudly. "How lucky you are, to be able to witness it first-hand!"
Lucky. That's what we are. The lucky tributes from the outer Districts who are allowed a few days to witness the splendour of the Capitol before we are sent to out violent deaths. I glance at Xavier to see if he is joking, but he is beaming proudly over my head, not a hint of irony in his expression, so I look instead at Nico. He looks as incredulous as I am; I raise my eyebrows at him and he shakes his head in disbelief. I can't believe for a moment that Xavier can truly consider any part of our situation lucky. Perhaps his love for the Capitol is such that he believes any opportunity to see it should be celebrated. Perhaps he thinks all the Districts consider this as great an honour as the careers do. Perhaps he finds our own District so disdainful that he considers even a few days in the Capitol, however brief they may be, as a vast improvement. It can't be denied that the Capitol is breathtakingly majestic, and of course my intent had always been to spend the last few days of my life here, but Nico must be finding Xavier's words a bitter pill to swallow.
I am craning my neck to catch a glimpse of a spectacular, bright white building in the distance when suddenly the view vanishes and we are cut brutally into darkness. I look up in surprise at the dark windows, and turn my head for an explanation.
"The station," Benton clarifies, and just as the words are out of his mouth the brightness returns and I hear a strange, muffled buzzing. I turn my head back to the widow and my stomach gives a dive. We have pulled into an artificially lit chamber which resembles in no way the stark, bare wooden platforms of the station back at the District, but that is not what has caused my stomach to turn. Every conceivable scrap of space is filled by the people of the Capitol, though most are so obscure in their appearance that they could easily be creatures from another planet. I'm so startled I take a step back, and as they see us they swarm towards the window, waving, screaming, their hands stretching out towards us. I back away further and turn to look at my mentors.
"What do I do?"
They look at each other and then at me and Nico, their faces blank.
"We don't have a strategy for you yet." Benton says, his gaze darting from me to the widow, and I stare at them, frozen, until Peyton finally speaks.
"Just wave. Smile. Whatever happens, it can't hurt for them to think you like them."
I nod, but Nico curls his lip in disgust. "Like them? They're only excited to see us because they want to watch us die!"
Xavier shakes his head, placing both hands on Nico's shoulders.
"Not at all, dear boy! They're looking for their victor! They're excited to choose which of you they want to see live!"
His tone is encouraging, but Nico's look of disgust simply worsens, and he shrugs Xavier's hands from his shoulders and storms from the room. I can appreciate his sentiment, but not his choice of actions, which seem overly emotional and short sighted. We are game pieces now, and Nico must learn to play. With this in mind, I turn back to the window and smile at the surging crowd. I lift my hand and wave, and there's a resounding roar of approval as my wave is retuned tenfold.
I'm quickly seeing how Peyton's words from yesterday can be applied to the entirety of the games. Whatever happens here, we must accept it and forget about it. We are here to be killed, nothing more, nothing less, and getting angry will help nothing. Accept it and forget it. These words are playing over and over in my head as I stand at the window, my smile fixed in place, waving and waving, not stopping even as my arms grow numb and the muscles in my mouth are aching.