After supper that evening, it was back to the stylists, to be prepared for interviews with the hostess, Sandra Silklace.
Again, I was up first – definitely a good thing – ready to talk to Sandra.
I was wearing a strapless, figure-hugging lilac-blue shot silk dress that flared out into white and silver netting, with feathers around the skirt. My hair was pinned up with a few cascading curls that fell around my shoulders.
"Well," said Sandra, leaning back in her chair. "Margaretha. I hear you're the first volunteer to be reaped,"
"I am,"
"Would you say that gives you an advantage?"
"Well, people remember me, don't you?" I turned to the audience, a sea of every colour I could imagine, and then some. They roared their approval. "I'd say that will be very useful."
"So, tell us. Is there anyone back home?"
"Not back home, no…"
The audience murmured, trying to understand what I meant.
"Then where? In Space?" Sandra chuckled.
"No. Here,"
Sandra, and everyone in the audience, gasped. "Who?"
"Kestrel. District Two,"