.

I'm about to play the game 'cause I'm running out of time.

Coral Fisher, District Four

"A lovely night, isn't it?"

My voice pierces the crisp night air like one of Percy's arrows through a target. I snuggle inside my sweatshirt a bit more, watching the blazing oranges and yellows and reds leap high into the backdrop of ink. A bonfire is definitely nice on such a chilly night.

Even though my stomach hurts a lot from the wound that Jinx distributed to me, it's mainly patched up now. A silver parachute bearing a small jar of whitish topical cream immediately stopped the blood and even stopped the shiny, tight, inflamed skin from spreading any further. Still on my guard, but otherwise I'm doing just peachy. It also had a small pill, which a small note from Gloss Catch dictated that it was meant for Constance. In confusion we'd all watched as she gulped it down, only to shrug and say she felt fine.

"I agree with you there!" Constance chirps, wrapping her arms around her knees and drawing them close to her chest. "A fire is just what the doctor ordered, too."

"We still have to be on our watch," Percy warns, his voice half-bored and half-polite. He's so silly when he tries to take control like that, but it's obvious that the leader position is split between Constance, Slate, and him. They each want it so badly. Me, I'm more submissive than anything, but I can still be lethal if I want to be. Annabell clearly proved that. And Brucite's like a dog, slinking away with its tail between its legs. He couldn't be leader if he wanted.

"A nice night," I yawn, not really caring what Percy's saying, but darn, he's cute. No- I can't think that. Percy is annoying. He is a big meanie. He is not cute or anything like that… right?

"I'm getting pretty tired, actually," Slate cuts in, turning away from the blazing fire for a moment. He swipes a couple beads of sweat off of his ruddy cheeks. "I think I'm going to hit the sack. Who's going to take first watch?"

I glance at Brucite, his purplish, sleep-deprived cheeks prominent. He needs sleep. Slate and Percy, too. They've been working really hard. "Constance and I can, if you like," I say softly. "We'll wake you up in a couple of hours."

"Honestly?" asks Slate, his eyes meeting mine. Feeling sort of shy, I avoid his gaze. He huffs and puffs for a moment in mild offense, but when he realizes I'm not going to look back at him, he sighs and starts heading for the Cornucopia.

Brucite looks at me, hollow eyes sunken in and deadened. "I can stay up with you guys, if you want," he says.

"No, it's fine-"

"Yeah, I agree." Constance is surprisingly agreeable, almost amiable in that aspect. She offers him an unpredictable, soft smile and it even reaches her eyes. What game is she getting at? I squint. The last time she offered so much as a wink at him was well before interview day.

"I-" I begin, but Constance interrupts with a brisk, somewhat aggressive tone.

"I think he should go to sleep," she hisses from between her teeth, eyes flickering over me in annoyance. Looking back at Brucite and offering him another grin, she gestures with a flap of her hand to the Cornucopia. "I'm serious. Y'all deserve some rest. And believe me." Constance winks. "We'll wake you up in all due time."

There's a certain tone underlying her voice that makes me frown slightly. Malice and spite, maybe? But who am I to judge? She's obviously making an attempt to bury the hatchet with Brucite. I should be glad.

So why do I feel so upset?

Constance stretches out in a sleeping bag by the fire, the light casting eerie-looking shadows across the defined contours of her face. "It really is nice to have a bit of girl time," she sighs.

"I agree."

"The boys have been so annoying. Don't you think?" Constance gives me a genuine smile.

"Not really," I say, frowning a bit. "I mean, Slate's been a bit domineering, more so than usual, but I'd say that we're, um, getting along pretty well."

"No, seriously." She gives a slight chuckle, like she already knows I'm on her side. But am I? "Percy? Come on, he totally has the hots for one of us."

"How do you know?" I test the waters, trying to make my voice sound upbeat and not curious at all.

Another laugh. "Coral, it's so obvious! He can't concentrate, and he keeps looking over at our group with a stupid smile on his face. You'd have to be blinder than a bat to not see it."

A funny feeling crawls into my belly, like a stomach virus or something like that. "I have noticed, I guess," I fib. "That look in his eyes, you know?"

"Just a hunch," Constance says with a bright, superior look in those hazel eyes of hers. "I think that he likes you."

"No," I say immediately.

"Huh?"

"He doesn't like me."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He just doesn't."

"…Coral, you're being stupid. He does like you- oh, and I bet you like him?"

"What?"

"This is so great!" She clasps her hands together, grinning like an idiot.

"Constance, I don't like him!"

"You like Percy!" she sing-songs.

"Shut up!" I nearly tackle her. I try to flap my arms from my oversized sweatshirt. "C-Constance, they are right over there in the Cornucopia!"

"Maybe he'll hear me, then he can return the feelings!"

"Put a cork in it, Constance!" Bubbles of anger erupt like hot fire in my chest. She's being so stupid! "I don't frigging like him!"

She looks over at me, trying to hide her big old smirk. "Ooh, swearing?"

I glare.

"Coral." Constance puts her hands on my shoulders. "I promise, I will help you get the man. God, I'm good at that."

"Constance," I begin to splutter. She hushes me.

"You know what? I won't say a word." She winks. "Your secret is safe with me."

I don't say anything. My muscles feel numb.

"I'll let you get the man on yourself, though if you need me to talk him up for you…" She winks again. "Anything. Just give me the word."

Why not play her stupid game?

"Sure," I hear myself saying, and I get into it, nodding and trying to curve my lips up into a smile. "If I ever feel the need to get a boyfriend in the middle of the Hunger Games, Constance, you will be the first one that I'll tell."

The blond girl purses her lips. "You're being snarky, but I know you have a crush on him. I know it."

I bite my lip for affect, though I don't know if it's more for her or me. "You'll keep it a secret, though, right?"

"I swear." For the third time in a couple of minutes, she throws a wink at me effortlessly. She drags her finger across her lips. "My lips are sealed."

Feeling a rush of thankfulness, for some reason, I throw my arms across her in an awkward sort of hug. "Thanks a lot, Constance. I mean it."

I settle back into my sleeping bag, pulling my pale hair to the side with a rubber band. I'm thinking about such things as a boyfriend when I should be considering the right way to get out of this alliance. To be honest, I think it could fracture at any moment, and Finnick did tell me to be the first one out of here before it happens.

I want to get home, don't get me wrong. I want to see Kai and my parents again. I want things to be normal, to have my mother teaching me out of some old scrappy books and to go cliff diving and admiring the pretentious girls' clothes from afar. Even when I didn't have friends, my life was happy. I just want everything to be normal.

I never wanted to leave, not really.

I want to get out of here.

And nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to stop me.

Constance von Trapp, District One

I watch as Coral's eyes start fluttering closed. Sleep is getting to all of us. I'm glad, that means that the sleeping tonics I slipped into their drinks this morning are finally kicking in. And the caffeine pill that I just took also seems to be working. I'm as bright and alert as ever.

I wait a while more, staring into the seemingly endless pit of fire as gales start breezing around the place. I'm glad for a warm flannel jumpsuit and I pull my hands nearer to my stomach, chilly. I wonder what the Capitol will make of my next move, what Gloss will think of it.

Now's the time.

I start getting up, but Coral's immediately awake. She'd be awake if a feather drifted twelve feet away from her. "Where are you going? What- what time is it?" She yawns.

"We started watch about an hour ago," I reply, feeling somewhat upset that my plan has been foiled before it even began. I stride around the fire pit, slipping a rock the size of a cherry into my hand. "Look at the fire," I say in a hopefully dreamy voice. "It's, uh, so pretty, with all of the colors." I discreetly chuck the rock behind the Cornucopia, but it misses and bounces off of the metallic exterior.

"Somebody's there!" Coral nearly shrieks, and I want to yell at her to shut up. But instead, she snatches up her trident, eyes wide with apprehension and skittishness.

"Go ahead," I hiss at her, tucking my rondel into the sleeve of my jumpsuit and showing her my newly empty hands. "I'm going to grab my rondel! It's by the boys!"

I have to make this quick.

As Coral starts advancing at the spot where the rock collided with the Cornucopia, I start running to the mouth of the Cornucopia. I snatch a flashlight off of the ground and click it on. A dull beam flickers around, illuminating the passed-out bodies of Slate, Percy, and… and Brucite.

Bingo!

I slip the rondel from my sleeve, nicking my wrist on the way. I wince, wiping my thumb along the cut to swipe up the blood. Quickly, quickly. I lean down, roughly grab the side of his head and jerk it to the side. Brucite smacks his lips in his sleep, still drowsy. If he wakes up now, he'll be dead in an instant. I'll be sure of it.

Now's the time.

I lean over the rondel, making sure that it's starting to cut into his jugular, and draw the tip forward. But just as it pierces the skin, a soft gasp comes from behind me.

"Constance! What the heck are you doing?!"

My blood runs cold. Coral is back too early from her little mission. I whirl around, my rondel at the ready. It's not much, just a sign of defense, but Coral is oblivious to this.

"Y-You were trying to kill Percy!" she screeches, lurching forward with her trident in hand.

"No!" I shriek in response, ducking as she hurtles her trident towards my head. She-she's delirious! Why is she swinging on me? Does she have a fever?

"Don't lie to me!" Her voice is incredibly loud. I duck out of the Cornucopia, running to get better ground. Starting to dash after me, I thank my lucky stars that one of the boys has shifted in their sleep. She nearly trips over an arm as she dashes towards me.

"Coral!" I scream out.

Her eyes are mirthless, full of rage. Her trident swings out and I stagger backwards. "You tried to get Percy!" she repeats, her voice trembling. I realize that she's deaf to my side. Coral Fisher has finally snapped.

Instead of blind panic, a sudden state of calm washes over me. I grip the handle of my rondel, glowering at her. "You want to fight? Fine. Let's fight."

Coral's breath comes in ragged pants. "We're not just going to fight," she hisses, her knuckles white from grasping her trident so hard. "I-I'm going to kill you…!"

I react by attacking first, swinging my rondel down on her shoulder blade. She barely swerves to the side in time, so the blade connects with the flannel of her jumpsuit instead, slicing down alongside her arm though air.

Coral's teeth are bared as she twirls around, her trident outstretched. Letting loose a thin cry of unpreparedness, I fall to the ground in another duck, letting it pass over me. But she doesn't stop there. Taking advantage of my situation, while I'm on the ground, she steps forward and tries to slam her trident's prongs down. She misses by a long ways, blinded by her fury.

As Coral tries to pull her trident from the ground, I duck to the side, my rondel still clutched firmly. She came dressed to kill, but I'm not going down without a proper fight. I'm going to wage battle for me. Myself. Victory. Family. Gloss.

I focus on two things- the Games, and… him.

And eventually, I'm going to win for him.

I pop up from the ground, scowling blackly at Coral as she starts spitting out another insult at me. "I-I never liked you," she growls. "You were obsessive, stuck up in everybody's business, and you- you never knew when to shut up!"

I shake my head, nose wrinkled in disgust. "You know who's obsessive?" I shoot back, not even caring that my voice wavers. "You, Coral. You're a slimy little girl who walks around like you rule the place, like you're so frigging innocent." I career forward, rondel pointed towards her abdomen. I only mean for it to be a threat, and she squeals a little and darts to the side.

"But do you know what?" I breathe, watching her carefully. She's wary, looking at me with a hurt expression on her face. "You're done 'ruling' the place. You're done, Coral, your time is up!"

A shrill noise that could be a battle cry escapes my lips as I charge forward again, effectively taking her off guard and knocking the trident from her hands. Coral gasps as it clatters some feet away, and I can barely contain a smile. She's never been one to keep her weapon in combat, has she? Annabell's fight, then Jinx's, and now me.

"I-I-" she stammers, suddenly not so fearless. But as if by a sudden jolt of adrenaline, she whips her arm out, connecting with the butt of the rondel, and sends it flying.

A gasp escapes me. I can't do hand to hand combat! I whirl around, looking for the glimmer of silver that would let me know where it's gone. But before I have a chance to do anything, Coral's jumped onto my back and she clutches blindly at my neck, her nails digging in like talons.

"St-Stop it!" I screech, bucking my head backwards and tumbling back. I fall on my back, and Coral lets out a broken-sounding wheeze.

I have the advantage here.

I fiddle with Coral's laced-together fingers and pry her off of my throat, and quickly straddle her before she can do anything else. Her big eyes are even wider, thin lips quivering in desperation. "Constance," she cries out softly.

But I have no mercy.

"Your time is up, little girl," I hiss as I send fist after fist into her throat, pummeling it and hearing crack after crack. Her screams aren't hard to miss as they silently fade into nothingness.

Her cannon shoots, resounding eerily through the night sky.

Collecting myself and my dignity, I heave myself off the ground and glance back at her. Sudden regrets and shame floods my system as I look at her, neck red and pink and inflamed. Her belly's bleeding, probably because of the weight I'd put on her. Arms, outstretched in a birdlike state. And her face, oh, God, it's the worst. Eyes, accusing and hardened. Lips, open as if to gulp down air.

Stammering, I start running. My legs dip low to the ground as my fingers loop around the strap of a small black backpack. I don't even look for my rondel. I just keep running, and running, and running, and running, and I don't look back.

I killed her.

Francis Theroux, District Six

"This sucks."

Nessa nods in silent agreement as she swings her legs over the edge, not being very careful at all. She exhales, shoulders sagging downwards a bit.

"It's so dark and gloomy here," she mutters quietly.

"Agreed."

There's a bit of silence, and then Nessa asks quietly, "Francis? Can you, um, tell me a little more about your visions?"

I look at the back of her drooping head, fox ears seemingly wilted. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything," she replies after a moment of thought. "They just seem really interesting."

"I discovered them at quite a young age. Six or five or four, to be precise." I curl my knees up to my chest, trying to maintain warmth in the winds that nip the air. I run my fingers over a piece of straw with crystalline droplets of frost melting on it. "Thought that they were vivid paintings, sort of. That everybody experienced them. Thought that they were normal, really."

Nessa turns to me, her bottom lip sucked into her mouth. "But they aren't normal, are they?"

I chuckle. "Very rare, actually. I tried to explain them in detail to my parents. They didn't take too well to them until I was older. Thought I was a bit nutty in the noggin." I rap my knuckles on my head for good measure, evoking a little laugh from Nessa.

"You're not too nutty," she says.

I widen my eyes slightly, then let my arms droop to the ground. The ice-capped piece of straw floats to the ground. "Appreciated is your praise, but no. They said that I was a bit of an artistic savant, or could be, if I didn't hallucinate and daydream so much."

Her brow wrinkles like folds of paper. "So your hallucinations, your visions… they're all just vivid daydreams?"

I shake my head. "Daydreams are no part of it, just a side thing. Visions are the worst. Interrupt the most important times of my life, honestly. Private training. Interviews. Just before the Reaping."

"What were your visions about?" Nessa asks, her voice gentle and docile.

"Before the Reaping, I'd dreamt of, well, a meek boy with curly hair getting pulled onto a stage and being embarrassed. Next to him was a witch with dark features." Heat flushes my cheeks as I point to myself. "Obviously, I am the small boy with curly hair. Was very embarrassed when I saw Jinx, too."

"So it came true, then?"

I nod for a moment. "Yeah, I'd thought a lot about it. Visions had come true before, as well. Could immerse myself inside of them. They were small things, though." I frown. "Such as spilling a glass of juice, or getting paint over a textbook. Beforehand, when the visions happened, they'd be tricky to decipher. The spilled paint, for example, was represented by a bucket tipping over, splattering orange liquid onto a sheet of black and white nothingness."

"What other visions have you had?" Nessa appears genuinely interested. She scoots away from the edge and wraps her arms around herself, trying to warm herself up. "At the training session and at interviews, I mean."

"At private training, it was a field of sepia." I swoosh my hand through the air. "And a girl, brown hair, white dress. Walking, singing, hauntingly. Was incredible. She… spoke to me…"

I stare at the ground, suddenly numb. I recognize that woman. It was my mother.

A pure alabaster dress, swinging in the breeze. A haunting, deathlike melody floating through the air as her arm stretches out for a last goodbye…

I shake those thoughts free from my head. No. My mother's not dead, how could I be so stupid? It must be somebody in the arena, making a dress out of a sheet or something. Yes. I'm comprehending this all wrong.

… But what if I'm right? What if that music was her death soundtrack?

No.

I can't think like this.

Clearing my throat and trying to look more peppy, I add, "But the one during the interviews, um…"

"You shrieked in front of all of Panem," Nessa snickers and cracks a smile, eyes screwing closed as she laughs. "You said something about Caesar disrupting the visions?"

I nod, taking this very seriously. "One day he will be haunted by it, I swear."

"You're crazy."

"You think I'm crazy?" I sit back on my heels. "I can't argue with you. But I can say this; one day, I'm going to get a vision that will predict the entire future. Maybe it's happened, maybe it's yet to happen. But I'm going to do something that will change my fate, Nessa, and you can't stop me."

I immediately think of my vision at interviews. Perhaps the birdlike figure had something to do with my future? An eagle, it almost looked like. A mockingjay, a type of bird that was formed around rebels.

I heave myself off of the ground and stroll around, kicking my toe into the floorboards. "Should we stay here, or get a move on out?"

"I think we should keep moving," says Nessa. "We'd better leave before somebody else finds us like Lux, Surtr, and, um, her. Also, we need food. We're down to nothing."

She descends the ladder as I collect up the tote bag. I peer inside, only to find the diminishing first aid kit (we've been eating the vitamins in there for food) and the book of matches. My blade rattles against my leg, tucked inside a pocket. The water skin, nearly empty, is in one of Nessa's.

I go down the ladder, feet sliding down the rungs like they're greased. I hit the ground next to Nessa, and she offers me a soft smile.

"Outside the barn or inside?" I ask eagerly.

"I don't want to be in this building anymore," she calls over her shoulder, already moving towards the heavy barn doors. She slips through a crack and into the dreary day.

It's gloomy, bleak outside. The sky is a deep shade of grey, while the place is nearly shrouded completely by fog, thick as pea soup. Nessa gasps quietly, while I wave my hand out in it, trying to get a rise out of it. It's like a layer of clouds, really, on the ground. If I painted it, I'd most likely have to try and get a silver paint, layered on top of white. The other things, like trees and old plows, would be easier.

"Follow me," I say to Nessa. She nods, big brown eyes blinking innocently, and without another word, we're moving through the mist together. I feel fingers pinching the nape of my collar, which means that Nessa trusts me enough to guide her through the mist. I smile unwittingly, slipping between two rusty old tractors.

It's nice to be trusted.

Willa Seamstress, District Eight

"So then, I pulled the lever, and down rained two pounds of flour!" Arthur's eyes shine as he excitedly jabbers on and on about a prank he'd played on his sister, Rhiannon.

"That's so cool," I chime in, offering him a smile.

"It was. She didn't think it was too funny, though." He frowns, scratching his chin for a moment before continuing, "Actually, she thought I was being immature. But all I wanted to do was make her laugh."

My heart swells up for this poor little guy. He's so oblivious and blind to the evils of the world, and at the same time such an optimist that you can't help but want to hug him. "I'm sure that she didn't mean it," I encourage him with a grin. "She probably was just upset that her hair was ruined. We girls are like that, you know."

"Really?" Arthur perks up a great deal, his lips stretching into a smile. "Well, that's good, then! I'm glad that you say that. I don't want her to hate me or anything."

"Aw, Arthur." I wrap him in a hug, and he heartily hugs back. "She won't hate you. I promise."

He puffs out his chest slightly, a smile lingering on his thin lips. "I'm happy, now. When I go back to District Three, then it means she will not be mad at me."

It made my heart ache, the honesty of all this. He honestly thought he could go back to Three. He was like a small child in that aspect, bolder and more brazen than the rest of us in saying that he had a winning shot. But the game to play is tougher than he thinks. He should know. He lost his ally to those dogs.

"It's quiet out here," I comment, listening to the fog seep across the pastures and through the stalks of corn. "Not that I mind, of course. It's just so serene."

Arthur sighs quietly. "It was quiet before Alister died, too."

I glance over at him, mouth puckered in concern. His eyes stare, blank and glassy, out at the whitish fog. His lips are curved downwards in a small, almost unnoticeable frown. He's hurting inside, I know it.

"If it makes you feel any better, I lost all of my allies." I sigh, ticking off their names. "Annabell died first, the girl from Four was too quick for her. And we saw Nubu's face in the sky, and truth be told, I think Jinx's independent power will get to her head too quickly."

My stomach tenses even as I say it, hoping with paranoia that Jinx isn't silently slinking around our area with that knife in her hand. Proves that even the boldest can fall, I guess. Look at me, I mean. I'm reduced to sweating coldly and looking around, all jittery. This is not the girl I wanted to become. I wanted to become a victor, grinning winsomely and waving gleefully.

A sudden thrashing noise in the corn behind me makes my heart freeze. I whirl around, Arthur a bit more slowly than I, and suddenly we're both staring into the big brown eyes of the little boy and girl from Six and Eleven.

I know I shouldn't attack them – my cheeks are blazing as I pull out Arthur's scythe from my pocket slowly – but two more kids down means a quicker ticket to home.

"D-Don't do it!" the girl whimpers, creeping and backing away, a mask of complete terror on her face. "P-Please spare us…"

I simply stare at her, my face devoid of emotion when inwardly, I'm trembling and having a breakdown. They're just two years younger than Arthur and I, yet they look so innocent…

The boy pulls out a blade from his pocket, the silver catching a faint ray of light and sending off a metallic glimmer. "We have no choice, Nessa," he sighs, surprisingly stoic and calm. "We have to fight."

There are tears in the girl's eyes as she shakes her head, black curls bouncing. "I don't want to!"

A small whine arises from Arthur as he shies away as well. I realize that he's obviously not going to fight, not so sooner after he's lost Alister. It's just me and the boy from Six in this effort.

And I'm not intending on letting him go free.

He narrows his eyes, a small growl emitting from his throat as he lowers his head, curly hair bristling in the small breezes. "I'm not letting you take my life away from me," he says, surprisingly courageous. He turns his small head to his ally, as if seeking her confirmation and agreement, but I take no chances. I tackle him, catching him off-guard.

The boy plummets to the ground, the wind knocked out of him with a sickening thump. His eyes widen like saucers as he sees me, breathing hard and cheeks growing ruddy.

"Y-You aren't going to do this, are you?"

I catch his wrists and fling them above his head, holding them down with one hand. With the other, I fumble for the scythe. "I'm sorry, but I have to do what I have to do," I hiss, my hand connecting with the handle.

"Not much of a fight," he comments, simply watching in slight fear as the blade shows a silvery shimmer. "Are you sure that you don't want a proper one?"

"I'll be fine, thanks," I growl, searching and becoming slightly confused. Now to the point of actually striking a fatal vein. The neck seems too extreme, and the wrists would not promise death. The abdomen? But I'm sitting on it.

A small shriek makes me look up just in time to see the girl, dark hair ruffling behind her as she comes upon me, throwing herself onto my and nearly knocking the scythe out of my hands. I scream for Arthur as she pins me, the boy clambering on to join the fun.

"W-Willa, I can't…" Arthur's youthful voice sounds so lost and hurt.

I struggle like a caged bird to get up from the ground, but the girl is holding me tightly. "Get her, Francis!" Her tone of voice is strained, wispy.

The boy, Francis, fumbles with the blade which gives me enough time to surprise them with an ear-splintering howl. Terrified, they both clamber off of me as I spring up from the ground, my scythe in hand.

And then suddenly they're both on the ground, and the tip of my scythe is pointed to the boy. How that happened, I don't know. The rush of adrenaline is simply too great for me to handle, and my heart is practically hammering out of my chest. There's blood in my mouth, which makes me think that one of them landed a punch. Arthur's eyes are huge as he curls up in a ball somewhere, I just know it.

"I never wanted to do this," I choke, spitting out a gob of blood and feeling thoroughly disgusted with myself.

I'm weakened. I realize that as I descend on the boy, glaring. If the girl were to scream, push me over, anything, I'd be done for.

But the sudden sound of footsteps and strangled cries make me realize that she's running away from her ally.

And as the curved blade of the scythe enters his heart, triggering a youthful, mournful, painful scream and a cannon, I have a feeling that I know exactly where she's coming from.

A/N: Miss Y by Marina and the Diamonds.

12th- Coral Fisher. Fists to the throat.

11th- Francis Theroux. A scythe to the heart.

Magik- Coral was my baby. Coral was everyone's baby. She was so innocent, frightened, and insecure that she grew and flourished to be a character that was quite interesting. When I first saw her form, I wanted her. I knew that she'd get in, and applause for that. She was amazing, really. Though nearly everybody will be upset with her death, it was simply her time to pass on.

Dino- Francis, with his hallucinogenic, psychedelic self moving onto the heavens, we all know that at least one of his visions came true, yes? The Mockingjay, of course, as the interview vision proved. As the story progressed, I felt like I wasn't capturing the essence of his character quite as much as the rest, though he was definitely an oddball. Amazing job on yet another tribute!

I'm not too pleased with this chapter, writing quality or length, really. But I was rushed, sorry about that, y'all. :O

So you have it, though! Your top ten! I'd like to say congratulations to Constance, Brucite, Slate, Arthur, Percy, Lux, Jinx, Willa, Nessa, and Surtr. Well? Is it all that you thought it would be, tributes? I'm sure that they're all bobbing their heads in agreement or shaking it furiously. But look on the bright side, your victor is in one of these tributes, so congratulations to each submitter for making a complex enough tribute to have a final ten-er!

Ah. And yes, my new impending story is upon us. Once this story reaches around twenty-seven chapters, it shall be posted, so be on the lookout to submit a tribute. ;)

Until next time!

Question timeeeeee!

1. Thoughts on each POV? Favorite and least favorite and why?

2. Three favorite quotes from each of these four tributes?

3. Predictions for the next chapter?

4. Are you satisfied with this Top Ten? Any surprises, in your opinion, both for who's in it and who's not?

5. General thoughts and how was my writing? :)