I have received two characters so far : Luna Silverwood from Nithya and Albany Barnes from TieDieTruth. In this chapter, I will try not to botch these characters horribly as I attempt to write from their points of view.

I realized I forgot to put province on the form. If you don't care what province they're from, don't put it on there; I'll just make one up. If you do care, add it to your application.

Also, there will definitely be castes in the story.

I'm accepting three of four more Selected characters and three non-Selected characters (maids, rebels, etc.) I need a couple of mean girls, if possible.

TieDieTruth: I'm glad you're excited. I am, too. "I can feel the fluff already." I love that sentence. I'm sorry Albany's part is kind of short.

Luna's POV

"Miss Luna! Miss Luna!" I hear a voice call. I turn around and see four-year-old Maya Lane running towards me.

I smile. "What do you need, Maya?"

Her eyes light up. "Do you have any chocolate?"

I sigh, hating to disappoint the little girl. "No, Maya, I don't have any chocolate." Her shoulders sag. I begin digging through my bag, anxious to find something to make up for it. "But," I say, pulling out a little doll made of corn-husks, "I do have this!"

She gasps in awe as the takes the little doll in her hand. "Can I keep her?"

"Of course you can. But you have to take super-duper good care of her, okay?"

"I will," she promises. She then proudly proclaims, "I'm going to name her after you!" With that, she runs off again, calling, "Mommy, Mommy, look what Miss Luna gave me!"

"You could have sold that, you know," Clem says.

"I could have," I shrug. "But it was Maya. Who can say no to Maya? Besides, no one would pay more than twenty cents for it, anyway."

"They would if you'd let me advertise for you," she says.

"Advertisement and extortion are not the same thing, Clementine," I shoot back, purposefully calling her by her full and hated first name.

She pauses for a moment, trying to think of a good comeback, and then sighs and fake pouts. "How come you don't have a name I can make fun of?"

"I mean, you could make fun of it, if you wanted to," I point out.

"Your name is too pretty to make fun of," she complains. "Oh! Speaking of pretty, look what I have!" She hands me a fancy envelope with my name on it.

"How do you have that?" I demand, snatching the envelope from her hands.

"That's what you get for being too lazy to walk to the post office," Clem shrugs.

"Clem, this is from the Palace! How long did you keep this from me?"

"Relax," she says. "I only got it yesterday."

I roll my eyes and open the envelope. I skim the letter quickly, trying to make sure there's nothing in it about me being arrested or anything like that. Wait, what? A Selection? I decide that it would be better if Clem doesn't see it. I fold the letter, stick it back into the envelope, and put both into my satchel.

"What? What does it say?" Clem demands.

"It's nothing," I insist.

"Luna, I saw your face while you were reading it. It wasn't nothing."

"It wasn't important."

"It was the Selection, wasn't it?" she says.

"What? How did you know?" If she didn't already know what it was, my question definitely gave it away.

"Um, there's this thing called TV?" Clem says. "They announced it on the Report. It's playing in, like, every store ever."

"Well, it doesn't matter," I tell her. "I'm not entering."

"But you should!" she says.

"I should go compete for the hand of a guy whose father killed my family?"

"Fine, whatever." Clem drops it there. For now.

Later that night, Clem and I and about five other girls sit in a circle, trading stories about the day. Finally, Aimee says "Let's play Truth or Dare! I'll go first. Truth or Dare, Clem?"

"Dare," Clem grins. We should really just call this game 'Dare' because none of us ever choose Truth.

"Okay . . ." Aimee pauses for a minute for dramatic effect. "I dare you to steal a chocolate cupcake from that bakery over there." Aimee points to a bakery across the street that's just closing up. Clem calmly walks across the street and hides behind a tree. When a worker walks in the employees only door, Clem quietly slips in behind her. We can't see what happens inside, but it ends with a crash and yelling and Clem sprinting back across the street at full speed. She smirks and takes a long, slow, bite of the cupcake. She chews, swallows, and tosses it to Aimee. "Too much salt," Clem says simply. I laugh. As Eights, we can't afford to be picky like that. Clem just wanted an excuse to give her cupcake to Aimee.

Licking a bit of extra frosting off her hand, Clem turns to me. "Truth or Dare, Luna?"

"Dare," I say, expecting her to have me break a Two's window or sing a dumb song, or something like that. Instead, she says, "I dare you to enter the Selection."

"What?" I say. "That's not fair. Aimee, tell her that's not fair!"

"There's no rule against it," Aimee shrugs. "And there's no take-backs for Dares. Sorry, Luna."

"But this isn't something like . . . like stealing a cupcake!" I burst out. "This is my life! It's my family's life . . ." I trail off, shuddering at the memory. I blink back tears, refusing to allow myself to cry in front of everyone. "And I'm an Eight, anyway. He won't want me."

"It's a random drawing, Luna," Aimee says. "You have as much chance as anyone."

"No," Clem says, "She doesn't. We all know it's rigged. But, they have to have a couple girls from the lower castes so know one gets suspicious."

"I-I don't want to be selfish," Lacey chimes in, "but we sure could use the money."

"Besides," Kate says, "don't you want a taste of Palace life? It would be really nice to get off the streets for even just a little bit."

I'm a little ashamed to admit that Kate's words are what convince me to fill out the form, not Lacey's. I mean, of course I want them to have the money. But more than that, I want out of this life I've been living for too many years.

"Alright, fine," I say. "I'll fill out the form." I figure that if I'm not going to get in anyway, the piece of paper isn't going to hurt me.

Albany's POV

I almost step on the mail when I walk in the door. I trip over my own feet trying to avoid stepping on anything important and end up sprawled across the floor. My older brother, Keller, walks in behind me and laughs as he steps over me. "You fell," he helpfully points out.

"Thanks," I say as I pick myself and the stack of envelopes up. I shuffle through the mail. Electricity bill, water bill, mortgage - and then there's the different one. The one with my name on it. The one with the Illean royal crest on it.

I almost call out to Keller, but then I decide not to. I open the envelope without saying anything. I'm too tired to really focus on the words, but one sentence sticks out at me. "Families of those Selected will be generously compensated."

My family could definitely use some "generous compensation" right now. People assume that we're fine because we're Fours, but we're really not.

"What is it, sis?" Keller asks, coming up behind me.

"It's nothing," I say, shoving the letter into my pocket. "Just bills."

He looks a little suspicious, but just says, "Okay, well, when you're finished reading 'nothing', can you help me make dinner?"

"Yeah, sure." I guess that's one of the benefits of being one of the oldest of the family: we get to come home before everyone else to make dinner. Dad is too important to the mines to come home early and the others are too young to be home alone. Although, these same kids are somehow old enough to work in mines. I've learned not to question Mr. Abbott's logic. If he wants to think he's giving out company benefits, why not let him?

I hide under the covers of my bed, feeling guilty about using the "emergencies only" flashlight, reading over the entire letter again. I decided not to tell my family about it. For one thing, Zoe would be super jealous. She's had a crush on Prince Elliot for years. Also, if I do enter and get Selected, everything will change - forever. I'm afraid that if I enter and people find out, they'll treat me differently, and I just want a few more days of normalcy.

The application ends up looking very messy, due to it being written while under the covers of my bed and while holding a flashlight in my left hand, but it'll have to do.

Freya's POV

"Are you sure we should be doing this, Lake?"

"Why shouldn't we do it?" she responds.

Because I'm a Seven. Because Mr. and Mrs. Smither certainly wouldn't like losing another worker. Because I don't know the Prince. Because I can't read.

I could say any of these things, but I don't. I say, "I don't know."

"See?" Lake says, as if she just proved a point. "You're going to be fine. You're going to be a Princess, Fray!"

"That's only if I get chosen out of thousands of girls in Bonita, and if that happens, thirty-five girls from all over Illea."

"Well, if there's so little chance of you being Selected, there's no harm in filling this thing out, is there?"

"I-I guess not," I admit.

"Right. So, what are your hobbies?" She says in a business-like tone.

"I . . . like to learn words?" I say.

"Uh-huh," Lake says. "What else?"

"I like braiding hair," I say, "but I'm not that good at it."

"That's why we're putting it under 'hobbies' and not 'skills'" she points out.

And so the Selection begins to take over my life.

So I'm hoping I didn't fail miserably at writing from these characters' perspectives.

See you next time!