I've been pulled at in all directions.

Ripped, torn, soaked, plucked, and brushed, my cosmetologists work on me from head to toe. My dark brown waves of hair have been combed out to silky perfection. My skin has been ridden of all body hair, oiled, and scrubbed after a painful waxing. My fingernails and toenails have been polished and shaped, while my teeth were brushed so hard they're even whiter than Blake's. They thinned my thick brows and applied cleanser to my face and body that burned at first, but then had a cooling sensation. I could feel all the acne, scars, and unsightly freckles disintegrating away. When I look at myself in the mirror, I'm still me, but not really.

Yes, anyone would be able to recognize me as Renee Belladonna. But not without a gasp. I look naturally beautiful, an extremely large change from my old appearance. Just looking in the reflective glass reminds me of my mother. And then I wish to look how I used to again.

After they apply lotion to my skin, they leave me in the black robe, sitting on the side wall of the metallic tub. Ralenia gives me an oblivious smile and wave as she leaves, like she doesn't know what I think of her. Belinda just keeps her head down as she walks out. Aumora gives me a pitiful shaking of her head, like she's trying to apologize for her apprentices' silent and stupid behaviors. And then I'm left alone in the cold room for about ten minutes.

Just then, another woman pops through the doors of the room. She has light brown skin, gleaming blue eyes and auburn hair that sticks up in crazy spikes and curls. She's tall- well, at least she appears to be tall in her ten inch heels, and she wears a strange looking black and white dress- she must be from Candor. Her eyelashes are at least three inches long and her lips are painted yellow, while she has white eyeliner on her bottom waterline. I know the Summit has ridiculous fashions, but are they all this terrible?

"Oh darling, I loved it how you just fell on that stage! Give the fans something to finally root for, why don't you?" she smiles and clicks her way over to me. She flaps her eyelashes and takes in a huge breath before speaking again. "I mean, getting the sympathy vote! I never thought it was possible for someone from Dauntless!"

"My faint was real, alright? And I don't want sympathy from people like you. I'd rather citizens from the Summit and the Capitol to just not pay attention to me. It would be better for them to just forget about the girl from District 11 since I'm not coming home anyway." I start with a raised voice, but then I mumble the rest of the sentences without making eye contact.

"Whatever you say, honey. So, any guesses on your costume?" she asks brightly, like she actually expects me to be enthusiastic about the Opening Ceremonies, where all the tributes for the Divergent Games have to dress in something that represents their faction as well as their district. The stylist designs it, and I'm guessing that this woman must be the designer for all the tributes from District 11. I can only imagine what she plans to do with Cameron and me- make us giant black tomatoes?

"No." I respond, hoping that we can just get this over with.

"Well!" she carries on, and I can tell by her tone she's a bit offended. "Tonight you and Cameron are going to look radiant! But dark as well. Yes, very dark, but you'll flow with the wind on your faces. Oh you, the spectators, the Gamemakers, and the president are just going to love it!"

"That's great." I respond in a very unenthusiastic way. "What's your name, anyway? I should know the person who's going to make me look like a fool in front of all the Dauntless."

Despite my remark, she gives her name in a joyful voice. "I am Dalia Alfresco, Candor, and I am District 11's first amazing and remarkable stylist! Now, get rid of that grumpy attitude. I want you to look fiercely proud of my magnificent works tonight!"

When Dalia meant flow, I didn't know she meant this.

I look... Well, let's just say I actually like the costume my stylist dressed me in. My hair is tied and sprayed back in a voluminous ponytail, straightened so that it looked black instead of dark brown. My lashes are a whole inch longer, and I have heavy dark liner and shadow that makes my eyes look like individual crow wings. My skin is coated in a pale makeup, which isn't all that different since I'm not very tan, anyway. My full lips are painted a deep red, and since I already have six piercings in each of my ears, Dalia inserts new earrings to go with my outfit. My favorite part is that my tattoo is completely exposed.

Dalia dresses me in a long dress that goes all the way down to my feet. Only it isn't a dress, it's a wheat field. Starting at the top of my chest, black stalks of wheat begin and grow longer and longer as they reach the end of the dress. On my arms are sleeves that start at the middle of my upper arm, and stop at my wrists. The sleeves are puffy and black, grey, and white plaid, so if I put my hands on my stomach, I look like a farmer getting ready to harvest the first growth of wheat. Dalia applies fake black nails to my fingers, and gives me no shoes to wear- thank god- but wraps a silver chain that holds several different gems on each foot around my ankles and toes. She says it would look more natural if I don't wear shoes, but that I shouldn't be completely barefoot all together. As I stare at myself in the mirror, I do not see myself, but a young teenaged girl who is as dark as night and as intimidating as a wolf. My mother would be proud, and Kelli would have her jaw dropped in awe.

With every movement I make, I look like a wheat field waving in the wind. Dalia gently places her hands on my shoulders as we look in the mirror. "We'll never pull off anything as great as 'The Girl on Fire', but I believe this costume will fall in second place." she says in a low tone. For the first time, I actually smile. I believe it too.

We make our way down to the chariots, where all the tributes have already mounted their rides except for Cameron and myself, who I meet as soon as I exit the cold metallic room. He's wearing the same thing as myself, only a full body suit instead of a dress. His feet are bare like mine, but accessorized with silver chains and black gems. He lacks as much make up as me, but his eyes are still lined darkly and it seems as though his cosmetologists have burned away every freckle or mole he may have had here and there.

"I look ridiculous." he whispers to me as we're approaching the Dauntless chariot. "They know how to dress a girl, not a guy. Especially when that guy's from Dauntless." it takes me a few moments to realize that this is his form of apologizing for earlier. But why would Cameron apologize? We both hate each other with a burning passion.

I don't respond, I just hop in the Dauntless chariot before Cameron. They start riding out alphabetically, so Abnegation will go first, then Amity and Candor, then us, and finally the Erudite. This year, there are three male tributes and two female tributes in Dauntless. I look to my side and see the girl from District 4 standing next to me. She's shorter than I, with long black hair and tanned skin with squinted hazel eyes, but there's no doubt that we're close in age. She wears a black dress carved and imprinted with dark shells, fish, and seaweed. The dress is thin and silky, ending at her ankles with thick straps on her shoulders. Just then, our chariot lurches forward. She catches me staring at her outfit, but who wouldn't? Her dress is similar to mine in the way that it moves. The speed of the horses that draw our chariot creates a type of wind against our bodies, and as her dress moves, it looks like a rippling black lake. She gives me a tough look, so I turn forward quickly as our chariot finally leaves the Remake Center and blinding lights flash against my body.

The horses pull us into an open air, small stadium. There are stands of people on each side of the wide dirt path that the horses draw forth the chariots on. In their elevated seats, they scream and cry and laugh hysterically, all at the same time as the Dauntless chariot proves to be the most extravagant for this year's Opening Ceremonies. I catch a glimpse at the five of us on one of the banner screens, and I see what they shout for.

Next to the short girl from District 4 stand two tall and muscular gentlemen, probably about the same age as Cameron. I see that one is from District 12 while the other from District 3. Every tribute from Dauntless this year flashes with beaming amazement. Even though our costumes may not look as fierce as the Summit thinks they do, our facial expressions make up for it. None of us smile- The girl from District 4 crosses her arms over her chest, and as if upon command, so do the two guys from 12 and 3. What is she to them, their leader or something? I roll my eyes and force myself to look forward, staring with a hardened expression at the Candor chariot about ten yards in front of us. I know the crowd wants to see us smile, but they don't deserve it. They don't deserve to see any of us happy about riding to our own death in style.

As the chariot finally slows into a halt in front of the Training Center, where all of us will be staying for the next three days to ready ourselves physically and mentally for the Games, a banner drops in front of the building and flashes with light. Our president, Abram Hail, appears on the electronic banner. He's a bit shorter than average, with tanned skin and jet black hair. He's only forty four, but with six years of stress from the Divergent Games and keeping our whole nation under control, he looks twenty years older. There are crows feet stretching far out from his eyes, wrinkles going down from his nostrils to his chin, naturally furrowed brows and scruffy hair. He doesn't seem to like maintaining his image- I guess he doesn't care what people think of him. I wouldn't either.

Even though this broadcast is coming from the far away Capitol, he still seems to look down at us individually like he's actually here. After his eyes fall upon me, he grins, and looks back forward. "We have an exquisite batch of tributes this year! I just know this is going to be a wonderful Divergent Games." he says enthusiastically, a little bit too enthusiastically for me. Just from his tone I can tell he's faking his happiness like most of the tributes here, and I wonder if the Candor sense it too. Probably. He straightens out his grey suit upon instinct, as if that gesture comes natural to him. "I wish you all good luck in this year's Divergent Games. May the odds be ever in your simulation's favor!" and with that final statement, the crowd goes wild and the banner clicks away from him and to our nation's flag. What are they all cheering about? He says practically the same thing every year, and the audience just eats it all up. And what for? If you ask the people back in District 11, they all think that having a man from Abnegation as our president is ridiculous. Why would someone, whose faction values selflessness, allow such a bloody event to occur in the first place? I know there's got to be logic and reason for it somewhere, but I just don't understand. It seems highly hypocritical to me.

The mentors and stylists exit the Training Center to come meet everyone at their chariots. We all step off the Dauntless chariot one by one, and Blake and Dalia met up with Cameron and I. It might just be me, but she seems to bite her lip at stare at him when he isn't looking her way. A Summit girl has a crush on an Amity guy from District 11? How strange. I can't help but roll my eyes at the two of them.

"You two looked amazing out there. Ab-so-lute-ly stunning!" Dalia exclaims, giving Cameron and I individual hugs against our will. I look at Cameron with a "what the hell just happened" look, but he just shakes his head. It's hard not to smirk at that.

"And that's coming from a Candor," Blake said with a calm smile. "You really did look good out there. I think we'll have a lot of sponsors coming our way." even for our actions of earlier today, Blake approaches Cameron and me, gets between us, and put his arms around our shoulders. I can't help the slight blush that emerges on my cheeks as he does this, and I tilt my head back so that I can see Cameron. I raise an eyebrow questioningly at him, but he just shrugs. Blake leads us toward the entry doors of the Training Center, and just before we go inside, I sneak in one last glance at the Dauntless girl from District 4. To my surprise, she's already looking back at me. And is that... Envy written on her face? No, it can't be. She's probably just scowling at me for staring at her earlier. I would be too.

While walking to the elevator, I look down at my bare feet as they step across the cold, marble floor. By the time we get there, Dalia and Cameron are the only people in our group who are able to enter, because the elevator is already crowded with a lot of other tributes, stylists, and mentors. Once they leave, another one comes down for Blake and me, us being the only ones left in the lounge area.

As we ride upwards slowly, I feel a little awkward being alone with him. Of course the elevators are see through with glass walls, and there's most likely a security camera in here as well, but his company still feels... Unnatural.

"I wasn't lying back there." Blake finally says. "About you or Cameron. I'm proud to be you guys' mentor." I don't look up at him, but I can tell he was smiling at me. After a few moments, he adds, "It's not illegal to speak here, you know."

"I don't have to talk if I don't want to." I retort, finally looking up at him. He stares at me blankly, while I can't resist sending a few daggers at him with my eyes. "It's not like I'm on my way to a game of death or anything."

He opens his mouth to respond when the doors of the elevator slide open and we find Dalia and Cameron standing there waiting for us. Cameron couldn't look more upset that he was here, and I'm not talking about in a sad or scared way, but in a distasteful way. Like he can't believe he actually has to stay in a building designed by people who are going to play with our minds in three days.

We walk to our floor in complete silence, no one making a sound except for our feet on the hard wood floor. The doors to our loft are wide and elegant, and when they open, it takes my breath away.

First there's the sitting room, decorated with brightly colored sofas and armchairs. There's a fireplace against the center wall, burning with real flames, and a glass table just a few feet away from it. There are about four steps you have to walk up to get to the dining area and another sitting room, but with the whole place open and inviting, it makes it all the more better. After I'm escorted to my room, I immediately get in the shower and scrub all the makeup off my face and body. I had thrown the dress I was wearing on my bed beforehand, along with the silver chains that had been wrapped around my feet. It takes me an hour just to rinse all the hair spray out and wash the now mess of makeup off my skin. Then it takes another hour for me to try and figure out which buttons to press on the shower panel just to wash my hair and body.

By the time I step out, I'm feeling pretty defeated. And by what? A shower. I'm even more pathetic now that I'm in the Summit. I accidentally slam the palm of my hand into another panel on the sink, and hot air immediately blows out onto me, practically knocking me off my good balance. Even though it has separated every strand of my hair so that it floated lightly back onto my shoulders in silky, wavy thickness, I still want to punch the damn mirror. Yeah, that's healthy- wanting to beat up an inanimate object.

After stepping out of the bathroom completely bathed and brushed, feeling miserably angry, I throw on whatever I can find in the dresser of my bedroom. My mood increased a little when I finally find a simple black, flowing T-shirt and grey shorts. After leaving my bedroom, I find that almost everyone is already sitting at the dining table and a large meal has already been set. No one waits for me to get there, they're all just digging in. And look who else is here- Aumora, Ralenia, and Belinda, my three cosmetologists from Amity. The three of them sit around Blake, obviously adoring the fact that he's from the same faction. I snort a bit in amusement, and take a seat across from Cameron. Almost as soon as I sit down, a group of Avoxes swarm me with a platter of the first course of our meal, silverware, a glass of water, and another of cider. My mouth starts to salivate at the sight of fresh chicken breast, coated thickly in a rich orange sauce, topped with garnish, and on the sides are carnation petals and nettles. I remember harvesting both several months ago.

By the time I'm done eating the salted nettles and chicken, I'm almost full. The Avoxes come back around to refill everyone's glass, and then bring out dessert. I recognize the wide cake covered in strawberries as pavlova, such an expensive bakery dish that we could never afford back home. I've always wanted to try it. I put my elbow on the table and rest my head on my fist, taking each individual carnation petal and placing it delicately on the cake. By the time I look up from my plate, everyone seems to be staring at me.

"What?" I ask, bringing my head off my palm.

"You put flower petals on your food?" Ralenia asks in her naturally oblivious tone of voice. When my eyes finally fall upon Cameron, I realize he's only looking at me because everyone else is, like he's trying to figure out what they saw wrong with me.

"Doesn't everybody?" I question curiously, staring down at the cake. "At home, we could never afford both at the same time. So when there were celebrations, everyone would take the flowers and pluck them of their petals, placing them on their desserts before eating. I thought every district did that." I say bluntly and ignorantly.

"I guess I've floated away from our district's customs." Blake sighs, only it doesn't seem like he's trying to make fun of me, but instead he's disappointed in himself for not knowing that. I turn back to Cameron.

"Maybe it's just a thing the Summit doesn't do." Cameron shrugs. I know it's a small choice of words, but I'm thankful for him chiming in on my part. I look back to my three cosmetologists of Amity, and notice Ralenia vigorously placing each one of her carnation petals on her plate of pavlova. Aumora and Belinda still look at me funny. Aumora shakes her head and looks back at her food confusedly, and then finally begins to add petals to her dish as well. Belinda simply continues to give me puzzled looks until I turn my head back to my plate and begin to scoop up tiny bits of my dessert and place the sweetness in between my lips.

After pulling on a white night gown, I lay in my bed. It was the most comfortable thing I had ever have the pleasure of lying in, and I enjoy every second of it. Soon, after lying there for a couple hours staring at the ceiling, I drift off into a dreamless sleep, and once again, I dread the day ahead of me.

End

Chapter Three

The Divergent Games