"I can't breathe."

"Oh, honey, that's how it's supposed to feel."

Blinking, I give Calliope a sort of glare I'm not sure looks like one under all of the makeup caked onto my eyes. The stylist have outlines them in a deep, smoky gold that sparkles under the light. My lashes are longer than they were in the parade; there are jewels in the corners of my eyes. To top it off, they've sketched golden flowers lightly onto my cheekbones, and rouged my lips the color of pomegranates. My hair's been put into a beautiful chignon and there's a crown of golden and white flowers weaved into the style.

It all feels too elaborate for the Games Interviews all of the tributes must participate in today. I'm not nearly as beautiful as half the girls from the Demigods' republics, nor as alluring as Artemis. All this glitz and glam is very…unsettling. There's more of it than there was during the parade. Nyx had said I'd still feel like me by the end of this, but I don't.

Sighing, I keep my hands gripped to the bar in front of me as the stylists pull the strings of the corset around my waist tighter. More air escapes from my lungs and I cough. It's all in preparation for the dress Nyx has made me, her three stylist hens cluck.

When said dress is brought before me, I can't help but admit that it is beautiful. Like the one I wore during the parade, there are golden flowers embroidered into the fabric, only this time it's made of a wispy white tulle, and from mid-thigh down it is almost see-through.

"We're to leave your feet bare," Nyx says, adjusting the hems around my hips. "More in tune with nature. This white looks absolutely lovely against your skin, as I thought it would."

"Thanks," I say softly, looking down at my buffered flesh, feeling so stiff and tight and shined.

"You look like a maiden any person would want," comes a voice from the doorway of the stylist pod, Prometheus striding in confidently, cigarette between his lips. Any signs of the hangover he was wearing this morning are gone. "Remember the shtick we talked about?"

"Yes," I sigh, give a startled 'umph' when the stylist hens come to pat a layer of shimmering powder over my face. "But is all of this really necessary?"

Prometheus looks to Nyx for the answer, and the woman simply nods while adjusting my dress to perfection. "The cameras will be all over you tonight," Nyx murmurs, stars in her eyes shining. "Especially since you're still number three on the favorites poll; make no mistake Hermes will be talking about this. And about your score from the training center."

"And you'll be aloof about it," Prometheus says, as if he hasn't gone over these instructions with me a hundred times before. "Just as you will be when they ask you anything about Plutus." He's more than sure the Capital will want to dig at the fact my brother was punished as a traitor; died because of it. I've been rehearsed again and again not to let my hate for the Capital show because of the fact. I will act as if I think that Plutus deserved it. I am as loyal to the Capital as they come; at least I am if I want to get some sponsors, maybe stay alive, anyways.

"Yes, sir," I mumble, barely looking at myself when Nyx turns me so I may see my full appearance in the mirrored wall that runs the west length of the styling pod. I don't want to see myself, not really, but then I make the mistake of taking a quick glance up and catch my breath.

Somehow they have made me look as if I am made of porcelain and gold; I look like a true Goddess, one made of purity and danger and fear.

Before I can help myself I whisper, "Oh," just as Calliope weaves the last of the orchids for my flowered crown into my hair.

"You look spectacular dear," Clio says, setting her hands on her plump hips.

"Simply brilliant," says Thalia, the one with the purple hair who's name I just learned today when Calliope started yelling at her for painting my nails gold instead of the nude color Nyx had originally given plan for; the beds still hurt from being scrubbed clean with polish remover.

Prometheus sets a hand on my shoulder then, gives an appraising eye as he leans in to whisper in my ear, "As radiant as spring," making me shiver and blush, the color alight under the flowers on my cheeks.

My hands shake. We are standing backstage of the interview deck, where Hermes Caduceus– one of the official coverage announcers of the Capital– is animatedly talking with the female tribute from Déka. Theia, I remember Pan to have said her name is.

Thinking of Pan, I glance to where he stands off to my left. He is shaking just as much as I am, his chiton draped around his tiny hips in puddles. There are gold sprigs of sage in his hair, which is curled in a crazy and childish manner. Nyx had mentioned as much as Erebus trying to play up Pan's young age, in hopes the sponsors will take sympathy upon him.

He's still mad at me from last night, as he probably should be. I am dashing his chances minute by minute. When he saw me step out of the styling hall and back here with the rest of the tributes, all eyes moving to me, his face turned hot and he looked down with a sigh.

I still can't help but feel guilty for it. I know he is my competition and I'm supposed to kill him in that arena if it comes down to it, but he is just so young. And he is basically one of my own.

Hades and Hestia– the only tributes left backstage for the interviews besides Pan and I– watch me with caution as I go to stand closer to Pan. Neither have said a word to me since I walked in (only Artemis, Apollo and Hebe were not giving me looks of disdain or ignoring me completely like the rest of the tributes) but it's probably just as well because we're going to be expected to kill each other in the arena tomorrow when the Games begin.

Taking a deep breath, I go to kneel in front of the boy. "Pan," I say, even though he won't look at me. "It's okay if you hate me; I understand. I do. I just want to say that I think you're going to do okay at the interview; just smile a lot and go along with Hermes' jokes." I am giving him advice Prometheus gave me and I can feel the old man scowling at my back from where he stands in idle chatter with the stylists from Énteka, as well as the mentor and stylists from Dódeka, too. Getting information on the enemy, as he always winks. "Don't be too nervous; it's only three minutes."

And as if to affirm my statement, the buzzer for Theia's interview goes off, signaling her time is up. Hermes gives her a warm farewell, and then Pan's name is called. Before he goes up on the stage, guards waiting for him to do so impatiently at the steps, Pan takes one last look back at me, blinking. "I just wanna go home," he says.

My heart breaks.

"So do I," I tell him, because I can't say I'll help you get there. I can't. "You're up." I give him a soft smile, a little nudge. "You can do this."

He doesn't look like he believes me, but he goes up anyways, the guards at the steps rolling their eyes at the boy's quivering limbs. Hermes gives Pan a grand welcome, shaking the boy's hand. I can see it on the screen on the wall, the one that gives full view of the stage instead of just the side glance the location I'm standing in does. The crowd awes appropriately at Pan's blush from the greeting and I do my best to contain the sudden sob forming in my throat.

I want to save him, I realize with despair. I want to save all of them. These children shouldn't die under the Capital's dirty hands. It isn't right; it isn't fair. Why are we paying for Dekatría's mistakes? That was so very long ago. Why does the Capital continue to enslave us and force us to fight to the death? They don't need any more order or control. They already have so much of it. Enough the republics starve and rot and work themselves to the bone. Enough that there's the risk of being drawn at altar over and over and over. Enough that you cannot walk the streets without fear of slip of tongue and being whipped to death. Like Plutus; they killed my brother with all of this power they carry. Kept him from ever knowing his real father; killed the father I could call my own. And the next, even after.

And now they're going to kill me too.

I hiccup to disguise the outrage and the panic; bite down on my tongue until I taste blood. It is the gentle hand on my shoulder that finally causes me to make sound. A soft yelp that draws the mentors' and the stylists' attention, but they don't intervene when I turn to face Hades, eyes round and wide.

"You can't do anything about it," Hades says after a moment of simply staring at me, the darkness and hate in his expression evident. I realize quickly that it is aimed toward the Capital and not me. "None of us can."

"We can get Hesita home," I say without thinking, because if I had to choose anyone to live it would be her. Pan is a part of my people, but little Hestia looks too much like Despoina I can't bear the thought of her dying; I would pick her over him when it comes down to it.

Something in Hades' expression flashes and he glances back to his cousin, ten feet away and acting like she isn't trying to listen to us like he probably told her to do even though it's obvious she is anyways by the way she teeters on her small feet with the strain of trying to hear. "Would you really do that?" Hades asks me, the skepticism in his expression apparent. "Why not save yourself?"

"She's more important," I say and I believe myself fully when the statement comes out of my mouth. She's good and innocent and pure and the only thing I can go back to is a broken, overprotective mother who died probably before I was born if I'm honest; probably when Prometheus' name was drawn. That was the tipping point and she's had nowhere to go but down. She'll take good care of my siblings anyways; I'm sure Charon will help. He was always happy to help. I selfishly want more than living in fear like this the rest of my life; I want freedom and my brother back. I'll never be a good example for my siblings. I'd just get them killed. "She's better than the both of us," I say to Hades, just to reaffirm myself.

I can see Prometheus coming forward then, as if he senses the decision in my stance. He's going to try and tell me different. Try and tell me to save myself because he couldn't save Plutus and he owes it to my mother to bring me home. He owes her nothing; he did his best to keep Plutus safe. It was my idiot brother opening his big, stupid mouth that got him killed– his own fault and not Prometheus'.

And I won't go against everything Plutus ever stood for and win these Games and pretend to be happy about it and be worshipped at temple like some Goddess when my praise would be built on blood. Hebe's blood. Pan's blood. Hestia's blood. Plutus', when it came down to the string of things.

I won't do that.

"You better get back to Hestia," I finally tell Hades with a maddened smile, shoving his hand off of me just as Prometheus reaches us.

"What are you two up to?" my mentor asks, a cigarette hanging dangerously between his teeth. By now the mentor from Dódeka has come up next to us too. Morpheus, God of dreams because he killed competitors in their sleep before finally taking the title.

"Just wishing each other luck," I lie. "Right, Hades?"

The boy looks confused a moment, before his expression slips into the neutral mask I am used to seeing him wear. "Yeah. Good luck, Kore," he says and turns to Morpheus, who leads him back over to Hestia. But what his words really mean are is your promise true? and I catch his dark gaze and nod, when it's finally my turn to go on stage.

The lights are blinding once I take the first steps; the guards there have to hold the sides of my legs to keep me from stumbling. My bare feet smack against the wood of the stage once I finally get my bearings. Hermes offers me a sympathetic hand, a megawatt smile on his lips. He's a short, slender man with slightly blue-tinged skin, dark curls of hair, and he's always wearing a messenger's cap. He likes to joke it's because he's got important news to tell, but we all know it's because the middle of his head is balding underneath. He also carries a staff with him which he often leans on gracefully; it's got a serpent slithering up the gold of it, his family's crest.

"Kore Hagne, ladies and gentleman!" he booms in that famous Capital accent of his. The crowd goes wild, and for a moment I'm caught in the limelight of it, limbs going still. Then I can feel Prometheus glaring expectantly at my back and an innocent smile lights up my face; I wave to the crowd with the grace of both a woman and a child.

They're absolutely ravenous.

Hermes helps me sit then, and I cross my legs demurely at the ankles like I was told to, leaning forwards in my seat with child-like wonder. "Wow," I giggle as Hermes takes his own seat. "This is so amazing."

The crowd laughs at my cheeky smile, as does Hermes. "I take it you're not used to fanfare then, Kore?" he asks, crossing his legs in an easy manner. His tone makes it feel like I'm talking to an old friend, inviting me in and trying to put my nerves at ease.

"Oh no," I say, falsely widening my eyes. "Back home, I just pick flowers all day. No one ever cheers for me!"

"Flowers, really?" Hermes asks, resting his arm on the edge of his chair and setting his chin on his open palm. "I take it you like them, if your outfits during your time here have said anything?"

"Oh yes," I say, nodding with enthusiasm. "My mother is a florist; I've grown up with them all my life!"

"Hmm," Hermes says happily. "Speaking of your family, I just wanted to offer my sympathies at hearing of the passing of your brother last year."

It was almost two years ago; of course he wouldn't get the time right.

But making the death seem more recent draws the crowd's sympathy, a grievous murmur wondering through the onlookers.

I make my expression fall then, bite my lower lip and nod slowly, giving a sniffle for effect. "I miss him," I say, then tangle my fingers together and look into the camera before the subject can be drawn out further, like I've been taught to do. "But I understand why what happened, happened."

"I see," says Hermes, catching on that the subject should not be lingered upon. "But the rest of your family, they are in good health I hope?"

I perk up, a child not dwelling on loss. "Oh, yes! I have a baby sister and brother, and Mama is sitting at home with them right now watching us. And oh, wait that reminds me, hi Despoina!" I say, giving a sudden wave at the cameras, then blush and plop my hand back in my lap abruptly. "Sorry; I promised her I'd do that."

Hermes and the crowd laugh, enthralled. "You seem to be quite the peach, Kore. Tell me, how does such a sweet girl like you score a ten when meeting with the Gamesmakers?"

I was expecting this question. I hear Prometheus' voice in my head and let my eyes drop, shaking my head. "That's a secret," I say softly. "If I told you, then things wouldn't be very fun anymore. How else am I supposed to surprise everyone?"

"Oh, come on!" Hermes cries, and the crowd does too. "Can't you give us even a little hint?"

"Well…" I drawl, looking to the crowd and then back to him. "Okay, but only if you promise not to tell."

"Oh, well of course not," Hermes chuckles. "Mum's the word, right everyone?" The crows hollers enthusiastically back. "Come on Kore, we're dying to know!"

"I'm real good with my hands," I say after a hesitant moment, an alluring yet innocent smirk curling at the corners of my lips. "I know a lot tricks with sharp things."

"Really?" Hermes asks in fascination. "Such a pretty girl like you? Who'd have thought? But, tell me, Kore, aren't the boys just falling over themselves to get your attention back home?"

I don't even have to fake the blush that rises to my cheeks. "Oh, no," I say emphatically, the crowd giving a small murmur. "My mama would never allow such a thing! She calls me her little flower, you see. She's very protective of me."

"As she should be!" Hermes says, nodding. "You're such a sweetling. And I can see where you get your nickname from. Elláda's little maiden, isn't that right folks?" The crowd cheers. "Maybe that's why you're number three on the favorites poll."

"Oh, my!" I say. "That still shocks me! I'm so very flattered!" I give a glance to the crowd and then blow a kiss. They all fall over themselves trying to catch it. "Thank you so much, everyone. I am very honored by you all."

"And hopefully you'll be honored by more!" calls Hermes. "Why, when you stepped on this stage you looked just like a Goddess! And what a great one you would make, isn't that right folks?" A round of applause. "I've got my bets on you, Kore."

I really, really don't like the twinkle in his eye when he says that.

But I smile nonetheless, bite my lip. "Thank you! That means so much."

Hermes nods, is about to ask another question when the buzzer goes off. His face looks crestfallen, and the crowd gives a shocked wave of disapproval. "Oh boo," says Hermes. "It looks like we shall have to let you go for now, little maiden. But– and I think this comes from everyone when I say– I surely wish the Fates ever in your favor!"

"Thank you," I say, standing in a graceful manner as Hermes reaches out to shake my hand.

"Kore Hagne, everyone!"

They cheer, I bow, and it's done.

I stumble off the other end of the stage, Prometheus right there waiting for me. He bats the guards' hands away as they try to assist me down the steps, throwing his arms around my frame and spinning me in a circle. "You were brilliant!" he says triumphantly.

"I don't feel brilliant," I say, because instead I feel a little sick, like I might throw up. The awe is gone and in its place has settled nausea.

"Well you were," says Prometheus, smoothing errant curls back away from my face. "So much so I am willing to overlook your little promise to Hades you made back there."

A stark panic hits my chest, but I do my best to control my expression as I say, "I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't, Kore," Prometheus says with an easy smile, looping his arm around my waist almost possessively as he drags me toward the exit door.

I can hear the crowd cheering as Hermes announces Hades' name behind me.

"You're not making good on it," Prometheus says, drawing my attention back. The look in his eyes is deadly serious, and I think for a second he no longer smells of smoke but blood. "I'm getting you out of these Games alive, you hear me?"

"Yes sir," I murmur, but one look at Hades' sly face on the monitor screens and I know, I just know I won't break my promise to him.

But I smile at Prometheus none the same, let him take me back to the elevators that will bring us up to the apartment where we'll drink and celebrate and watch the recaps with his arm never leaving my waist until I will be left to shiver and sob and stare in my room all alone as I realize that tomorrow the Games begin.