The train was too plush; too comfortable. I looked suspiciously at the couch, and didn't sit down – was it rigged with mines?

The Capitol wanted me dead, after all.

I leaned against a wall, but jumped back off it at the thought that it might be rigged too. I shuffled my feet, confused and worried, but stopped, frozen like a statue, because, of course, the floor may be rigged too.

I stood there a long time, overcome with nerves, before sense returned. No, of course nothing was rigged. I was a tribute – they'd want me alive for the Games.

They'd just kill me in the arena.

Was that better or worse?

I wondered how they planned on killing me – a battle with another tribute? That was risky . . . I might survive, and end up winning the Games. They could poison me beforehand – with some slow-acting poison, so that I'd die in that arena. They could easily blame my death on a plant or something . . .

I shuddered, thinking that the idea was too effective and likely for comfort. Then, something shocking came to mind :

What if they rigged the arena?

They'd never done this before . . . but . . . they could. They very well could . . . and if another tribute set off a trap meant for me . . . well, the Capitol wouldn't even blink an eye – as long as I was killed in the end.

I sank to the floor, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling that can only be described as claustrophobic. The train and its plush furniture were, in a way, mocking me. I put my face in my hands and everything began to spin in darkness – a dark, deep pit of despair.

No.

That 1 word brought me back.

No.

It was just too much to think about – to accept one's death.

No.

No, I couldn't think about that – not in that moment. I had to be strong. There were surely cameras. I had to keep myself together.

I wandered about the room aimlessly, looking at things. Almost on instinct, I grabbed a pencil and a stack of papers. I tried to control my thoughts from spinning out of control again.

I looked down at the paper, and, not fully comprehending what I was doing, started drawing.

Once I started, I couldn't stop. My hand flew across the paper, shading and making the intricate lines on the paper. I caught small glimpses of the picture – random curves and lines.

When I was done with the first picture, I grabbed another paper. And another.

Emerald called for dinner. I didn't listen. I wasn't hungry anyway. All that mattered now was drawing. I was pouring my emotions, my thoughts, and even my very being. My pencil broke, and I threw it aside, snatching up another.

I think Emerald called a second time before she entered my room.

"Lystra!" she called, her tone angry and crisp. "I've called who-knows-" she caught off abruptly, staring at the pictures spread around me. "My, oh, my," she said, her tone awed now. "Lystra . . ."

I stared at the pictures, for the first time seeing them fully . . . for what they were.

I had drawn Lystra the Fay.

One picture showed her smiling and singing with a smaller Fay. The little Fay had Estella's face.

Lystra standing with her father.

Lystra under the command of the goblins.

Lystra turning fitfully in bed, features contorted in unspeakable hunger.

Lystra speaking with the other Fay, trying to act as though she wasn't miserable.

Lystra fighting the other Fay, her face showing a deep pain in doing so.

Lystra standing with Trieteng, looking defeated, crying. Her features clearly spoke desperation and fear.

The pictures went on and on – some sad, some happy, some bittersweet, others hopeful. But Lystra was in all of them, no matter what the scene. She was the center of it all – none of it would have happened without her.

The last ones were of the epic battle. The Fay, shining and beautiful in an almost elvish way, attacked the brutal goblins. I was shocked by what I had done – each Fay looked different – like someone I had seen, and held themselves the same way. But they were all different, with different looks – of fear and hatred and excitement.

The goblins were random people – as I'd never met anyone from the Capitol, excluding Emerald and the President, of course.

But this was not what surprised me.

What surprised me was the way I'd drawn Lystra.

For she looked like me.

The last one, still in front of me, was of the final battle between Lystra and the goblin leader. The goblin leader I had portrayed as President Snow, wounded and weak. I hovered above him, still surrounded by my bright green glow. By the devastated expressions on the Fay's faces, I knew I was not visible to them.

I was dead.

But . . . in a transformation.

My hair was getting darker – turning to a dark brown, and my eye color a bright green.

I was transforming as Lystra the Fay had.

"Lystra . . ." Emerald had no words for a change. Her eyes were fixed on the wounded President Snow, an expression of startled horror spreading across her face.

I gathered up the papers briskly, acting as though Emerald was not there. I sat the papers on the desk neatly and left the room, going to the dining car. Emerald did not follow me.

Dinner was a quiet thing. Tanner made no means to communicate. Emerald never did show up, which of course was odd to everyone else in the world but to me.

But I did get to meet our trainer – Kayton Roys. She had won just last year – without a mentor. This was honorable, and I was glad to have her experience passed on to me. I was going to meet it.

As I immediately struck conversation with Kayton, I realized something that made me smile slightly : I like her. She was different from anyone I'd ever met – funny, yet deeply sad and stern. I was intrigued by her bright green eyes that perfectly matched her personality. Her bright red bob framed her face perfectly.

Eventually, our conversation stopped. I focused on the food – there was more than I'd ever seen on a table before, and it was all delicious. When I could eat no more, I slumped back into my chair, watching as the uneaten food was thrown away. It seemed quite a waste, as people where starving at that moment.

"Come on," Kayton said, wiping her hands on a napkin and standing up. "let's go watch a recap of the reapings."

I ended up on the couch beside Tanner. I could tell by the way his hand tapped the arm of the couch that he was nervous, anxious to see our competitors – the people we had to kill.

The television lit up with the capitol's seal, and the anthem played. I didn't pay attention as President Snow came on to announce the beginning of the 24th Hunger Games.

I straightened slightly in my seat as District 1 appeared on the screen.

A small, delicate-looking girl was chosen. I felt a bursting amount of pity when no one offered to take her place. I stared at her quiet face, and said nothing to the other two of what was going through my mind. A fat brown-haired boy joined her as the other tribute.

District 2 took 1's place.

A short, mousy-faced girl is chosen, but was quickly replaced by a buff girl with shaggy black hair and bright green eyes. The first girl appeared to be terrified of the second and scrambled off the stage.

A tall and startlingly handsome boy was chosen, but was replaced by a boy that looked like the second girl. When both names were announced, I let out a small gasp.

"So they're siblings?" I asked quietly

Kayton nodded slowly. "Odd that they'd both volunteer . . . knowing they'd have to kill each other . . ." she muttered, so that I could barely hear her, but then she raised her voice as the brother and sister put their arms around each other, grinning broadly "Be careful, you two. I can guarantee an alliance between them."

Tanner and I nodded, turning our attention back to the screen.

Two typical geek kids are chosen in three. One, I notice, seems completely distant – staring off into space as though it were a pleasant afternoon. I raised my eyebrows slightly in question to Kayton as the girl caught a butterfly on her hand. Kayton could only shrug.

In four, a boy had to drag his sibling off him. His fellow tribute stared on, rid of emotion. In six, a girl's sobbing mother had to restrain the girl's young sibling. In nine, a boy's family literally fell to the ground in their sorrow, as though hit.

So it went on.

It was unbelievably painful, and the tears pricked my eyes. It was hard enough most years – but this time, I knew that I had to kill these people – that the crying families on the screen were going to cry more . . . . because I had killed their child.

I pulled my legs up onto the couch, hugging them, trying to comfort myself – to stop thinking of those horrible thoughts.

Then it was eleven's turn.

I watched, fixedly, as Estella was chosen . . . my desperate volunteering . . . Tanner being chosen . . . Tanner, Estella, and I holding hands . . . Tanner turning his back – on the world . . . me, Lystra Fay Gull, staring defiantly at the cameras . . . It all stank of rebellion.

As it should.

I was satisfied.

Then, too soon, we had moved on to twelve. The girl tribute seemed to be a rich kid – the kind I didn't get along with. The boy tribute was tall, dark, and in rags.

Then we go back to a screen with a Capitol woman, who tells us a little bit of background information on each of the tributes – she makes a big deal about the siblings from two. I let out another small gasp when she spills about the girl from six.

"Mazie Skiprose is originally from District 3. I'm sure you all remember her father – 18-year-old Ryker. Mazie was three years old when Ryker died in the Games. Only a few months later, Marielle Skiprose had her youngest child – Wallie. President Snow himself had them moved to District 3."

I narrowed my eyes at the television, and Tanner asked my question for me.

"But why did he move them?"

Kayton shrugged her shoulders. "I guess it was hard for them . . . to have to live with the knowledge of their dead father and husband. Perhaps President Snow showed sympathy."

I felt as though I'd been slapped. I hadn't ever considered the idea that President Snow might have feelings like sympathy. What if he was . . . human? I put the idea aside, not being able to deal with it.

The Capitol woman went on.

The boy from eight's mother was dead. The girl from ten was an orphan.

Then we're to eleven.

All she says about me was, "She lives at home with her father. Her mother died from a concussion seven years ago while pregnant with her second child. She fell out of a tree. The first girl – Estella Mason, is Lystra's only friend, as far as we know."

"Tanner Lawson lives a simple life with his mother, father, and little sister, Katherine 'Kathi.' He enjoys laughing and hanging around with his many friends. His mother says that 'he has a very active social life.'"

The girl from twelve was a wonderful seamstress, apparently. The boy from twelve "is an orphan – twelve adopted him when none would take him, and gave him the job of grave-digging. Although his first name, the one given to him by his parents, is unknown, he is known as Spade, after his preferred type of shovel."

Then there's the Capitol's seal, the anthem, and then silence.

I know we should discuss stratagies, plans. We should talk about the best way to defeat our opponents. But it's all too much. I stood, faking a stretch and a yawn, trying to hide the tears leaking from my eyes, and said,

"I'm going to bed."

*For all of you confused people, the President Snow mentioned several times in this chapter is the father of the dear President Snow that we all know and love. Snow Jr. is currently 10 years old.*