Thalia dumps a bucket of cool water over my head and I gasp. Streams of water trickle down my bare back and chest as my hair hangs in a sopping curtain around me.
'It makes it shinier!' Tule exclaims happily as her long, taloned fingernails massage my scalp, rubbing soap into my hair. I nod, because I'm too frustrated to speak.
After we exited the train we were taken by private car to the training centre in the middle of the Capitol, right opposite President Snow's mansion. We were then greeted by our prep teams, who set to task on cleaning, scrubbing and polishing every inch of body we owned.
My team are an ecstatic bunch called Thalia, Tule and Lardius, who had started talking the moment I walked in. I haven't said much, and they haven't asked me to, so it's worked well both ways.
'Wait till you meet your stylist,' Lardius cries happily as he scrubs my arms and legs with an exfoliating brush, 'Paddy really is something else. Quite a star here in the Capitol!'
I have to stop myself from snorting. Judging by what they call fashion here, this can't really be something to brag about.
My prep team finishes hosing me down and sets to work on my hair, rubbing oil through it's tendrils to make it as soft as cat fur, then brushing and straightening it with hot irons till it hangs sleek and stiff down my back. Then they wax my legs, underarms, eyebrows, anywhere with undesirable hair gracing it. Then they do a last check, pecking at me with their tweezers like angry birds, rub me all over with moisturiser, and leave me feeling like a greased pig in the middle of a deserted room atop a metal pedestal, awaiting slaughter.
Ten minutes I stand there, freezing cold and stark naked. Embarrassment and pride chase themselves around my head in a fierce battle, making me fight between curling up into a ball and standing tall with my chest out and head up.
Then he comes in.
'Sorry I'm late, I was making the final arrangements for your debut tonight.'
The harsh accusation I had prepared dies in my throat.
'Oh, it's fine,' I choke out.
'I'm Paddy, you're stylist,' the guy says as he starts to circle me, taking in every inch of my body. I clench my fists and try not to cross my arms over my chest.
Paddy looks about eighteen years old, with jet black hair, pale face, arching eyebrows and sharp features, straight nose and killer cheekbones. His eyes have obviously been dyed by some Capitol doctor; they're bright purple. The same shade streaks his hair. But other than this he looks strikingly normal, muscled limbs aside, compared to the other stylists I've seen on past Hunger Games. He wears a simple, black, leather, sleeveless jacket and trousers, booted feet and no makeup. The only permanent skin change he seems to have is a small tattoo on his neck of a bird in flight.
'Looks good to me,' he says, his mouth twitching up at the corners. He opens a door at the far end of the room and gestures at the wall.
'Put on the robe there and we'll talk in here. You hungry?'
I nod, slipping on the silk robe and following him into the room.
It's much better in here; a soft cream carpet underfoot, a wall window showing a beautiful afternoon sky and two sofas placed opposite eachother in the centre. Paddy takes his place on one and lounges back into the cushions, laying his right ankle over his left thigh. I perch nervously on the other and wait.
Paddy presses a button beside him and the coffee table between us slits open to reveal a pedestal rising up. On it is our lunch, spicy chicken and mango wrapped in lettuce leaves and lime, next to a glittering cake made of berries and sugar.
'So Angelie,' Paddy leans forward, his forearms resting on his thighs now. His eyes bore into mine; without thinking I bite my lip self consciously.
'Tonight is the ending ceremony, where the tributes are officially shown to the public of Panem. Me and Hardie, Wade's stylist, have been thinking about what would be good for your district outfit.'
'We're power,' I say, 'electricity.'
Most years our district tributes are the sparkliest, covered in sequins and jewels to make us appear like the crackling power we control. It never works.
'I know,' Paddy smiles and my heart flutters. Why is it fluttering?
'Look if your planning on showing me off covered in nothing but glitter powder then just-'
'I'm not going to do that,' he says and gestures at himself, 'new blood, new ideas.'
I take a lettuce wrap with my fingers and bite into it. It's beautifully cooked.
'Just listen. When we were planning your outfits, we thought about different ways to represent power. Blue electricity. And we came up with stars.'
He clicks his fingers and the room goes dark, blinds slipping over the window. Little dots of light appear above us, projected onto the ceiling.
'See how they sparkle? They don't need any glitter or jewels to show off their beauty.' Paddy clicks his fingers again and the blinds retract, flooding the room with light. I have to blink for a second so my eyes can adjust.
'That's what you plan to do?' I ask, 'turn me into a star?'
Paddy grins slyly.
'Exactly.'
My prep team whisked me away after that. They powdered my face, removed it of all impurities and marks, then highlighted it. Then they sweeped black across my eyes, brushed my eyelashes and brows, and made up my whole face. Paddy himself did my hair, pinning it up stiff in a shape I couldn't see.
Now they dress me, but my eyes are closed so I can't see myself in it. Only when the last whispers of deviations are exchanged and the rustle of fabric ceases do I open them.
'Get her a mirror,' Paddy orders, and Tule and Thalia wheel one in front of me.
I gasp. I can't help it. I'm completely unrecognisable.
My dress is something of a miracle. The top part hugs my chest, covered in minuscule white lights to my pelvis, where the lacy skirt ripples out, and at the edge of it little bulbs spin with my every move, glowing blue and white. My legs are covered in fleshy tights and on my feet are white-leather ankle boots. Just below my shoulders, on the sides of my arms, are two star tattoos that glow blue.
But the best bit, if that were possible, is my hair. My fringe and two strands hang sleekly to my shoulders, but the rest of my long hair has been twisted by expert hands into the shape of a star behind my head. That, combined with my minimum makeup subtle enough to be beautiful, makes me look like some glorious entity from space, another world.
'Thoughts?' Paddy asks. I turn to him and smile, not a fake smile I show the Capitol people, but a real one, a real warm one that I haven't let shine in a long time.
'I look amazing. Thank you.'
We meet Wade, his prep team and stylist, Janine and Angrem in a stable at the very bottom floor of the Training Centre. All the tributes and their teams are gathered here with their chariots, either looking as nervous as I feel, or flexing their muscles and smirking. When I see Wade, I nod politely. He's wearing a white suit with curling light patterns, and, like me, he bears the same star tattoos on his arms. He just gapes at me.
'Look at you!' Janine grins broadly, gathering both me and Wade in a crushing hug, before letting us go and brushing us off smartly.
'They look good,' Angrem smiles cooly at the two stylists, 'but will it be good enough?'
Wade's stylist looks affronted and ruffled, but Paddy just winks back.
'It will be, don't you worry,' he says. His eyes meet mine and fill with warmth and...something else I can't quite read. I feel the squirm in my stomach, but I don't look away.
'Oh it's time!' Janine squeals and as she pushes us into the chariot, Paddy lowers his eyes. Is it my imagination, or has he gone all rosy in his cheeks?
There's a blaring trumpet as the huge doors are wheeled back to reveal a humongous crowd. My knees turn to lead, and I'm thankful that I'm supported by the chariot and Wade to keep me upright. He looks as bad as I feel, but manages a weak smile in my direction. I try to return it, but we've begun to move.
Oh god, oh god, oh god...
And we're out and the Capitol citizens are screaming. I look around, shocked as they cheer and whoop, reaching out to us.
And then I catch a look of myself on the big screens along the boulevard road.
Wow, Paddy really DID turn me into a star.
I'm glowing all over, my dress and arm tatoos lighting up the night.
I'm beautiful, gorgeous. True energy.
The cheers press in on me at all sides until I realize I'm so close to Wade he's nearly falling out of the chariot. Quickly my instincts flash and my hand jerks out to grab him. Almost in a fit of delusion he grabs me back. This looks completely different to what it actually is; the Capitol is screeching themselves hoarse. Me and Wade look at eachother, his eyes reflecting my astonishment. He's really close...
And then our carriage stops and we look up to see President Snow standing on his balcony, surveying us with cold indifference. We jump apart and stand stiff.
'Welcome,' he booms into his microphone, and the whole crowd goes silent.
'Welcome, tributes, Capitol and members of Panem. Welcome to the opening of the 32nd annual Hunger Games. We wish you all the best and may the odds be ever in your favour.'
He sits to a storm of applause. All I think is, wow that was short.
Our chariot jolts forwards and we wheel beneath the balcony where Snow sits with his gamemakers and through a pair of large double doors. The Training Centre.