"Let me tell you what I wish I'd known

When I was young and dreamed of glory:

You have no control

Who lives, who dies, who tells your story."

Avarette de la Lune, 28, Head gamemaker

Stars and stripes, Ava feels old. She never meant to be in this job, she didn't choose it, didn't run into the Capitol's arms like a lamb to the slaughter, as many assume, but still she is here. And she cannot afford to wallow in the sorrows of somebody else, to think too hard about what she is doing, because there's a baby to care for. A mouth to feed.

Avarette knows that many call her cunning, meddlesome and remorseless; some even label her frivolous. Let them. She will not sink so low as to allow their assumptions to dictate her joy—what little there is left.

"Hi yes, I'd like to speak to the president please and thank you!" she rattles off to the doorwoman on the other side of the buzzer.

There's a crackling like bottled fire, and then a muffled response. "To whom am I speaking?"

"Head Gamemaker Avarette de la Lune." Her impatience clouds the words so they tumble over each other, but she doesn't care. "I've something important to tell Master Graymore."

"Come on up, then." The doors to the elevator slide open and she steps inside, watching the sparkling lobby of Graymore Manor vanish behind her.

It's painfully pretty, this palace, but it feels forsaken and quieter than usual. Ava is no fool; she watched the trembling child announce his father's death firsthand. But ailing or not, she needs to speak to Alabaster Graymore, and now that he's dying, it's more important than ever.

The doors open with a ding and a whoosh. The doorwoman gestures for her to follow, and they walk down a dim and deserted corridor. The silence is weighty, and Ava wants so badly to break it. But she manages to restrain herself, with some effort.

The doorwoman abandons her at an unmarked door, and Ava raises her fist to knock, though she wonders if anyone is even in there at all.

The door opens slowly, to reveal none other than Signet Graymore, looking pale and tired and vulnerable. Both their mouths fall open, almost in sync, and Ava makes a surprised sound.

"That stupid doorwoman, I told her specifically I wanted to see the president!" She huffs and starts to close the door, but Signet speaks, much out-of-character.

"Uh-actually, Miss de la Lune, that's me."

She pauses, the door almost closed. "Very funny, Signet. Your father's still alive, is he not?"

Signet falters. "Well—y-yes, but-"

"I'll just speak to him, then, and thank you."

A faint amusement touches Signet's pale eyes. "Miss Avarette, whatever it is you need, I'm sure I can handle it. My father's not having a good day today—with all due respect, I don't think he'll be happy to see you."

Ava huffs. She is grossly offended, but then... Signet's probably right.

"Oh, all right, you don't have to be so rude about it."

"I didn't mean-"

"A moment, Signet, my baby's awake. I'll be back in a blink, you wait right there."

Ava cannot explain, even to herself, how she knows that little Stelle is awake and fussing where she left her with her nanny in the President's garden. It's just a feeling, a sensation that blooms in her lower back and spreads through her heart. A gentle presence in her mind where her thoughts and Stelle's overlap. Many would laugh at the mere mention of Ava having any such intimate connection with anyone—but Ava does not care what they think. She knows it's real, and she does not let herself feel stupid as she travels back the way she came and plucks the baby out of the shell-shocked nanny's arms.

"Honey, you've one job," she scolds the younger nanny. "I hoped you'd last at least a few more minutes. Oh well, I'd be much better off just hauling her around without outside help—don't even know why I bother with you, I'm such a good mother-"

She's mostly mumbling absentmindedly to herself now, not even processing the other woman's reaction as she cradles Stelle close to her chest. Even those few minutes were too long for Ava; she's missed her little daughter.

As she steps back into the elevator, just her and Stelle, her la airs puff away like powder and the sort of tender weariness she's associated with motherhood seeps through the cracks in her composure.

"Ohhh Stelle," she sighs. "What are we gonna do?"

She's tried, time and again, to leave her baby to somebody else's care, but each time she hasn't been able to bare her daughter's sadness at her leaving—or at least, not for longer than a few hours. Call it motherly paranoia, but Ava cannot stand to be apart from her baby; it fills her with an uneasiness so crushing as to make her dizzy. And so she hugs her little girl while she can, only eleven months old, and tries not to feel self-conscious as she opens Signet's door without knocking with an infant on her hip, because Avarette de la Lune does not get self-conscious. Why should she? She is forged of the strongest steel. And she cannot let anyone see her weaknesses—not even herself.

"Sorry about that," says Ava airily.

Signet is young, an open book, and Ava sees his lips part momentarily before he tears his gaze from the humming baby in Ava's arms and focuses in on Ava herself.

"That's alright," he says, voice hushed and half-distracted. "Um, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Ava lets out a long, long sigh. "With all due respect, Signet dear, I doubt you'd understand. It's all important grown-up business, you see."

Ava watches Signet's left hand clench and unclench around the now-closed book he was evidently reading upon her arrival. A small part of herself rises up with a chastisement, but she pushes that away. This isn't some matter she can openly discuss with just anyone.

"M-miss Gamemaker, I'm eighteen," Signet says with what must be his version of frustration, but to Ava it sounds more like whining.

"Madame Gamemaker, if you please." Ava puffs a strand of hair out of her face and stands up straighter. "And I suppose you're right; you are to be president soon-"

"I'm president already—" he cuts in.

"—so I suppose I must start tolerating you sooner rather than later. The truth of the matter is, I don't know that the Games are a good option for us right now. And by that I mean, I don't think we should hold the Games. Ever again."

Signet pales markedly, which is alarming considering his original sallowness. "This from you—""

"Shhh shhh, let me finish first!" she admonishes, and then takes a breath. "We can't hide these Games forever. People are starting to realize what's happening when we take away their children and they come back... different. There's unrest brewing. In the Capitol as well... the stylists and the trainers we've sent out to the Career districts—it's all a lot of fuss, and there's beginning to be upheaval."

That, and she hasn't actually figured out the Arena yet. Ava has had a hard time ⠋⠕⠉⠥⠎⠬ on the design ever since Stelle. Something about motherhood has softened her—without her permission, of course. And now, plotting ways to kill children just isn't her passion anymore. Really, could anyone blame her?

Signet blows out a breath. "The majority of the Districts and Capitol... don't know?"

"Honestly, child, do you know nothing?" Ava shrills. "Of course they don't know! Which is why I'm saying, we can't keep this charade up for much longer!"

Signet looks utterly confused. "Why are we keeping up a charade, then? Why not make it... public? Like entertainment, or something. Televise it on screens everywhere, make it readily available. And make people root for certain contestants."

"Goodness child, nobody would watch that!"

"They... they wouldn't?"

Ava stares at him for a long time. "Well I wouldn't."

"Why not? The Games are... almost like a festival. An extravaganza. We could open them up so everyone could watch. Maybe if it wasn't such a secret, the Districts wouldn't be so restless, and I know the Capitol would enjoy it; they love a show. They'd have something to look forward to, right?"

"And I thought I was ruthless," Ava mutters between her teeth.

"What do you mean-"

"You know, Signet Graymore, I think you're on to something."

...

Pericles McMaster, 48, Master of Ceremonies

Pericles marches into his wife's suite without knocking. The woman glances at him with a stare that could melt metal, but he's used to that by now. He crosses the room in long strides to stand beside her chair. She is sitting, long black hair pulled into an elaborate bun, dark eyes fixed anywhere but on him. He lets out a long sigh. And he waits for a long stretch of seconds.

"What?" she spits, voice like shards of glass.

Pericles almost smiles. All these years, and she's never come close to liking him. So much for the theory that long enough spent with a person will at least make you tolerate them. To be fair, he isn't much fond of her either, and especially not today.

"I've heard rumors," he says softly, slowly.

"That's nothing new." Her words are clipped, controlled.

Pericles exhales carefully. "About you. And a rebellion," he clarifies.

An almost imperceptible tightening of his wife's lips tells Pericles that he's gotten to her.

"Oh don't be ridiculous." Now her words flow like molasses. "You know I'd never-"

"Of course not. I wasn't accusing you of anything, dear."

She flinches at the word. Pericles tries not to feel satisfied. He lets the stifling silence carry on for a long, long time before breaking it himself.

"But you would tell me anything, right? If you felt... restless. Or if you heard of any legitimate troublemakers about."

He meets her eyes steadily and waits until she breaks the stare. "Without question," she says carefully.

He doesn't believe her for a second; she's always been a liar and a schemer. "Good, good. How are you then, my dear? It must be difficult, sitting around doing nothing all day."

She seethes where she's sitting, strangles her skirt with her well-manicured hands. "Who is that?"

Pericles's wife cants her head to the side, a slight gesture, and he looks in the direction he indicates, to the ghost in the doorway.

The young man, almost a shadow, quite unforgettable if you ask Pericles, is pale as marble and looks delicate as glass. His face is smoother than glass and marble combined, and his light grey eyes are distant and haunted. His clothes hang off his slender frame, and his cheeks are slightly hollow below his silky light brown hair. In Pericles's opinion, the boy seems weak enough to be blown away by a stray gust of wind. Pathetic, really—but Pericles has heard things about this new experiment the Capitol scientists have been trying, and he needs in on the secret.

His wife is the perfect guinea pig.

"He'll be something of your bodyguard." Pericles pins his wife with his eyes, watching her cheek twitch with a sense of vague success. "There are dangerous people wreaking havoc of late. We wouldn't want them stealing you away... or worse, you stealing away to them. Our friend here will make sure you're kept comfortable amid these tumultuous times."

The boy by the door turns his face away at Pericles and his wife's scrutiny. His face is now covered in shadow and a curtain of caramel curls that have fallen over his forehead. He doesn't look much, but Pericles hopes he'll be enough to keep his wife in check. She's become far, far too vocal lately.

Pericles sneers. "I'd be careful if I were you, dear. You have no friends, no one to support you. And your words mean nothing in the long run."

This is usually the part where the woman recoils, mutters some placating remark that eases Pericles's worries. But today she straightens like a soldier.

"Oh, I'd say that of the two of us, I won't be the one forgotten. Now, out. I have all sorts of nothing to get done."

His wife's words drive Pericles out the door before he even knows what's happening, and it's closed before the shock wears off and he realizes.

That woman had just called him forgettable. More than that, she'd raised her voice at him. Pericles storms out of the hall, feeling bewilderingly ashamed.

...

Okay, change of plans! Instead of the cast list being posted with this chapter and subs closing on the fifteenth, the cast will be revealed independent of a chapter on my profile and Discord, and subs will be due on the 31st of March. I've got a little under half of my cast, though I haven't decided whether I want a partial or the full cast, and so you're totally free to sub until the 31st. I'd like to thank everyone for their support and reviews so far, and I hope you enjoyed these prologues. Mirabelle, Signet, Chalet, Linnet, Avarette, Pericles and our unnamed "ghost" who we'll see more of later: these are our Capitol characters who we'll see more of throughout the story. What do you think of them? The next chapter will be introducing our first three Tributes, and I'll reveal the order along with the cast list after the deadline. I'm so excited to get into introducing the Tributes and furthering the Capitol plot. That's about all I have to say for now, but stay tuned sometime after March 31st to see the cast list on my profile! Hope you are all doing wonderfully and thank you so much for all your interest and support so far.

Much love,

Miri