Naya Illumina, 17, District Four Female
Naya has always considered herself to be an intelligent and dedicated person. Yes, any rational soul might argue that Naya has her flaws, and she can acknowledge them herself sometimes—especially now, when it seems this nightmarish Arena has brought them all out in stark contrast.
Despite this, Naya can look back on her life and take comfort in the images she sees: her surfing over the ocean, her pleading for the environment's well-being despite the world's oblivious ignorance, her striving to train until her very bones ached... all so she could rise above the darkness and somehow, against everything, manage to do good.
Now she walks through the streets in search for a water source, and cringes at the fact that she has no nature surrounding her to draw strength from. No magnificent waterfall to sail, no staggering mountain to scale, no glimmering rainforest to explore.. every natural wonder she'd only seen in books and her dreams is leagues beyond her reach. The thought that she may never see them now is a staggering, terrible, twinging ache. She longs for freedom. She longs to stand in awe of the world's breathtaking beauty, and to preserve them forever from the taint of careless people.
But she knows that no matter what she does, the world will someday burn, and there's nothing she can do to prevent that forever.
But there are small things she can accomplish; small things that may one day cause momentous change. And she needs to do everything in her power to harness her dream and bring it to life.
She comes upon a fountain, a depiction of a serene nymph, reposing with her delicate marble hands behind her head. Water spews from her mouth.
To see the water brings a physical reaction from Naya that she hadn't expected. Her body moves forward involuntarily, and she can feel the thirst like a great yawning chasm inside her. The world would surely be ironic indeed, to kill her from thirst. It would be a natural, environmental death; she'd be killed by the very thing she'd so longed to protect.
But Naya can't think like that. Surely, she has done so much that she can't deserve to die. The world needs her too deeply; her allies depend on her.
She draws closer, wary and uncertain. Perhaps the fountain could be contaminated. She has to be mindful and careful and keen. And Naya knows, without a silhouette of doubt, that she is intelligent. And nobody could say that Naya is not driven.
She examines the water. It looks clear, cool and refreshing and pure...
She can't let herself get distracted. If she's to bring this back to her allies, she needs to ensure that it's safe.
She cautiously withdraws a bottle from her bag, dingy and cracked from the moment she'd salvaged it at a stall. Still, it carries the water just fine as she fills it a fraction from the fountain.
She raises it to her nose, attempting to carefully waft it so she doesn't have to breathe it in. She smells nothing but the slightest tinge of metal from the bottle.
Perhaps there are flaws in Naya's understanding as well as her personality. She knows all there is to know about many things, but one area she forgot to study was that of tonics and herbs and poisons.
Still, it would take a truly heartless person to poison a fountain. Perhaps Tremor could have found a way to poison it just hours before she arrived, but Naya has searched the stalls thoroughly—she knows they're picked clean, and she knows that the Careers were never in possession of poison.
Besides, Naya knows about water. She's intelligent and dedicated and needed. She couldn't possibly be wrong about this.
For some bizarre reason, Naya sees an image of Caldwell Kingsen flash behind her eyes: his disheveled hair and arrogant grin, and how he claimed to be infallible. Immortal.
He's dead now.
She shakes off his memory. The last thing she needs is to be haunted by her District partner now. He is gone, and there's nothing to be done about it. No reason to dwell.
Naya curses her own indecision. Perhaps if she'd not been so faltering, her allies could have water now. Blade and Alessio have looked slightly paler than usual, drawn and tired, for the past few days. She needs to keep them safe. They're her responsibility.
Perhaps she could test it first, have a sip and see what it does to her. That way, she can prevent her allies from potential harm.
But that would mean... that would mean she'd be in danger of dying. She'd be putting her life at risk for Blade and Alessio.
And it should be an easy decision. Of course she should want to be brave and drink, no matter the effects, if it means Blade and Alessio don't have to.
But there is the matter of her need to win, to save the world.
And she's not sure if Alessio or Blade ever really cared about her. She's not sure if anyone truly does.
Why should she care?
Perhaps it's the same answer as before.
Somebody has to.
Naya conquers her indecision, feeling the goodness inside her win out, and takes a sip from the bottle.
The water tastes almost normal, but for the subtle aftertaste. She winces, beginning to feel the first hints of fear.
Maybe this was all a mistake. She recalls the girl from Eight, Felicia Rae Simmons, and the light leaving her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
Maybe making this sacrifice can somehow atone for all the ways that Naya has failed.
She begins walking back toward the printing press, and she isn't sure if she's imagining her shaking legs, the lightheadedness. She has to make it back, just in case...
It's such a long way...
But Naya has walked farther stretches before; she has braved the darkness. She can brave it again.
Except... Naya can truly feel the dizziness now, a dull pain in the back of her mind that swells and chills her to the bones. Her thirst still rages on, her throat longing for moisture.
If only she were among the waves and the golden sand and the sunshine, all of it a gentle reassurance that things would be okay. Naya had always seen the ocean as testament to the environment's beauty, and proof that it was worth saving. That even if she had not saved her mother, even if she could not escape the downpour of her father's hateful words, the environment would always be a worthy cause. She could still do something right.
She thinks she may have lost sight of that, somewhere in this deluge of fear and misdirection. Somewhere between killing Colby and Felicia.
Naya feels as if every single piece inside her is disintegrating. She tries to stumble on, away from the fountain and toward her allies, but her legs give out beneath her, solid as jelly.
She barely registers the pain of the stones digging into her cheek as she feels herself floating, dissipating like sand in the waves...
But no. It's not time to die yet. She cannot die. She still has not made her mark. She hasn't managed to save anything. All these years, she's been struggling to salvage a world that felt like it was ever on the edge of security, just waiting to topple. Naya has never truly felt secure.
She'd once hoped that she could change that, somehow. But now she feels as powerless as a tiny butterfly in a windstorm, beating her wings and yet getting nowhere.
No. Naya growls and pushes herself up into sitting position, her body feeling like a sandbag. Too heavy...
But Naya has carried this weight before. She can withstand it, if only for a moment.
Naya has remained unheard for so long. But she will never be silent. Her voice cannot be taken from her.
She pictures President Graymore, young and vulnerable and so sure that she'd come back from this Arena in one piece. She'd waited to tell him of her ploy in pursuit of politeness, but she regrets that now.
She regrets so many things. The questions that will forever remain unanswered, and everyone that had to die so Naya can be where she is now. For all of that to mean nothing... it would crush her.
"Signet Graymore." Naya's voice emerges hoarse and wispy from her throat, as if it could crumble to dust at any moment. But the street is quiet and her words still manage to ring. "I'm not sure if you're watching... but if you are, I wish to give one last appeal. I am currently not in a state to fulfill these requests, and so I bestow them on you, and the country as a whole. You were kind to me in the Capitol. I hope you meant your words.
"As you may know, it was my lifelong duty to protect the quickly deteriorating environment. Though I might not live to see this dream come to fruition, it is my hope that it outlives me. You must act quickly; please, install laws and regulations to prevent pollution and carelessness. If we—if you do not act quickly, the very world may suffer for it."
(Though her heart is welling up with all the regret, the wistfulness and the hopelessness, she does not allow her voice to crack.)
"There's one more thing." She feels half-ridiculous, speaking to the sky. If only things had not been so different in the Capitol; maybe then she'd have included all this in that letter. "My allies will soon die from thirst. If there is any mercy in your hearts, please give them water. The fountain is poisoned. I have done all I can."
It is as if, upon saying those words, her body deflates. She sprawls back onto the ground and her consciousness begins to untether from her body, like a hot air balloon.
She sees the images of what could've been, the vague shapes of delicate dreams. She almost pushes them away and attempts to focus, to keep moving.
But she cannot bring herself to move. Because the images are so beautiful.
She sees herself, emerging victorious from this accursed place, somehow unmarked by sins and regrets. (She'd hoped those small regrets would mean nothing in the long run, but they've caught up to her now.) She sees Signet Graymore, smiling at her with open arms, welcoming her home. She sees her father in rehabilitation, no longer able to run rampant, healed after years of turmoil.
She sees herself as something more than she is now: Minister of Environmental Affairs in the Capitol, the very first. She is making changes, saving endangered species, and all the while the world is thanking her for it.
The fantasy is precarious and short-lived. She feels it wobble, then shatter, dashed to pieces against the unforgiving surface of reality.
How Caldwell Kingsen would gloat, to see her like this.
She finds, astonishingly, that she doesn't mind so much what he thinks anymore. She's made peace with her hatred, her worries and regrets. She cannot ignore the fact that she is flawed—she holds those flaws up to the light and acknowledges them, finally understanding that she may be intelligent and driven, but she's not perfect.
She just wishes she could do something with the newfound discovery. She longs for proof that all of her actions meant something, even if that meaning is miniscule.
Nothing turned out the way she wanted.
But nobody will ever say that Naya Illumina did not try her very best.
Over the pounding in her head and the fracturing of her vision, Naya swears she can see and hear the ocean, its rhythm slowly filling her mind.
It seems to lull her for a moment, washing away hate and regret and pain and worry.
The ocean takes and it gives. It creates and it destroys. That's what makes it so beautiful.
Naya relaxes against the stones, and she is taken by the tide.
...
Luz Contreras, 15, District Nine Female
It's strange, for Luz to be alone.
More than strange.
She is so used to attending to others' needs, always hyper-focused on people's emotions. She's always tried to make those around her as comfortable as possible, to show them kindness and love, despite any previous circumstances. That's what she was taught: kindness when needed, no strings attached.
Now she's finally lost everyone. Asa, Callisto... just gone.
She thinks of her family back home; how she longs to be with them. She cannot bear to think of her little sister, Anza, watching all of these atrocities.
She can't bear the thought of returning to them without Asa, who'd been a part of the family for a few years now.
She's missed Asa in all the big, life-shattering ways. But now she knows she will miss small things, too.
Watching the sunset with him. Teaching him how to make daisy chains. Seeing him laugh with Anza—Anza always loved Asa so much. She'd clung to his legs when they'd said their final goodbye. Luz's family must be so distraught.
Asa always seemed to think that there was nobody who loved him, nobody who would miss him. He failed to understand that there were others beyond Luz who would notice the terrible gaping of his absence. Linnet, her mother and father, Anza.
The thoughts send such deep pain through Luz. She wonders how long she can cry and wish and wonder, before it's all spent.
She thinks of better days. Sun-soaked fields and porch swings, laughter and kissing on a deserted soccer field. The mischievous gleam in Asa's eye.
She knows there were hard times as well, but right now it seems her mind can only focus on the beautiful moments. Even the saddest times are framed in the shrine of her mind: holding Asa's hand as she tended his wounds, the slow forging of a bond that Luz hoped would never break.
But Asa was always more romantic than her. He'd dreamed of so many things for them, and now he's not around to help them come true.
For the first time, it hits Luz Contreras that this is not a terrible nightmare she can wake up from. That things will never be the same again.
Even if she wins, she will never have another beautiful moment.
It almost sends her back into the darkness, the aftershock of Asa's death and the threatening swell of tears. She no longer has Cal to drag her back from her misery.
But she needs to keep moving. That's the only way she can keep her grief at bay.
It's been a day. Surely somebody has happened upon her sleeping draft by now.
She'd considered never returning to this hut and the awful memories it brings. But, logically, it was the only place for her to stay, and there was no feasible way of spying on her fountain. A lone girl lingering in the square would be suspicious, as well as an easy target.
And Luz can't die, not yet. She still needs to prevent the Capitol from causing more damage.
She walks out of her hut, Asa's letter tucked in her pocket. She still cannot bring herself to read it. Soon, she promises herself. Soon, she will let herself succumb to grief, to cry and mourn.
But right now, she needs to ensure that her plan is working. Now that she's calmer, she cannot ignore the flaws that riddle her plot, and... well, she worries.
Hopefully for nothing.
She rounds the corner and her eyes land on the stage. The creaking guillotine, the blade swinging in the wind.
There's the fountain, with its beautiful architecture. There's a girl, sprawled beside it, her arm propped at a strange angle beneath her—as if she were frozen in the midst of moving.
Luz steps forward. She's just sleeping.
Right?
(She did hear a cannon earlier. But there are so very few souls left, and so much death. She didn't think twice about the sound.)
As she nears the prostrate figure, she recognizes her as the girl from Four, Naya. Her elegant features are slack, and her skin...
Her skin is colorless, her lips tinged faintly blue.
Luz can make out no sign of breathing.
(In that moment, she flashes back to Asa, still and limp in her arms. His slack hand, his bloodless skin.)
"No." She shakes her head, uncomprehending. This simply can't be true.
She determinedly makes her way forward, refusing to falter in her steps, until she reaches the girl. She does not look better up close.
Luz falls to her knees—no, her legs give out beneath her. She is lifting Naya's eyelids, checking for pulse.
Every logical sign points to death.
Luz cannot breath. An awful gasping sound escapes her, as if her body is trying to form a scream but has no breath for sound.
She's never been wrong with prescriptions. She's always careful with medicines, she never mislabels...
She leaves the girl's side, unable to look at her anymore, and runs back to her hut—what had once been their hut.
She looks for the vial.
Light blue sleeping draft: full. Untouched.
Dark blue poison: empty. Not even dregs remain.
She's never made a mistake before, never at the apothecary. Luz is trustworthy, responsible.
And yet the fog of grief disrupted her logic. In the moment that really mattered, she'd switched the vials. Dropped one and retrieved the other.
And now a girl's death is on her hands.
This can't be happening. It can't be real.
She'd meant to help. She'd hoped to save them.
But Luz hadn't planned it well. She always plans things, down to the last detail.
She should've known this would go wrong. Should've stopped this somehow.
She doubles over then, choked sobs escaping her.
"I didn't mean to," she whispers helplessly. "I wanted to help!"
Her family will never forgive her. Asa...
Numbly, Luz reaches into her pocket and takes out the letter. Tears blur her vision, making the jagged handwriting even more unreadable.
But it's unmistakably Asa's messy scrawl.
She'd hoped that she would eventually recover. That somehow, she'd be able to fix things.
But now she knows that's impossible. There will be no end to her grief.
And she needs Asa's comforting words now more than ever.
She's just not sure that she deserves them.
How could she be so careless? How could she fail to see this coming?
She has to fix it. Write a note warning of the fountain's poison, wash it out, somehow...
But Luz will never wash the blank, dead look of Naya's eyes from her mind.
She opens the envelope. Slowly draws out the letter.
The words are foggy in her grief-tinted vision. Her mind refuses to process their meaning. She holds the letter close to her chest, so it won't be soaked through with tears.
"I'm so sorry, Asa," she whispers.
Later, she will read this time and time again. She will take in every single word of love, and she will try to let them sink in.
Simply looking at Asa's handwriting gives her a simple premonition. That Luz can do nothing to change his love for her. That he will always forgive her.
She catches fragments of the letter, can almost hear Asa's voice whispering the words in the back of her mind.
"Don't be afraid of death... You are light, Luz. You are light and love and healing. It's time for you to let me go."
She folds the letter. Her fingers feel like lead. She can't look at his words, not when she feels so sullied.
She never dreamed she'd kill someone. Not unless they threatened her or Asa. But even then...
She's made a terrible mistake. And not unlike her shrine of golden moments, Luz knows that there is no going back.
...
Blade Cassidy, 18, District Six Male
"She's not coming back, is she?"
Blade shakes his head.
It's truly just the two of them now. Their other allies, gone in the span of a single day.
Alessio's eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, and there's a deep sadness around him. He looks, for lack of a better word, heartbroken. But there's a new, bright focus in his eyes, somehow. He watches Blade with a steady gaze.
Blade himself can feel the slow spread of numbness through his body. Not just to the claw-marks in his arm, which are still jagged and angry from infection. No, there's a cavern inside him that spreads and expands until the cavity of his chest is filled with emptiness.
He shouldn't have gotten attached to Naya. But... well.
She'd promised to come back.
"I don't think so," signs Blade, half-distractedly. "We'll know of their fates soon enough. The sun is setting."
Does this make him a bad person? There's a weight in his head, a guilt that resounds hollowly through his mind. Perhaps he should grieve over Naya.
But for this moment, he's glad it was not Alessio who'd died, with Blade unable to protect him.
Blade is still, unbelievably, glad for the beating of his own heart. Glad that he himself is still alive.
Alessio stares at him with those sad eyes. His walls are now almost completely gone. Something happened to him, out there beyond the building where his ghosts lived.
Blade knows better than to pry. Sometimes it's best to listen and wait. He knows that more than anyone.
He's never had a person who would sit beside him in his grief, who would love him for simply existing. Ever since Blade's parents were murdered, he's felt entirely alone, a cold loneliness living deep inside him that could never be reached.
But he has someone now, in Alessio. He's not sure either of them truly realize how much they've helped each other, even while saying nothing at all.
A sudden pain makes Blade gasp. He closes his eyes momentarily, cursing himself for being so weak that he can't handle a minor arm wound.
He ties the bandage tighter, gritting his teeth. He can't afford to be so vulnerable, not with Tremor out there somewhere. When Blade kills him, he doesn't want to have an easily exploited weakness.
Blade feels Alessio's gaze on him and glances up. Alessio looks equal parts puzzled and alarmed.
"Your arm," he signs.
"It's nothing."
Alessio glances down at his own wound, mostly scabbed over but not completely healed.
Naya would know what to do, if only he'd asked her.
"Does it hurt still?" Alessio still looks surprised, like he'd never even noticed the wound. Blade is unused to the boy showing such concern. It makes him feel unexpectedly safe.
"Really, I'm fine," Blade signs, trying to convince the both of them.
Alessio searches around in their supplies for a moment before tossing Blade a tiny container of salve.
"Maybe this will help?" There's a note of uncertainty in his eyes. Neither of them know what they're doing.
"I'm not sure why it's bothering me so much," Blade signs reluctantly. "I've had worse scrapes before."
"Maybe the gargoyle's claws were laced with something. Besides, it looks like an infection." Alessio looks away, shaking his head, like he can't believe he's even telling Blade this.
But Blade has come to the realization that he trusts Alessio. That he's the only one who's truly seen Blade.
Blade would've left days ago, if it hadn't been for the ever-secretive, yet somehow reassuring Twelve boy.
He can hardly admit that to himself, though. Trust is a dangerous thing, for all parties involved.
That doesn't stop Blade from being fond of Alessio, though. The feeling of having a friend is strange and unfamiliar and not entirely unpleasant.
"Thank you," he finally signs.
Alessio does not respond. But Blade takes that as answer enough. He gingerly spreads salve over the rash-red wound and is surprised by the cool, calming effect.
He's surprised when he looks up and sees Alessio signing. His movements are almost frantic.
"I've told you things. You've seen me talking to..." He trails off. "Talking to things that you can't see. Now tell me something."
Blade almost laughs at the solemnity in Alessio's eyes, as if the exchanging of words is a matter of debt—a secret for a secret.
And maybe he's right. Maybe Blade does owe Alessio a secret. Blade comes to the realization that Alessio is using Blade's own tactic: talking to keep them both distracted.
He sighs. "I suppose the Capitol must know now anyway."
Still, it feels strange to tell Alessio this. As if he's showing him an open, exposed wound.
But he supposes they've both already done that. Literally.
"You remember how I killed those crime lords? Well... it didn't stop there. I was so angry with them, the Capitol and the criminals that ran rampant because of their neglect. Nobody cared about Six. There was hardly a justice system there.
"So I started killing criminals at night. I killed so many monsters, Alessio. And now I've killed good people. That girl from Three. She did nothing to deserve that."
There's a pause that seems to last a lifetime, in which Alessio's eyes are locked on his. The boy is a remarkably good listener. So Blade says the last part, the part that feels like a knife to the gut.
"And I've done nothing to deserve living this long. But I have to keep going because..." He stops. He can't tell Alessio of his plan to kill the President, not when the Capitol's cameras are trained on them.
"Because it's the only thing you can do." And Alessio's words hold so much weight.
"Exactly."
It's strange, how sharing one's sadness with someone equally troubled somehow lifts the burden. One would think that it would only make you sink deeper.
But somehow, it doesn't. Blade feels like something is being lifted from deep inside him, like water from a well.
"I killed someone, too," Alessio signs slowly. "Before the Games... I lived—I lived in a mine, back in Twelve." He stops, shakes his head. "Why am I telling you this?"
"Maybe because we're friends?"
The half-sarcastic comment is out in the open before Blade can think twice about it. Alessio looks stricken.
Blade winces. "I'm sorry. Never mind; I didn't mean—"
Alessio holds up a finger, stilling Blade's apology. "I just... I've never—"
Blade nods. Neither has he.
"I killed a miner," Alessio signs, so quickly that it takes a moment for Tremor's mind to process it.
"I thought he was going to die anyway. Or, if he didn't die, that he would report me and get me arrested. And—and I needed his weapon."
Alessio looks away again, a kind of defeat in his shoulders.
"You did what you thought you had to," Blade signs.
Alessio nods. And in that moment, Blade is so exhausted that he wants to curl up and fall asleep; but more than that, he feels safe enough to rest. He almost wants to grow accustomed to this new feeling of mutual trust. He can't quite believe that it's real.
"How could you still want to be here, after I told you that?" signs Alessio, and his hands are shaking. "Why haven't you left?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
A bitter smile crosses Alessio's features. "Fair enough."
Neither of them have the words to answer the question. And so they don't. Blade can almost imagine what he'd say, and he knows that Alessio trusts him to some degree—otherwise, he'd have left.
"Are you alright?" Alessio says, and his eyes have that careful concern in them again, his features softening.
Blade lets out a breath. "I will be. At least we're matching now."
He holds out his arm, displaying the wound like a trophy.
A small, tentative smile crosses Alessio's face, and it holds no trace of bitterness or fatigue. Blade blinks, feeling strangely accomplished for drawing out a moment of happiness in Alessio.
But when he looks back, Alessio's face is tired and shadowed again.
"What about you?" signs Blade. "Are you alright?"
Alessio's dark eyes close momentarily, and Blade catches a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath his hostile veneer.
But then Alessio opens his eyes again, and they are rock-solid once more. "I don't know."
Blade rests his head back against the wall for a moment, allowing himself to feel all that he's been trying to avoid. "That makes two of us."
Alessio must hear something beyond the building, because his shoulders tense, sending dread unspooling through Blade. He stands, careful not to put weight on his right arm. Alessio walks to the door so he can better hear the voice of the Capitol, heralding in the latest deaths. Blade comes to stand beside him.
"Ah, young survivors; you, the few left standing. Surely you cannot live this long without a few voices in your head, a few lost souls that haunt your dreams. Grief can cloud one's logic, sometimes. Nobody could blame you for getting a bit... caught up in your emotions. Unfortunately, small lapses in judgment so sometimes cause large consequences. You walk a perilous line, my young players."
Blade hates the Capitol, hates this nameless figure with his mocking words. Alessio, interpreting, has a clouded, icy expression on his face. Neither of them want to hear what comes next.
"Jacqueline Baylor, brave to the end/Who vanquished the dark and drew strength from her friend.
"And Naya, who felt she was misunderstood/B who braved the unknown to do something good.
"Our time together draws nigh to a close. Who can say how things will end? The rest, I think, depends on you."
Blade turns away from the door, momentarily overcome by hatred for the Capitol. They've drawn this out, twisted the Tributes' minds, and caused the purest souls to lose themselves. And beyond that, they have the nerve to take a Tribute's life and compact it into a meaningless couplet.
"That's it, then," Alessio signs, and now there's a sort of apathy lingering between the walls, crawling through the cracks in the corners.
Blade stares up at the ceiling. "I'm guessing Tremor killed Jack."
"Probably."
A shadow passes over the still-open door. Blade turns, wondering what new horror he'll find.
He doesn't expect to see a large parachute, struggling to bare the weight of a heavy case. The parachute sinks to the stones just outside the building.
"Somebody sent us something," Blade signs grimly.
He can't imagine why. The Capitol doubtless has no love for Blade, and he even less love for them. As for Alessio... well, he hasn't outright asked the boy's opinion, and he doesn't feel the need to, surprisingly enough.
He walks out into the night, the air chill on his face. He unties the parachute and opens the case to reveal a dozen or so water bottles.
"Look at that," signs Alessio. His eyes are wild, and Blade can feel his own thirst reawakening with a new vengeance.
"There's a note," Alessio signs.
Blade finds the rolled-up piece of paper and unfurls it. "To Blade and Alessio. Naya of Four was very insistent that you receive this. It seems the President couldn't ignore her dying wish. Though I don't share his sentiments, I felt the need to pass this gift along."
Tremor and Alessio share a look of amazement, before Alessio darts forward to grab a bottle. Blade takes another, and they both drink, an unspoken toast to Naya hanging on the air.
And even surrounded by death, even with the pain of his arm and the boiling hate for the Capitol that never ceases, Blade lets himself feel refreshed—even peaceful.
It's a fleeting feeling. But it's nice, to linger in it for that single glimmering, suspended second.
...
5th Place: Naya Illumina, accidentally poisoned by Luz Contreras. Naya—vibrant, passionate, wonderful Naya. There is so much I could say about her; she is multi-faceted and complicated, and I love her dearly for that very reason. Not only does she want to do good, but she also does everything in her capacity to turn that dream into a reality. And yes, she fell short at times—but she kept trying. Her resilient and persevering spirit is deeply inspiring and admirable. I loved bringing out her passionate side, as well as the part of her that was calm and logical; she steadfastly held together an incredibly flawed Career pack, with all the grace that is typical for her. I'm so deeply sad to say goodbye to her—she was truly such a joy to write, with an incredible capacity for kindness and empowerment. Paradigm, thank you so, so much for sending Naya my way; I hope I have written her well. Here's to Naya, our empathetic environmentalist; I hope she finds tranquility in the beauty of nature.
HI! Guess what day it is? It is IIDY's one year anniversary. I'm honestly... very shocked about that! There's a part of me that knows I've been with these characters for a whole year, and there's another part that feels like writing that first prologue was just yesterday. I wanted to take a minute to show appreciation to all you wonderful submitters and readers. You've stuck with me for so long, and now here we are, almost at the end! (Although... there is a sequel coming. More details soon.)
Beyond that, I want to apologize for this chapter, lol. I felt evil after writing it, for the most part! Also, I really wanted to post it today so I may have rushed through editing; I hope that it's not too low-quality. Anyhow, welcome to Day 8, part 2! In this chapter, we saw Naya take her final stand, Luz realize that she made a terrible mistake, and Alessio and Blade have a small bonding moment. What did you think? We're getting ever closer to the finale! Is it weird that I'm nervous? I still very much feel like an SYOT beginner; it's all still a learning process for me! I wanted to quickly note that the entirety of the letters will be revealed soon (hint, epilogue, wink!) I apologize for leaving you in suspense; but worry not, I have my plans. And with that, I think that's all I have to say... here's to another year of writing! I hope you are all having a great January. We'll bring the signature back for old time's sake, and because I'm indecisive lol.
Much Love,
Miri