"So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain.

A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?"

Caldisla Zanth, Capital Stylist, 26

Arabel is giving me that look from across the room. The one where the next words out of her mouth will be some sort of obvious comment that I could most definitely live without. Too tired to pre-empt it, I wait for the inevitable stream of words. They'll come soon. I hope so, anyway. At least it would be more interesting than watching the same shot of various tributes eating, and sleeping, and foraging, and not killing.

The biggest arena ever. That's what the Gamemakers proclaimed it as during the bloodbath. A landscape that dwarfed any previous settings for the Games twofold. Wide sprawling fields that would soon be covered in all of the different splatters, splotches and splashes of blood we could imagine. It would be the grandest stage of them all they swooned, trying to get us, the citizens of the Capitol suckered in like moths to a flame. Unfortunately for them, it didn't take long for the pouring rain to extinguish it.

The only good thing is that if nobody is dying, it means that Kensey isn't dying. As long as he manages to keep himself alive, my chance of being the first debut stylist to dress a victor increases along with it.

Arabel's loud sigh rips me from my thoughts of disappointment and slight acceptance. I return a sigh of my own, a lowly one to try and display my dislike of having to turn to face her, just to see her spinning back and forth on her chair. She misses it completely, of course.

"Caldisla, I'm so bored." Arabel whines, "It's been five days since the last death and eleven of them are still left! Why can't they just hurry up and kill each other already?"

I can't help but roll my eyes, my head shaking in time.

"Arabel, it's only been three days since the last death."

"That one doesn't count! He slipped and smacked his head off a rock, no one killed him, the idiot killed himself!

That 'idiot' was Kensey's ally, it's so nice of you to remember that Arabel. I take a deep breath to help push down my annoyance, it lets me turn my attention back the question that started this.

"Anyway, the reason deaths have been so hard to come by is simply because the arena is too big. All of the tributes are too far apart for there to be any drama." I feel like a mother explaining to her child why we can't have the object of their desires.

"Why can't they just force them together then? It would certainly be a lot more entertaining." Arabel plays the role of child a bit too well if you ask me. The pouty lips and the crossed arms are the little details that make her performance.

"I don't know Arabel, they'll probably have to try that soon. I can't believe President Bryce is happy watching this, especially when nobody in the Capitol is happy watching this." Irritation is beginning to slip into my voice, understandably of course. This is my debut games as a stylist, an event I have dreamed of ever since I saw the first Games.

My memories of that year are anything but clear, if I'm being honest. The arena, the tributes, the Games themselves; they're all just a vague blur in my head. It happened, that's all I really know.

All of the costumes, on the other hand, remain the same images of fantasy, as clear to me as they were when I first saw them. Glossy suits covered in rich rubies for District One, flowing cloaks woven from crisp copper-coloured wires for District Five, dark and dreary miner overalls for District Twelve. There was so much coal dust on the District Twelve tributes that as their chariot went pass, a thick black cloud was left in their wake, leaving those in front three rows covered in a layer of deep, dark dust.

At the interviews, I didn't see tributes. I saw princes in gorgeous three piece suits and princesses in elegant flowing gowns.

Compared to the later years, these costumes and outfits were so plain. So plain, but still, so beautiful. Nothing else has ever came close to the timeless air they carried.

Saying that, Kensey had done well with my creations, even if he wasn't who I would have picked if I had the choice. Nevertheless, he did what I asked him to well but still, I couldn't achieve the timeless air I desire.

For they were the first, and everything that has came after has been left in their endless shadow from which the light is an unreachable destination.

I had always hoped I could be the one to take them back into the light, my designs would capture the imagination of little girls just like it had for me fifteen years ago.

Thinking about it, it's really quite funny. I mean, I have the nerve to accuse Arabel of being childish and yet here I am, not being able to let go of my own youthful desires. My desire to be a stylist, my desire to create outfits, my desire for these outfits to forever remain embedded in the hearts and minds of the audience at home.

The two of us really are nothing more than children, sitting here in our bedclothes with near empty tubs of ice cream, which by now are more cream than ice, laying on our laps as we wait for the Games to truly begin again.

How mature of us.

"Caldisla! Caldisla! Look! Something's about to happen!"

"I swear, if this is another look at those fluffy bird mutts, I'm going to go to that field and…." I trail off. What was I going to say? It doesn't really matter, especially not when the person who is currently filling up my screen is the focus of attention.

"Hey, that's Kensey, isn't it? He's not really done much so far, I wonder why they're focusing on him."

She mustn't be able to see it. It's in the background, lurking towards him, stepping slowly as not to wake him. How could he have thought it was a good idea to not only fall asleep but on the forest floor of all places? Talk about living up to the District Seven stereotype.

"Do you have any ideas Caldisla?"

Arabel must be able to see the figure now can't she? It's right there, creeping from tree trunk to tree trunk, getting closer to Kensey with every passing moment. Every time it moves, you can see the light shining off something in its hand for just a second before it disappears behind another thick trunk. Something sharp and metallic.

"Caldisla? Caldisla? Hey, Caldisla?"

Soon it will be upon Kensey, who is somehow still sleeping soundly. His head curled and resting on his shoulder, completely unaware of the thing that wants nothing more than his blood. Within moments, it will be there, standing over him with the its fingers gripped tightly around the glinting object, ready to stain the metal with his warm blood.

"What is wrong with you, Caldisla? Stop ignoring me!"

Something's stuck in my throat. I want to swallow down this, this fear, this anxiety but the walls of my throat are too dry. Too dry to swallow, too dry to speak.

I want to scream. I want to scream so loud that Kensey will hear it, because the thing is only a few steps away from him now, and he still hasn't moved an inch.

"Caldisla!"

He can't do this to me, he was my first tribute. I spent years working on the designs for my debut year, so many nights spent drawing and visualizing costumes and outfits in pure anticipation.

And this is how Kensey repays me for all of my hard work, by laying there with eyes closed as the figure gazes down on him, trying to build up the nerve to kill him. After a few seconds, it swallows and powers the dagger through his chest.

The cannon follows moments later.

Suddenly, something cold and hard strikes my cheek. I look down onto my lap to see what hit me, what greets me is a spoon covered in the remains of ice cream.

"Caldisla."

Looking up, I see Arabel standing in front of her chair with her hands on hips and a defined pout on her lips.

"It's rude not to give people an answer when they've asked you a question, you know."

I say nothing.

I don't know what to say.

My eyes are beginning to burn and my throat is still dry and I do not want to be here with Arabel.

I launch myself up from my chair, both of my feet hitting the ground with a sudden thump. I turn away from my friend before opening my mouth, using every bit of my will to keep my voice sounding steady.

"I'm going to my room. I'm really tired and…. I want to sleep. You can stay for as long as you want. Just, make sure to lock the door when you leave."

I can hear Arabel calling my name from behind me but I don't respond. My brisk walk turns into a run the closer I get to my bedroom. Soon enough, I am inside my own personal space. Light is flooding in from over my head, casting the whole room in a soft, mellow glow. The source being the wide open double doors that allowed me to enter in the first place.

Using everything I have left to slam them shut again, the only thing I can do is turn the lock before I collapse onto the floor with my back against the door and my hands wrapped around my knees.

The light can only drip in from underneath the door now, giving me a lovely look of my legs, and my tears.

Deep breaths, in and out, in and out. It's not helping, it's not distracting from the truth.

Kensey is dead.

The boy who was chatting away with my assistants as they followed my plans to the letter is dead.

The prince who did my interview outfit justice is dead.

Kensey is dead, and he isn't coming back.

Right now, I would give everything I have; my job, my money, my house. I would give all of it if it could bring him back.

There is only one desire I now possess and it is one I can not have.

For all I wish is that he was here.

A/N: Hello, this is my new story, The Gates of Dawn which is my second attempt at a SYOT. I've had my one false start and I swear I'll get this one finished for no other reason than I want to have a completed a SYOT.

The form is on my profile along with some things to keep in mind. The deadline is the 31st of December although it could be earlier if I think I have all the tributes I need.

I'll be posting a second prologue before Christmas and a third prologue which will include tribute lists and blog links and the like on the day I close submissions.

And with that, I hope any of my writing above made you want to submit to me, I'm so excited to see what you all come up.

I'll hopefully see you in a week or so~

-Luna