I

PROLOGUE

"The glittering sea of eyes, judging as the jury and executioner, follow me as I march toward the ivory doors that will lead me to greatness… or certain death."

"Miss Romaine? The President is ready to see you now."

Ah, Miss Romaine. I haven't been called that in a long time. It's always Augusta, you royal failure or Augusta, you suckup or something along those lines. My career in the Capitol has been less than ideal. You'd think designing the grandest, bloodiest spectacle ever conceived by man's deranged minds would gain you some respect, but apparently, I haven't mastered the fickle and fine art of social standing yet.

My eyes rise from the floor, meeting the crisp and attentive stare of the attendant. She's dressed primly, formal and authoritative, her forehead stretched back by her bun of blonde hair. Her complexion, as pale and severe as white flame, is riddled with shadows, the planes of her features obscured by the shades cast in the room. She nods concisely toward me and turns heel, strutting off down the hallway without waiting for me to follow.

I nearly trip over myself rising out of my chair. The papers cradled in my arms ruffle dangerously, threatening to spill, but I clutch them closer to my chest and make off to match strides with the attendant. The woman herself, the eerie sound of the piano permeating through the chamber like an elusive ghost, the thirty-foot ceilings, the murals capturing eagles in flight and deer in frolic… everything about this corridor adjacent to the single most important room in all of Panem was meticulously designed to make me feel small and insignificant… and it's sure as hell working.

It's been nineteen years since I've started my work here in the Capitol and it never ceases to amaze me. Even this walkway, bridging between the sterile, vigorous energy plant and the mansion holding the Man himself is strung with decor fit for kings.

And in a way, it is made for a king. The most dangerous, lavish king of them all.

"Alright then, ground rules," I nearly jump out of my skin. The attendant turns to face me, her icy spires of eyes staring into my brown ones with the corners of her lips pulled taut over her teeth in a contempt sneer. No, maybe sneer wasn't the word for it. Resting bitch face was more like it.

"When we enter the manor, I can accompany you no further. The presidential quarters shall be obvious enough, I needn't describe them to you. While you are in the presence of the President and his advisors, you are to be on your best behavior. You touch nothing for it is all duly expensive. You shall keep a cool temper," she instructed. Her voice was affected with the harsh accent of a native Capitol citizen; her vowels were shortly clipped and the ends of her sentences raised as if she were asking me questions.

A vague part of me was offended. These rules were something you told your less than idyllic child, not a grown woman with plans in her arms that would construct listless killing machines. The other, much more rational part of me was intimidated.

"Yes, ma'am. Noted."

The attendant seemed pacified. Her sneer eased a tad. She extended a hand to me, long manicured nails that were more talons and all. I gingerly took it, shaking her hand sheepishly.

"My name is Aquila. If you need anything during your stay, Miss Romaine, call for me."

I open my mouth- the customary please, call me Augusta on my tongue- but the words die as soon as they rise to my lips. It's been a while since I have been called a title of respect. I like it. I guess the Capitol draws out the inner narcissist in everyone.

"Sure, Aquila. Would it be presumptuous to ask-"

But Aquila was gone. Disappeared from near plain sight and retreated into the shadows that bordered everything in this place.

Formidable. Just like everything else.

The doors of the presidential mansion stand before me, imposing and ominous in their oaken glory. They reach all the way up to the ceiling, absolutely gargantuan, and the twin knobs are sturdy gold. They tower above me in mocking unapproachability. Go on, then. Open us. Make a fool of yourself and then get beheaded with the rest, Augusta, you worthless poser.

Nothing left to do, then.

I take a deep breath to steel myself. One, two, three…

The doors groan open, revealing to me the grandeur of the building every little Capitol girl dreams about fondly. The presidential mansion.

The chillingly beautiful, subdued tones of a harp waft about this place. Gold statues of horses are stationed on either side of a plush velvet carpet unraveling toward-

Aquila was right about the entrance being unmissable. Directly across from me stand twin ivory doors. The emblem of Panem is etched into their white faces regally and unmistakably and half a dozen Peacekeepers are stationed on either side, standing attentively with tense legs, backs, shoulders, just daring someone to intrude.

I walk toward them with a fierce determination kindling in my chest. If I stand to admire the scenery for too long, I'll lose my edge. There will be plenty of time for gawking later. Assuming the President likes what I have and doesn't kill me.

As I arrive, the densely scattered sentries tighten their haphazard formation. The squad captain, marked by the medals glittering on his arm, steps forward to block me.

"Identification."

"Yes, right," I curse myself when my shaking fingers fumble with my papers as I struggle to take out my Gamemaker's Card. A few spill to the ground, scattering before my feet and flying every which way.

Nice. So much for looking professional.

I'm near certain the Peacekeeper is laughing at me as I scramble after my data. Not a single sentry moves a muscle until I've regained my papers, posture, and Gamemaker's Card. I hand it to the squad captain and fight to steady my traitorous heartbeat as he studies my info and the grainy picture in the top left corner. After what I assume is an eternity, he hands it back to me.

"Welcome to the presidential mansion, Head Gamemaker Romaine."

I give him a brief nod as his squad parts to give me a clear path of entry. The glittering sea of eyes, judging as the jury and executioner, follow me as I march toward the ivory doors that will lead me to greatness… or certain death.

A/N: Thanks for stopping by! I am ECSTATIC to begin this SYOT. Tribute forms can be found on my bio, and I will soon be posting a list of District vacancies on my bio as well.

Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!