The Fourth Annual Writer Games: Canon

The Victor and the Spark | Females

District One – Dioria Rose

Dioria Rose prefers island white to slate grey, evening shadow to thunder sky. She likes her greys soft, more like a pigeon's feather than a boulder on the path. Why can't the commonplace be pretty, the mundane be beautiful? Grey is not just the colour of smoke, but also of a sophisticated woman's gracefully aged hair or the silver chain that holds a necklace together. Gold is much too gaudy, but silver shines with its own sort of treasure. There are over a hundred shades of greys in this world; surely, some are bound to be beautiful.

The arena looks as though it was painted in all the ugliest greys the Gamemakers could find. Ash coats the ground with a dirtied shade that screams of decay, and the sky looks as though smog covers an incoming storm. It's the type of place where she can feel her mood plummet each day under the dulling effect of the world around her. Already, Dioria can feel her legs tire faster than they should. Her resolve has started to lose some of its usual steeliness. It's as though the Gamemakers knew the effect that grey would have on her. All she can think of is that this exact grey will probably be the colour of Faust's grave back in One. But she knew he'd die, even if she didn't expect it so soon. There's no point in thinking about it, however much her mind wants to go back to the topic.

"Any tributes yet?" she asks. Linwood shakes his head. He leads the way, weaponless. Dacre suggested that he shouldn't be trusted with a blade, and that the rest of the pack were more than capable of holding their own in a fight. Even Maur wouldn't try his luck against the rest of them, not by himself. And besides, so what if Linwood gets knocked down during a fight? He's expendable. That's why he's in the front in the first place.

Pandora and Dioria walk side by side at the back of the pack. There's hardly room for two on the path, but Dioria refuses to turn her back on the girl from Two, and the feeling seems to be mutual. So they walk, weapons in hand. Occasionally, they brush into each other or bump into a tree and send the other an accusatory glare, but they've yet to get into a proper argument. When one does break, it will likely be bloody.

That doesn't bother Dioria as much as it probably should.

Overhead, the sky is brighter than it should be. It seems as though time is shorter in the arena, but Dioria must just be paranoid. Surely, they can't impact the laws of nature that drastically, can they? They would've done it by now. Still, the thin layer of grey that coats everything seems just as unnatural, if subtler, and she's willing to believe that. Why not accept some bigger change, too?

"Watch out!"

Linwood jumps back with a frightened scream, and the pack freezes. Dioria cranes her neck to see above Dacre and Ara's heads, but whatever startled Linwood must be coming from around the corner because she can't see it. It could be anything, really. Maur, an outlier alliance feeling brave, a mutt, or even

Fire.

She smells it before the rest of her senses can catch up. Smoke fills the air, bitter and corrosive as it stings down her nose. Heat boils her blood. Dioria starts to sweat. She's always hated the sensation, no matter what Instructor Glitz said about it being the proof of her efforts. In the distance, she sees the first hint of flame, and instinct kicks in. Fight or flight, they explained at the Academy, and even the best fighter can't take on a fire.

"Run!" she shouts, and the Careers rush back the way they came. A crack! echoes through the air a few seconds before a giant tree – she wants to say it's oak, but that's because it's one of the few she can actually name – comes crashing down, stopping just a few inches before her and Pandora.