The Fourth Annual Writer Games: Canon

The Enemy | Females

District One – Dioria Rose

Dioria Rose prefers obsidian to charcoal, jet to soot. She likes her blacks absolute, devoid of any light whatsoever. On the rare occasion when she chooses to cloak herself in shadows, she doesn't want to blend into the night; she wants to be darker than it. The slightest hint of grey, the smallest touch of uncertainty, and she is put off altogether.

It isn't until now that she realizes just how frightening true obscurity can be.

"I know you did it, Dacre."

Pandora died sometime during the night. Her life was taken in the shadows, and by the time the light came back, the hovercraft had already claimed her body. Were it not for the cannon and the sounds of the hovercraft which woke her up, Dioria would be inclined to think that Pandora had decided to abandon them. It is noon now, and Dioria has spent the last few hours thinking, thinking, thinking herself into a frenzy, trying to understand what force would claim a Career in the middle of the night. It should've been obvious all along that the only thing capable of that is another Career.

"Me, Dioria? You're the one who hated her. I wouldn't put it past you to have slit her throat in the middle of the night."

Dacre's voice is rough and croaky; Dioria's is much the same. Thirst makes each word claw at her throat, and though her bottle is still full of muddied water, it doesn't soothe. It provides nothing but the minimum, keeps her alive and does no more. Still, she's thankful. In One, she never would've thought she could appreciate something so small, nor something so disgusting.

"Bullshit. She was a bitch, sure, but a useful one. We don't have the numbers to turn on each other, not with Maur still out there anyway. When I get him..."

"Maybe it was him," Dacre offers.

It's an interesting proposal, and Dioria considers it for a few moments. If she didn't kill Pandora, and Dacre insists he didn't either, Maur is the one other tribute capable of facing off against the now-dead girl from Two. Not that Dioria trusts Dacre. She'd be a fool to. Now that there are only two of them, she can't turn her back on him, can't sleep unless she's sure he's asleep too. Most important, she can't lose him in the darkness once tonight falls. For once, she is thankful for the purple tint to midnight. When it falls, she will be able to see his shape; it isn't much, but it'll have to do.

"Maybe," she concedes. "But why Pandora? You're the biggest physical threat, and I got the top training score. Plus, Pandora's his partner. There's no logical reason for him to target her first."

"Who said there needs to be logic? Maybe he stumbled onto the camp, saw that Pandora had fell asleep on watch – she must've been asleep, or we would've heard some kind of a struggle – and hunger and desperation did the rest. There are eleven of us left. At this point, any kill is worth getting."

"Even me?"

Dacre sighs. Dioria can hear his condescension creeping through its exasperated huff, but decides not to comment. There's no point in provoking him. He's a sleeping lion, and she has to trod as carefully as she can around him. If she missteps, if she wanders onto his tail, he will pounce. And, confident as she is that she could take him on in a fight, she isn't sure she could get out uninjured. When she strikes, it won't be a fair fight. She can't afford it to be.

"Can we agree, at least for now, that we're both more to each other alive than dead? Once Maur is out of the way, it's another story. But for now..."