Amelia Westwood:
No entry
Hans Corone
“Who in the world are you?”
I stare with no small amount of contempt at the commoner that dare ask me what my name is. I place my hands on my hips and glower into the commoner’s soul.
Why would the Gamemakers have led me to her? Even now, the tolling of the clock tower’s bell pulls on me and ensures the only direction I can go is forward. Unfortunately, it seems that with the hypnotic bell in the background, my options appear to be tolerate this girl, or kill her.
“Might I dare to ask who you are, little girl?” I inquire.
The little girl part is rather unfair of me, and I am aware of it. From the looks of her, I would have guessed this girl to be almost as old as I am. Of course, one-in this case, meaning myself- could debate that I am centuries older than she is, seeing as I was born and dead long before her grandparents were born.
She bits her lip. A peculiar habit, that biting of the lip.
“My name is Madeleine,” she says.
To be quite frank, the name Madeleine takes me by surprise. It does not sound peculiar and futuristic in any way at all. I would have expected a name that was at the very least a little bit odd.
“And yours?” This Madeleine asks.
I move my arms in the air in a mockery of a bow. “Prince Hans, at your service.”
“And are you going to kill me?” She asks.
I roll my eyes at her. “Quite frankly, little girl, had I felt the urge to murder you, I would have done so prior to this moment.” I pause. “And quite frankly, I am not in the mood to do so now.”
“You said quite frankly twice,” Madeleine says.
I narrow my eyes at her in a display of irritation. “And what is wrong with that, little girl?”
The girl flounders for words under my glower. “N- nothing. It just-it sounds repetitive and funny.”
Even though I am not entirely sure as to what she means by those words, I can infer that she does not intend them as a compliment.
“As if you should be calling anyone funny when you appear like…” I nod to her, “That.”
Madeleine’s expression morphs into one of insult. I walk on past her in the direction of the clock tower of the arena.
“There is nothing wrong with the way I look!” She protests. She steps in front of my path to force me to provide her with an answer.
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