It was the morning that every tribute had been dreading. It was the day when they would be carted off and sent to their deaths. Helena was woken up by Ambrosia that morning. The escort had a look of sympathy on her face, reminding the poor girl what was awaiting her. "Here's your underclothes. You'll receive the rest of your outfit at the arena." Sia spoke sadly as she handed Helena a pile on clothes. Helena took a deep breath before getting out of bed.

After showering, Helena got dressed. First, a sports bra. Then, a thermal vest top. A pair of wool tights clung to her legs with 2 pairs of socks. On top of that was a pair of thermal leggings. Layer after layer, Helena felt her body temperature rinsing. The final layer was a black cable knit jumper. Ambrosia gave a little chuckle, and Helena looked at her incredulously. "I feel like a marshmallow." The twelve-year-old stated, deadpan. "Well, at least you will be warm." Sia responded, trying not to laugh. "Besides, we need to go now."

Dread once again settled in the young tributes stomach. Helena slipped on a pair of trainers before Ambrosia led the girl outside to the lounge, where they met with Haymitch and Cole. Both had a look of confusion on their faces. It was only when Helena looked at Cole that she realised why. Cole clearly didn't have as many layers as she did, but the question was, why?

Haymitch cleared his throat. "In a minute, you guys will be getting sent to the arena. When there, listen to all instructions carefully." He said with utmost importance. "I will be taking you to the helicarrier. After that, you will be put in the hands of your stylists." Helena looked down at her feet. What she thought would be her future was now her present, and she was terrified.

"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. Cornucopia is always a bloodbath. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourself and the others, and find a source of water. I'm not gonna send either of you anything you can find on your own." Haymitch said. "Remember this - it's important: You don't win in there by killing people - despite what Seneca thinks. You win by not dying." Helena and Cole nodded at the advice of the Victor. "Run. Hide. Cheat if you have to. Let them kill each other. But stay alive."

Helena was shaking by the time Haymitch finished his speech; not by the cold, she had too many layers on to be cold, but from the fear that had settled in. She really, really didn't want to die. An announcement rang out through the tribute centre. "All tributes to the helicarrier." This was it.

The Tributes were packed into a Hovercraft. No one was talking - just eyeing one another or the floor. Helena's went unnoticed as she trembled in the corner, observing as a nurse with a nasty looking needle injected each tribute. The nurse eventually got to Helena. "Arm, please, sweetheart, I need to inject your tracker." She said warmly. Helena presented her shaking forearm to the lady who managed to hold it still. The nurse injected the tracker, and Helena let out a painful hiss.

The Hovercraft delves into darkness as the windows black out. "I guess we're getting close." Cole whispered to the twelve-year-old. Helena just nodded and looked at the floor.

Once they landed, the tributes were escorted into a blacked out van. They rode in silence; Fists clenching, unclenching, feet tapping, throats clearing,  Dominic doing push-ups. Helena could see the other careers glaring at him with disdain. The boy had signed his own death and would soon reap the consequences. The van then drove into the catacombs of the arena.

A Peacekeeper was assigned to each tribute. Helena's led her to a door, and it inscribed . "This Launch Room was used on Day One of the 66th Hunger Games by Helena Jade Baird - Female, District 12." Inside, a dressing room with Rosier stood in the centre.

When the door closed on the girl, leaving just her and Rosier in the room, she broke down crying on the floor. Rosier rushed to the girl's side and pulled her into a comforting embrace. It seemed as if he, too, was holding back the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes. "Shhhhh, little dove, everything is going to be okay." The stylist soothed. "I don't want to die, Rosier." Helena cried. His heart broke as her watched the little girl cry. "Look at me." Helena's eyes rose to meet his. "You are one of the smartest, strongest, stealthiest people I know. You're not going to die." He reassured.

Slowly, he managed to calm the girl down. "We need to get you ready." Rosier said solemnly. Helena nodded and got up before allowing Rosier to work his magic. Her hair was styled into a french braid, and she was given a black knitted headband. Then came her outfit. On her legs, she was given some black leg warmers and a pair of white ski pants. A pair of white, fur lined hiking boots encased her feet, and she was given a leg harness. A pair of leather fingerless gloves sat on her hands. Rosier gave her a white parka coat to finish the look.

"It's going to be really cold out there. All of your clothes are insulted, and, given the colour of your outfit, I'd expect snow." Rosier explained. Helena nodded, trying to zip up her coat. But her hands were shaking so badly, she couldn't do it. Rosier made his way over to her and zipped up the different layers of the coat. He smiled warmly. "Do you want to talk, Helena?" He asked. The girl just shook her head.

Rosier held the young tributes hands in his own and gave them a squeeze in reassurance. No words were shared between the two. Just dread, hanging... until they heard a Gong - and their eyes locked - as the voice echoed loudly: "Ladies and gentlemen, let the 66th Hunger Games begin!" It was Claudius Templesmith.

So this was it. Helena shut her eyes tight before opening them again. Rosier nodded, trying to be of comfort. But he himself was fighting tears. Helena moved to the tube, pacing back and forth within the glass walls. She was so scared... "I want you to know something - we're not allowed to bet. But if I could, my money woµld be on you." Rosier told her. Helena smiled slightly and gave a half-nod. "Good luck, little dove..."

She shook, terrified, as the platform rose,
pushing her up. The ceiling above her opened into an abyss.