the princess diaries v ♔ diana

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

Dear sponsor,

Don't worry, that isn't my own blood. I shook my weapon off and got some blood on the page because I wanted to document the day in its entirety—and I won't lie to you, sponsor, I'm quite proud of myself. Despite time turning tributes against each other, I stayed true to myself and rallied my forces against the real enemy: the dead. And perhaps that hasn't been very helpful for someone like you, of course, nobody wants to place their money on a girl who chooses to fight something born to die over someone that has a fighting chance.

But as ever, I like to think that you're not like the rest. You sponsored me this diary for a reason, maybe you saw truth in my eyes that you did not see in everyone else's, maybe you wanted to keep me sane and see insanity from the outsider's perspective, or maybe you thought it would just look nice for a girl to carry around whilst she was slaying other tributes left, right and centre. If you imagined a girl like that, she is not me—you know that by now, and if you ever read this, I hope you'll understand why I don't want to be that kind of girl. The cameras could be on me right now, right as I'm writing this, and you know that I'm staring out trying to find a camera so that I can smile into it so that you know I'm still thankful.

A girl who isn't like me wouldn't do that, she would burn the pages. But I am a girl with a promise. I have faith in that promise, just as the people from Seven do, and my promises are not easily broken.

Things can be so easily broken in this world. I feel like every time I write an entry into this thing, I have seen the worst possible sight for a girl to see but I keep outdoing myself—that isn't even the worst part, the worst part is that it's becoming hard to distinguish one moment from the next. So many people died today that I lost count, and that is quite unforgivable, especially given the fact they were people just like me. I'm going to wait up for that starless sky again so that I can wish them goodbye, look for the silver lining in a cloud for them, send it on for them. I figure that is the least I can do, given the circumstances.

Even if I did not know each of the fallen personally, I knew their names, first and last, and that is enough to know that there is a family out there waiting for them to come home, safe and sound. It is a fantasy for most and only a reality for one, but those odds will never stop hopes reaching uncontrollable heights only to come crashing back down to reach a new low. A few words when the moon appears is the least I could ever do; I'd like to think it may help their friends and family back home weather the storm a little. To know that someone on the inside is thinking of their loved one too—I know that if it were, it would mean a lot.

Of course, not everyone is like me. Today was no better demonstration of that. I saw limbs on the ground, fire on everyone else's breath and the shadows that once danced on the outskirts drifting towards their core. I knew not to trust those shadows when we lost Berlin in the field of sunflowers. The darkness was something else entirely and it made me think that even if a torch was shone directly into that shade, the shadows would laugh at the light. I did not trust those shadows today, even though they danced a marvellous dance, because even the most beautiful things can be broken.

The air was beautiful and that is what took Zion. The sunflowers were beautiful and that is what took Berlin. Two days later, the broken things are creeping in, I know they are because they are taking everyone else, but I do not want it to take Hisidro and I. We are living in a world made to be broken, waiting for one person to break it.

I also realised that I can feel that same feeling that the others do, too. Looking up at that creature made me realise that hate is the complete opposite of love; it is twisted and sick, so hot that it makes you flustered. Hate will make you act without thinking because it makes you desperate for the love to return. And that thing was a dead monster, and I have figured that love cannot extend to a dead monster because they are no fibres to feel, no memories to remember, no heart to reciprocate.

Part of me feels guilty for even letting myself feel remotely like the rest. It is like I have betrayed an ounce of my heart in favour of my head... but there's another part of me that is realising I am here because I have a job to do. There is a promise to keep, and I have to prove to Lenox Lachance that I was right to save her when I did. I have to show Lex that heart has a place, no matter how big or small that place is, it does have a place here, and I'll only get to explain that to her if my heart is still beating in a few days time. I have to go home and tell Angel to give up nicotine because he has survived so much already, to give up after that is to succumb to the darkness we all swear as children to never touch.

And then there is my father—I just want to show him that I can.

I found a trunk, rusty as any old person's mechanical heart, full to the brim with costumes of excellent design. It is like they belonged to the people who would have been here before us, if this weren't an arena. I got a sparkly set of shorts and a matching jacket which, much to my dismay, keep shedding this little tiny sparkles everywhere. I brushed some into a pile above so that you know exactly what I'm talking about—they are awfully pretty though, and it is almost like they turn the blank page into a starry sky. A bright, starry, sparkly sky.

There are other clothes too, but not all of them would fit me. A nice suit, it's close to what my father wears for important meetings, two matching gowns for what I can only imagine is a mother and child, and finally a dress with space for two bodies which completely threw me... I'm not sure I could convince Hisidro to prance around in that with me.

The sparkly clothes, though, are equal parts pretty and passionate, because at the trim, there are flames. Obviously, I am not a big fan of flames having become very familiar with the damage they can do after seeing some of the other tributes' weapons, but I figure I can redefine them. Maybe it will remind people that I, too, would like to see the sunrise from the comfort of my bedroom window once more and that I am not just a girl who will take the easy option given the chance. A candle is essentially a flame, and I liken myself to a candle. Peaceful, an individual, burning my own path even though the wind so desperately keeps trying to blow me out.

They are a snug fit, but that is okay. I like them. I haven't liked clothes like this in a long time—some of the things they had us dressed up in at the Capitol were exceptional pieces of design, so intricate, but I like something that incorporates that with a pinch of class. Besides, if I am going to die—it is better to look good doing it.

I don't like making jokes like that. It makes my skin crawl a little.



I also found some clown makeup in that old trunk. Variations of red, white and black powders and shadows to give whoever belonged in this place the perfect face for entertainment. I tried putting some of it on, to the best of my ability given the closest we have in this arena to a mirror is a puddle, but I think I did a pretty good job. My father used to admire my creativity when I was little; I remember stealing one of his pens and drawing whiskers on my cheeks and ears on my forehead to turn myself into a cat. He wasn't too happy with the fact I broke his pen, but he said I looked like a star.

That was everything to me, memories like that make me miss the person he used to be.

Clowns, I think, are often seen as such horrendous people but I do not think people see them fairly at all. They are creatives at heart, artists really, and of course when you are an artist, not everybody is going to like what you do. I think clowns deserve better; they are not all the stuff of childhood nightmares or hiding under your bed ready to grab your leg the second it emerges from your covers. Perhaps I have turned myself into a clown by putting this makeup on, maybe it will take people by surprise, but I never liked doing what people wanted me to, anyway. A free spirit, that's me, always.

You'll have to tell me when this is all over what you think about clowns, if I make it.

I don't think there has ever been a princess clown before. It's an odd combination, but I like it. It encompasses the regality of a princess and the heart of a clown.

I think clown princess sounds better.