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As she is welded together, woven from sleek, stylish, silver metal, her creators congratulate themselves. They roar with laughter and amazement as they watch the first MAI-4 being churned out “Look at her! She almost looks like a person.” “She’ll almost talk like a person!” “She almost is a person!” They collapse in a fit of thundering mirth. Of course she isn’t a person. She’s an android. She’s sold to a wealthy family who are dying to get rid of their ‘prehistoric’ HCB-7. She watches as the old robot is trundled out the door, just as she is brought in. He doesn̵

Once my clothing has been hung in the wardrobe, my books stacked on the shelves, a blanket of mine folded at the foot of the bed, the room no longer feels so cold, so foreign. I finger the blanket – though it is threadbare enough that it is barely a blanket, it is a comfort – and then pull the sleeves of my nightgown back down to my wrists. It is a relief to be in clothing of my own. I lie down, and close my eyes. Only now do I realize how tired I am, how I ache. I am just about asleep when someone raps loudly on my door. Pushing myself up, I roll my eyes. It isn’t Damian; he returned home after we collected my belongings

“Damian,” I call, clutching the chain of the necklace so tightly it cuts into my skin. “Is this one of your tricks?” I open the door as he begins to answer. His blond hair is freshly mused, as if he has been running his fingers through it while he was conversing with me. I hold up the necklace. He ceases to attempt to form words. His brown creases into confusion. “One of my tricks?” he repeats. “Have you charmed it?” I demand. “This necklace, when I woke, was as it was last night. A silver chain, and a blue stone. So why have the chain and stone switched hues?” He holds out his

The sheets on the bed are crisp. They’ve most probably never been used before – they feel foreign and stiff. Sleep isn’t coming. I should attempt sleep. I should be tired. I should let everything soak in while I am unconscious. Sleep isn’t coming. I throw the sheets back, pressing my palms to my eyelids. If I am not to sleep, then perhaps I should make my decision. Whether to pursue the becoming of a Nephilim – swearing the oath, that is – or whether to wipe my mind of the past few days’ events. A wardrobe sits in the corner. It is of a reasonable size, and constructed of honey-coloured wood. I ope

“Alexander!” he repeats, rushing towards the green-eyed man. I expect the green-eyed man to back away, or run to retrieve his knife, or defend himself. Only drunks and monsters are out of this hour. Instead, the green-eyed man folds his arms across his chest, looking vaguely...guilty? “What have you done to yourself, Alexander?” The man begins to ease the green-eyed man’s jacket off to get a better look at the wound. The green-eyed man. His name must be Alexander, if he responds to it. It suits him, I suppose. “Leave me be, Xavier,” the green eyed man says. “I brought Tristesse here; go tend t

I am too shocked to cry, to call out for Damian, to do anything but let my feet guide me back to the manor. I find my way back to the ballroom, and see that Damian and Rebecca are still dancing. It is as if I never left, as if I was never in danger. How did he find me again? How was the advice he gave me significant to Damian? The worst thing is, I am starting to believe that Damian knows the green-eyed man. The green-eyed man knows him, at least. Xavier. I look around for a man, any man that seems like he could be working with the green-eyed man. But young and old, ugly and handsome, slim and round, there are too many men. I do not recogn

The manor is impossibly large. It is at the very edge of the city, and is made of light stone. “It’s incredible,” I say as Damian holds his arm out for me to take. “It is, isn’t it?” Damian agrees. “Come on.” We follow Damian’s father through the gardens – whoever is in charge of choosing flowers to plant, they are fond of red – which are lit by ornate lanterns. There are some men and women milling amongst the trimmed hedges, the flower beds. They clutch wine glasses filled with a dark liquid. One of the women turns to look at Damian, his father and myself as we pass. She sm

In the morning, dirty light filters through the windows. There are no curtains covering them, just tiny scraps of fabric; whoever the past tenant was must have ripped them down in a rage. I force myself to wake wholly, to dress myself, to feed myself, as if I am one of Caitlin’s dolls. I braid my hair back tightly. There is no desirable food in my cupboards, but I make myself eat anyways. Then I’m on the streets again. Since I still can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that’s wedged itself inside of me, I go out of my way to avoid the street where that boy grabbed me. Called me Nephilim. He had dark hair. Green eyes

As I step out onto the platform, my mother, Delphi, Arius and Silvia throw themselves at me. All of them cry. It is odd. My older brothers have never cried in front of me. “Eunia!” my mother whisper fiercely. “I’m so glad you won. I’m so proud.” Proud of what? What is there to be proud of? She was made to watch me murder like the rest of Panem. But now that she has her daughter back, she seems to have forgotten. “I never thought I’d see you again!” Arius sobs into my ear. “God, I never thought I’d see you again.” “I’m sorry!” Silvia says. “I-I.

Quickly, I check the room for anything else I am to take home. The search yields nothing. I am gathering the axe case and clothing in my arms when I see who it is standing in the doorway. I forget how to breathe. Everything in my arms falls to the ground. He does not flinch. Impossible. He whispers my name in a voice I know, a voice I know so well. “Eunia.” It is Hadrian in the doorway. For a moment I am frozen. How? How can he be standing in front of me? Tears well in my eyes. It cannot really be him! This is Tule’s work! She must be trying to make it better, trying to give me a replacement. Or is it one of Presiden