A girl.
A girl wanted to join the games.
A girl wanted to compete.
A girl wanted to die.
She made her way to the rack of weapons and selected one to suit her tastes.
The crowd jumped to their feet and cheered in a mixture of excitement and confusion.
The girl stepped to the mirror and prepared to face her foe.
The mirror disappeared, but the girl still saw her own reflection.
She slipped into a fighting stance and the girl in front of her did the same.
The whistle sounded.
The spell was broken.
The were two people now, instead of one.
They both stepped back to gain some distance.
"How can she win?" someone cried.
The exact same person, fighting herself.
Who will win?
Who will die?
The girls circled round, searching for an chance to attack.
Openings are hard to find, as it is the same person.
Time goes by, the girls are tiring.
Few attacks have been performed.
One girl begins to slow.
No one knows who.
An attack flies, shooting past her ear.
She screams in anger and fires a volley.
The other girl calmly readies herself and attacks one last time.
The volley hits her.
She fizzles out.
The winner turns in triumph and smiles with the cheers.
She doesn't realize they are cries of warning.
Pain racks her shoulder, then her heart.
She smiles.
It was only fitting, to be killed by her own weapon.
She falls to the ground.
An arrow.
An arrow.
An arrow.
