The Star: The Selection Applyfic

Jara

Jara Morozova's jaw dropped in freakish disbelief.

"No way," she muttered to herself, "No freaking way."

But there it was in black and white with a royal purple seal. An official seal. She stared down the smooth black road to other houses, where other girls lived, girls who were old enough to get an identical letter. Had they already gotten their letters? Did they not tell her because of her "stuck up" attitude?

Of course if their  brothers and dad were at war they would probably be "stuck up" too.

Jara ran inside, the script letter in her hand. Then she remembered no one was home and her face drooped.

She opened the front door to the fragrant smell of the biscuts she had been baking, the orange and cloves mixing with the sugar of the biscuits. She went over to the oven and slid the hot tray out and set it on the counter.

"I bet those don't have garlic in them, do they, Jar?" She heard a voice ask from the stairwell.

"Nikolai?" She asked the swallowing white of the house.

A man who looked distinctly like Jara, with her black hair, pointed nose and pale skin.  He was wearing the dark blue and gold suit of the Illéan Navy.

Jara ran and threw her arms around him. He hugged her back and for a minute it felt like a fleeting fantasy, with the sweet smells of the kitchen and those she loved most.

"Oh, I got a letter in the mail," she told her brother.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"It's for the Selection," she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"It's true," she urged, "I'm not sure if I want to do it, though."

"Jara, do you know what would happen to our family if you won? Or what would happen to you if you entered and got picked?" He asked.

"They could come home, couldn't they. And you, forever."

"Think about it."

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Most girls came with their mothers to the Belcourt Providence Services Office.  Jara felt isolated standing there alone. Men weren't allowed past a point, which Jara found kind of homophobic of the government.

As Jara stood in line, her patience waned. She had never been a gracious or giving person, or particularly tolerant either.

Girls her caste giggled and looked into the sparkling frames of mirrors, while the poorer girls chatted with eachother, and younger sisters that had come hid in the folds of their mother's coats to avoid the mobs of older girls.

Jara knew she could beat all these girls into the Selection no problem. And she had a sob story, something she could already see as a clear strategy. Most girls her caste would just seduce the prince and then win. Easy.

She wasn't one for that. She didn't want the seduction or some early end to the game. She was fair. 

Or she would try to play fair...