"Callista, we need you here in 12 minutes. Be ready." My father spoke over the PA system in the White House. I winced as everyone in the make-up room glanced over at me. Being the President's daughter, I should have gotten used to this, the wow's and 'will you sign my hand' kind of thing. But I couldn't.

"Could you... please hurry?" I sighed at Linda, my makeup artist. She goggled at me for the umpteenth time. "Of course, of course. I need to do your hair, and that'll be it." Linda fussed with my hair, twirling it into a chignon.

"Thanks," I practically shouted, and rushed out of the room, hoping nobody saw me scrambling up the stairs. Of course it would be unladylike to trip.

"Callista, there you are." President Geoffrey Winter, also known as Dad, whispered to me. Three bodyguards swarmed around us, their earpieces glinting in the light.

We were almost about ready to make our way onto the speech platform, where Dad would say his speech, and I would select the ten Condemned. I shivered at the memory of last year's Condemnation, the cries and howling that came from a family near the front of the crowd. It had been the mother of the family, a nurse with three children. I had watched in awe as she had kissed each member of the family goodbye, tears gleaming in her eyes, as she pulled away to have handcuffs on her wrists.

I blinked away that day and got ready to step out into the cold air, as announcers yelled our names.

The doors opened, and with the whoosh of January wind, we strode forward. I waved at the crowd, keeping my eyes on the people watching and not on the three Drykalla representing their country at the side.

I nervously shuffled as the prospect of struggling over names washed over me. With America the only country keeping peace with the Drykalla, the rest of the countries had all joined us. We had become the representatives of hope, for all humans. There had, fortunately, been no names that were particularly hard to pronounce last year, but then again, all I was doing was calling out the people to their deaths. I'm sure names didn't matter.

I stood by my father's side, smiling when he did and keeping quiet. His speech seemed too long, just hurry up, I wanted to shout. Finally, he stopped talking and gestured for the big glass ball with the names of everyone registered in it. I found handwritten names, printed names, no doubt, names written, purposefully unreadable. 

Everyone clapped and waited for me. The Drykalla shifted taller, I noticed from the corner of my eye. Photographers snapped pictures and I held my hand over the hole. I plunged my hand down into the sea of names and picked up a neatly folded paper. Unfolding it, I cleared my throat.

"Willow Renej. 26." My voice echoed over the crowd. A lonely woman, to the west side, stepped forward quietly. No one begged for her to stay, no one hugged her goodbye. She was handcuffed and marched off.

"Ahem. Dillon..." I paused, my heart racing. I didn't know how to say his last name. "Dillon... Pnuatraz...? Eight years." I spoke Dillon's age softly, shocked and saddened. I found myself staring at the Drykalla, their cloaked figured solitary in the crowd. They had no reaction. A little boy, crying and grasping at his mother, was pulled away. Three other family members had to restrain the shrieking mother. 

This went on for a long time, I calling out the names and watching the crowd.

"Calloway Fjedka, 16."

"Manuel Lizts, 21."

"Ahnjong Song, 12."

"Krista Weber, 29."

"Gabe Guther, 18."

The eight note was hard to read, so I passed it to the inspector with a magnifying glass. Shakily, he read out, "Crawnby... T-tucker." 

"No!" A woman from the crowd shouted, and then gasped as everyone turned to look at her. "N-no, you can't take away my baby, please, no!" She shuddered, hugging her child to her chest.

"Eight years old." The inspector whispered into the microphone. 

I looked away as the screaming child was tugged away. "Mo-ommy!" He wept, shrieking in panic.

I wondered why, how, there had to be two children that barely made the cut. I couldn't stand it, seeing the crying families and weeping mothers.

My father nodded at me to continue.

"Adana Keitha, 19." A lean girl with dark, long hair stepped out of the crowd, holding her hands out for the cuffs. 

I was so relieved it was almost over, I barely glanced at the last paper sitting in my hand.

"Mohammed Khatri, 21." 

With that, I leaned back and let out a breath. This was always hard, no matter how many times I had to do it.

Dad cleared his throat, and he finished the ceremony with a question that always had the same answer. "Representatives of the Drykalla. Are you satisfied with the ten Condemned?" I waited, we all waited for their head nods and raspy 'yes'. Instead, a female voice, still hoarse compared to her male counterparts, replied, "No." 

Gasps echoed across the crowd, and I sucked in a sharp breath. 

"The two babes are too illiterate. We ask for two more in return." 

This had never happened before, but I watched with awe, that the Drykalla were returning the two children back. My father cleared his throat. "Alright, Callista, please draw two more names." I felt sickened that this had to go on for longer than regular, but still glad that two families would be reunited with their kids.

"Joesph Sutherlate, 22."

I watched as the two boys were escorted back to their mothers, nobody noticing the tall man from the back of the crowd as he was cuffed.

One more name. I said to myself, pulling the last paper out. 

"C-" I stopped, seeing the name printed on the paper. My voice wavered and trembled as I read my own name.

"Callista Winters."

My name echoed across the crowd, as each person recognized the 10th Condemned. The daughter of the President. Trembling, I stepped back from the microphone and watched the chaos. My dad was frozen in shock, barely seeing the two men with handcuffs uncertainly approaching.

The Drykalla perked up, their curiosity heightened.

Never had I thought I would be a Condemned, and now... The full entirety of the situation fell on me like a hundred weights. I glanced quickly around, my curled black hair bouncing on my shoulders, the hair that someone had meticulously tended to just this morning.

I would never see that person again. Nor any other human except for the Condemned.

My father snapped out of his reverie. "No, not my child... Not my family!" He ran down the stairs and, to everyone's shock, fell to his knees in front of the Drykalla. "I beg you, please, spare my daughter. Was my wife not enough? Save... my daughter, please..." He collapsed into sobs.

I couldn't just wait for my death. I was going to run, and never come back, never see the Drykalla again. I slammed past the two guards near me with handcuffs and made it down the stairs. My eyes filled with tears of regret, but I ran. And then, once the crowd finally realized I was escaping... Flapping wings.

I paused, breathing hard, in panic and fear, and realized the Drykalla were flying towards me. "Oh," I murmured, and bolted for the trees.

"Not so fast," a terrible, horrible voice hissed, and cold hands clamped around my arm. I screamed and tried to pry the Drykalla off, but it only held on tighter. I let a bloodcurdling howl out, of pure rage. Clawing everywhere, at pale skin peeking from underneath a glove, I heard wings flapping and realized I was being dragged off the ground.

I only fought more furiouser, and then I gasped as one hand came off me. I was almost free. And then that hand hit me in my face.

Shocked, I paused for a second. No one had hurt me before.

In that brief peace, the Drykalla leaned forward mid-air, and I felt his warm breath on my neck. The hair on my spine stood up as his mouth closed over my skin, just below my neck. Sharp teeth clamped down on my shoulder, and I felt the skin tear.

Something electric, that jabbed me as it coursed through me, made its way through the pain and lingered in my veins.

I fell limp, as the Drykalla leaned back and carried me back to the White House.

I heard the crowd gasp as we soared over them, but I couldn't move. The electric shock had drained me of energy. Or maybe it was just the shock.

Numb and frozen, I barely fought as was passed from the Drykalla to the man with the handcuffs.

I leaned against him while movement around me happened, but there was a haze in my eyes that prevented me from seeing straight. The pain in my shoulder had gone, and the blindness had started to disappear, but dizzy and nauseous, I felt sick to my stomach.

I was led to a room, a dark room where I was placed on a bed and left alone.