Oh, little one, go to sleep, rest. Tomorrow, you will have to endure blades of fire and the lick of metal against your flawless skin.
And in your cot, I watch you wheeze, on your back, covered with a blanket your mother made. Far too young to experience the fate that is yours.
But you must and shall and I will not think about it or imagine it, as I will get weepy and weak and may do something I'll regret. Be strong little one, stronger than I. Rest easy tonight, for tomorrow the competition will begin and you will have to prove yourself or die.
But I will be here always and forever to keep you warm and hold your hand. But no more.