Better Not To Give In To It.

I Send A Silent Thank-you To Dalton For Suggesting I Wash Off The Makeup. How Ridiculous, How Perverse I Would Feel Presenting That Painted Capitol Mask To These People. The Damage, The Fatigue, The Imperfections. That's How They Recognize Me, Why I Belong To Them.

She's Not Here," I Tell Him. Buttercup Hisses Again. "she's Not Here. You Can Hiss All You Like. You Won't Find Prim." At Her Name, He Perks Up. Raises His Flattened Ears. Begins To Meow Hopefully. "get Out!" He Dodges The Pillow I Throw At Him. "go Away! There's Nothing Left For You Here!" I Start To Shake, Furious With Him. "she's Not Coming Back! She's Never Ever Coming Back Here Again!" I Grab Another Pillow And Get To My Feet To Improve My Aim. Out Of Nowhere, The Tears Begin To Pour Down My Cheeks. "she's Dead, You Stupid Cat. She's Dead.

What Do You Think?" He Asks. "i Hate Them," I Say. I Can Almost Smell The Blood, The Dirt, The Unnatural Breath Of The Mutt. "all I Do Is Go Around Trying To Forget The Arena And You've Brought It Back To Life. How Do You Remember These Things So Exactly?" "i See Them Every Night," He Says.

Fire Beats Roses Again.

To This Day, I Can Never Shake The Connection Between This Boy, Peeta Mellark, And The Bread That Gave Me Hope, And The Dandelion That Reminded Me That I Was Not Doomed.