The Cat That Prim Got Hates Me,

Trapped For Days, Years, Centuries Maybe. Dead, But Not Allowed To Die. Alive, But As Good As Dead. So Alone That Anyone, Anything No Matter How Loathsome Would Be Welcome.

I Drink In His Wholeness, The Soudness Of His Body And Mind. It Runs Through Me Like The Morphling They Give Me In The Hospital, Dulling The Pain Of The Last Weeks.

It's Meant To Be Pretty," Whispers Octavia, And I Can See The Tears Threatening To Spill Over Her Lashes. Posy Considers This And Says Matter-of-factly, "i Think You'd Be Pretty In Any Color." The Tiniest Of Smiles Forms On Octavia's Lips. "thank You.

Even In War There Should Be Lines You Didn't Cross.

Cleaning Me Up Is Just A Preliminary Step To Determining My New Look. With My Acid-damaged Hair, Sunburned Skin, And Ugly Scars, The Prep Team Has To Make Me Pretty And Then Damage, Burn, And Scare Me In A More Attractive Way.