The Damage, The Fatigue, The Imperfections. That's

So It's You And A Syringe Against The Capitol? See, This Is Why No One Lets You Make The Plans.

But It's Posy, Gale's Five-year-old Sister, Who Helps The Most. She Scoots Along The Bench To Octavia And Touches Her Skin With A Tentative Finger. “you're Green. Are You Sick?” “it's A Fashion Thing, Posy. Like Wearing Lipstick,” I Say. “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.

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

Closing My Eyes Doesn't Help. Fire Burns Brighter In The Darkness.

It's Weird, How Much He's Noticed Me... And Apparently, I Have Not Been As Oblivious To Him As I Imagined, Either.