We Could Do It, You Know.

The Idea Of Being Strong For Someone Else Having Never Entered Their Heads, I Find Myself In The Position Of Having To Console Them. Since I'm The Person Going In To Be Slaughtered, This Is Somewhat Annoying.

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.

The Air's Warm With Hopeful Hints Of Spring In It. Spring Would Be A Good Time For An Uprising, I Think. Everyone Feels Less Vulnerable Once Winter Passes.

The Glue Of Mutual Need That Bonded Us So Tightly Together For All Those Years Is Melting Away. Dark Patches, Not Light, Show In The Spaces Between Us.

You Here To Finish Me Off, Sweetheart?