You Know, I Think This Is The

I Can Almost Hear Haymitch Groaning As I Team Up With This Wispy Child. But I Want Her. Because She's A Survivor, And I Trust Her, And Why Not Admit It? She Reminds Me Of Prim.

They Can't Hurt Me. I'm Not Like The Rest Of You. There's No One Left I Love.

Whenever I Write A Story, I Hope It Appeals To Both Boys And Girls.

The Eleventh Plague Hits Disturbingly Close To Home An Excellent, Taut Debut Novel.

It's There. The White Rose Among The Dried Flowers In The Vase. Shriveled And Fragile, But Holding On To That Unnatural Perfection Cultivated In Snows Greenhouse. I Grab The Vase, Stumble Down To The Kitchen, And Throw Its Contents Into The Embers. As The Flowers Flare Up, A Burst Of Blue Flame Envelops The Rose And Devours It. Fire Beats Roses Again.