AN: OOOkay so I haven't written in such a long time... I think I forgot how to write. So excuse me if this chapter sucks... and sorry for not writing in so long! I guess I just don't have much inspiration right now, but don't worry, I am going to continue this story!

I stand in front of the floor length mirror set up in the middle of the cluttered room, letting my eyes take in my appearance. For the past few days, Johanna's old room has been transformed into a dressing room, all non-dressing room furniture replaced with lights and mirrors and curlers and wardrobes and vanity tables. My strapless roseate messaline dress ends modestly at my knees, which quiver with nervous anxiety. At least I wasn't trying to prance around in eight inch heels, but a plain white pair of practical flats. My braided hair sweeps into a chignon that brushes the nape of my neck. Flawless makeup animates my face, bringing wakefulness to my sleepless eyes, a blush to my pale cheeks, soft, even color to my raw, bleeding, bitten lips. I look so innocent, like a pure, young, virtuous girl.

If only.

"Oh! You look so sweet." Cries Octavia, looking at me with a longing gaze. "Like a delicate spring flower."

"I must admit, you did quite a fabulous job with her hair," agrees Flavius, before pursing his lips. "I still don't understand why Cinna didn't let me use any purple lipstick."

I let the silly chatter of my prep team fade to the back of my mind other, more sinister thoughts creep through my mind; fears and anxieties of what will rush into my life over the course of the next couple of weeks. I'll have to face the families of those who I've murdered, and we'll all have to pretend to celebrate. Under the watch of President Snow's snakelike gaze. And then off to the Capitol I go, to be sold off to any citizen who wants me. Even worse, I'll be staying there right up until the games begin, and then I'll have to juggle being a mentor and a prostitute. A mentor. I'll probably end up like Haymitch, drinking myself half to death because I can't stand to watch the life drain out of my tribute's eyes, year after year, knowing-

A soft click lets me know that Cinna has entered the room. I turn to see what he's brought in, but he's carrying a large opaque bag, leaving me hopelessly curious. "Close your eyes," he murmurs, drawing something out of the bag, and I almost don't catch the end of his sentence, "It'll be easier that way."

Eyes closed, I feel him fix something in my chignon, and then a cool sensation covers my bare shoulders. A nervous knot twists in my stomach. Somehow, it feels surprisingly like rose petals. Even smells like them, sickeningly sweet…

My eyes flash open, horror plain on my face. Cinna has placed a beautiful white rose in my hair, and covered my bare shoulders with a shawl made of white rose petals. My accessories envelope me in a strong perfume of roses, and I can't help but gag. Cinna's regretful gaze meets mine in the mirror. He places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, president's orders."

It makes sense now, the outfit. I haven't been dressed like a warrior, a victor. Snow has transformed me into a sweet little girl, probably by my first client's request. I wonder how much some pervert must be paying for a 'virgin'. And the roses. Probably to scare me out of my mind, just for kicks. I must admit, he's doing a very good job.

Just then, Effie enters the room, chirping orders to get outside, to get to the train station in her clippy, Capitolite accent. Her shining eyes rest on me. "Oh Katniss, you look beautiful." She says, " Come, come, we must let all of Panem see my beautiful victor!" Poor Effie. I wonder how long she's waited for a victor, having gotten stuck with District 12. I almost feel sorry for her, because I'm almost certain that I'll manage to kill every single tribute I mentor.

I follow her outside, where I'm greeted by countless photographers and flashing lights. "Smile!" she hisses, fixing me with a murderous look.

"Right, we can't have our latest serial killer looking grumpy, can we?" Haymitch's slurred, sarcastic voice purrs behind me.

"MANNERS!" She shrieks, before plastering a smile onto her face and trudging through the crowds of camera men to the train station in her million inch pumps.

I smile and wave to the cameras, before following her.

Light floods the back of the train as it exits the tunnel. Crowds of people with sunken in eyes and hollow faces stare at me, their downturned lips speaking volumes, piercing my guilty ears, guilty heart. I get up from my isolated seat in the back of the train once we enter District 11. I can't bear to look at all the faces who knew Rue, Thresh. Who mourned them. Loved them. Needed them.

How am I supposed to go up in front of these people with an empty speech written by heartless monsters. I look over the card Effie gave me earlier. "Now, memorize this card, and speak every exact word, no deviating." She'd said with a disapproving sniff. I guess she still didn't expect me to be bubbly, cheerful, or pliant in front of an audience. And I guess she was smart not to think so.

Forcing bile back down my dry throat, I began to make my way to the train's main exit, where Effie was waiting. "Remember, smile." She said, flashing me her own fake grin as the doors opened. countless Peacekeepers all around pushed back the crowd, but their angst was thick and heavy in the air, suffocating. It felt as if at any moment they could all spontaneously burst into tears or start a riot, or possibly both. I carefully kept my eyes trained on Effie's glittering blue wig as I followed her to the stage set up in front of the District 11 justice building.

Once we got closer enough, I noticed the spidery cracks splintering across the old marble walls. I recognized the scent of mold and rot emanating from the building which was clearly in worse condition than the coal dusted shack called the District 12 justice building, if that was even possible. At the base of the stage, Effie turned me over to a pair of Peacekeeper escorts, who accompanied me to the stage.

I could feel their loaded guns prodding my sides as I made my way to the middle of the stage where a podium was set up. Training my eyes on the distant clouds floating above the crowd, I began to mindlessly recite the speech that I'd drilled into my head during our long train ride. Letting my mind drift into autopilot, I tried not to focus on the judging eyes trained on me. On the innocent, tear-streaked faces of Rue's little siblings, who no longer had a big sister to look out for them, to protect them, guide them. I tried not to let my mind's eye recall the image of Rue, staring up at the treetops, her frail body clutched between my arms as the light left her eyes.

But I am not strong enough, and as the first tear scorches a trail of grief down my cheek, my voice falters and the motionless crowd shifts. Thousands of fingers are touched to parched lips and are extended to me in the three finger expression of loss and mourning that I know so well. And I give them the gesture back. "I won't forget you, Rue, Thresh" I shout to the crowd, knowing I won't be given the chance to say any more when I hear the first gun go off.

And all hell breaks loose upon them.

The Peacekeepers who had escorted to the stage immediately grab my arms and lead me to the justice building, but I can't block out the screams and gunfire that echo in my head. Even when I shut my eyes so tight that tears spill down my face, I can't block out the image of Rue. Can't un-see the tears that drown her siblings' souls.

And as innocent lives are shot down around me, I helplessly try to block it out with tears that blur my vision and screams that tear my soul.

Because I am not strong enough.

Because I can't save them.

Because I am too weak to bear the knowledge of what I have done.

"Sweetheart, get up. You can't mope around under your covers forever." Haymitch says. I can almost imagine him standing over my bed right now with a disapproving scowl. I kind of wish I could beat the scowl off his face right now. I also wish that these train rooms had locks.

With some effort, I tug off the blankets from my face and force myself into a sitting position. "I want to drink." I say, shrugging away memories of Haymitch drunk and hungover, because he's been driven nearly to madness by the pain caused from being a victor. I'd once swore that I'd never let myself become like that. Well. Look at me now.

"No." He says with finality. "The only one of us who gets to get drunk is me, sweetheart, because we have eleven more districts to go."

"I can't do it." I plead, my eyes begging.

"Yes, you can." He insists. "You didn't know the other tributes as well, so it should get easier."

"No, it doesn't." I replied "You know it doesn't." I don't continue though, letting the edge in my voice convey my unspoken words.

It must have rubbed him the wrong way, because his eyes harden. "Well you're going to have to suck things up because you know what happens if you don't. I'm sure that President Snow will have his eyes on you after that little party out there in District 11. So you're going to smile and celebrate. All right?"

I numbly nod my head.

And I do. I celebrate. I smile for the crowds who don't smile back. I dance with partners who keep as much distance between us as physically possible while dancing. I dress up in Snow's requested dresses and let the scent of poison roses slowly suffocate me. Because no matter what, I am slowly dying inside.

The districts whirl by. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, like the countdown to the games before the bloodshed. Haymitch was right, though. It did get easier. I didn't know any of the tributes. And I stick to my scripts and don't react to the crowds. But my dread worsens and worsens with each second that brings me closer to District 4.

I still don't know if I'm going to meet Finnick. My hunter's instincts scream "DANGER! RUN!", but my heart, as closed as it is, persuades me to talk to him. To just talk. Battles are waged in the corners of my mind, and yet I remain indecisive.

As soon as I step off my train, I smell wind and water and salt. My stomach twists, because, of course, this reminds me of Finnick. I shake my head and breathe through my mouth through my whole speech. I might look like an idiot, but at least I don't break down, because right now, I really don't trust my emotions.

The crowd, fortunately, seems indifferent about the whole thing since they're generally a Career district, but apparently, their training center flooded last year, and their picked tributes had been less than adequate. I'm still convinced, however, that they all hate me.

Their celebrations within the pale blue marble walls of the justice building were festive enough, blue lights illuminating dancers like the shining waves of the ocean. But I keep my eyes on the clock, hardly paying attention to my dance partners as I circle the dance floor with a painful smile plastered to my face. That is, until I'm handed off to a partner who smells like the sea. Whose hands envelope mine, the feeling familiar and comfortable. His breath tickles my ear as he whispers "I don't know who you're fooling with that smile. You look like you're about to rip off someone's head."

It's Finnick.

My whole body goes rigid and I try to take a step back, but I don't escape the circle of his arms. "If you were in my position right now, I don't think you'd be so elated, either."

He smiles down at me, but his eyes are distant, unreachable. "On the contrary, more than half the country would love to be dancing with me right now."

"I can't imagine why." I mumble looking off into the distance, avoiding his eyes.

We dance in silence, but I let the noise of music and laughter from around the room wash over me, and I put my mind on autopilot. I pretend I'm dancing with someone else. I shut my eyes and imagine I'm dreaming. Or having a nightmare. "Katniss…" Finnick murmurs.

"Don't." I say, "I- please just don't talk."

A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I trade dance partners. And yet I can't help but steal glances around the room, searching for Finnick's eyes, which are regretful and pleading, but he only holds my gaze for a moment, before turning away. Eventually I lose sight of him altogether. I chide myself and push thoughts of him out of my mind. I go back to watching the clock.

7:45, 7:50, 7:55, 56, 57, 58, 59,

8:00

AN: Soooo what is Katniss going to do?