My Capitol birthday feast is lavish. An assortment of main dishes like duck slathered in tart blueberry sauce and balls of ground quail laid in a leafy mint salad rest on crystalline, three-tiered platters on one side of the table. On the other side are the desserts; jellies and iced cakes, artificially colored fruits and candied nuts. Important Capitol leaders mull around, thoughtfully picking up and chewing sweet treats. I can't help but think of their too-white teeth that had probably issued the order to whip people for feeding their families- like they did Gale. Peeta lazily converses with Haymitch in the corner. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his azure suit. Searching for something to do, I grab a stemmed glass of cranberry-colored liquid. No one has approached me. They're too captivated by the unveiling of a pig, inlaid with intricate metallic liquid. It's dripping grease. I'm appalled. They ignore the two Avox who serve them. A few daring, grotesque guests evenclap appreciately when an elaborate six-layer meatcake is unveiled, steam curling into the ceiling. Lazily, a slow song begins playing. My dress is a silky white gown with a mermaid bottom. I adore it because in requires no revenge or malice from President Snow. Peeta saunters up to me.
"Have a dance?" he asks. I gesture apologetically to the creamy white China on which a meager portion of a nut and berry muffin sits. I swish my drink and taste some. It's sweet at first, but sour sliding down my throat. Raspily, I watch Peeta. His blue eyes are sparkling.
"Fine." I huff. He guides me onto the polished dance floor. A single sigh arises from the guests when Peeta dips me low to the floor. Heat prickles my cheeks. The song ends and I shuffle to the desserts. I gather several dainty chocolate petite fours onto a saucer along with some sugar-encrusted rose petals. They make me feel funny. I assume that, because I have eaten little more than this in the past few days, my body accepts the rich Capitol food readily. President Snow suddenly is beside me. His eyes flick over my dress. He expects rebellion. Finding none, he smiles. His teeth are stained red. They are slick with gross liquid that drips off of his canines. I recognize the stench. It's blood. I cringe and drop my plate. Who has he hurt that I love now? Madge? Gale? My mother? Prim? I search his face with worry.
President Snow laughs. "Happy Birthday, Katniss."