Hello everyone! This is a little one-shot that has been sitting on my folder for the last two years (give it or take it a few months). Those who are familiar with my other stories will find references to some of my OCs, but if you've clicked on one of my fics for the first time, don't worry (and welcome!): they have little to no connection to each other.

That being said, I hope you enjoy this! Like I said, this story is a bit old, so I apologize in advance for any out-of-character-ness you might find.

Please review! :) And thank you for reading!

She owned a magic mirror, of which she would daily ask,

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

Each time this question was asked, the mirror would give the same answer, "Thou, my Queen, are the fairest of all."

"One. Two. Three!"

"Stop! Stop!"

I tear my gaze away from the screen, rolling my eyes, as both the tributes from District Twelve are announced victors after pathetically attempting suicide. I was looking forward to watch the star-crossed lovers slaughter each other, as it should be. Their sappy love story doesn't convince me at all.

Just like it didn't convince my grandfather.

I turn off the giant television I keep in my room and focus back on my reflection, three times multiplied on my vanity table mirrors- I have a party to attend, after all. I put on some blood-red lipstick that stands out against my porcelain-white skin and a curly green wig over my long black hair before opening my closet. I sigh; I have nothing new to wear because I spent all my allowance betting on the wrong tributes. This was my friend Alida's first year as an escort, and somehow she talked me into sponsoring her tributes. It didn't go too well, since the boy died on the first day and the girl ended up killed by a bunch of insects.

Losers.

Then I tried sponsoring the boy from District One- hey, he was cute…- but he was just as disappointing as the other two. An arrow to the neck because he killed the twelve-year-old? Really? When I had almost no money left I wanted to sponsor that red-haired girl because she was smart, and smart tributes are my favorites. I'm glad I didn't, because she turned out to be not as clever as I expected her to be. I mean, it was clearly nightlock, for crying out loud! What do they teach these kids?

Okay, back to what's important. My closet. Ugh, why doesn't Dad give me a bigger allowance? He's absurdly rich, thanks to his father. It's not like he can't give me some extra cash for some new ultra-stylish rags.

I end up choosing a dress I don't recall buying, but since it still has its tags I presume I've never worn it. I twirl around the room, admiring how I look in the full-body mirror across the vanity table, and thinking of how when I get to the party all my friends will be talking about what they saw on television these past weeks. And I will join them, because who doesn't love the Games?

We had no way to know. We were young, rich, and we lived in the Capitol, the safest place in Panem.

My name is Alva Snow and this is my story.

This gave the Queen a great shock, and she became yellow and green with envy, and from that hour her heart turned against Snow White, and she hated her.

I press my face against my bedroom window, eyeing the crowd on the City Circle below, as they wait for my grandfather to be executed. They're all claiming for his blood, impatiently talking to one another, until the heart of the president they hate so much stops beating.

And I may very well be next.

I let the cold glass clear my thoughts, as I lean my forehead against it; this has been my only link to the outside world for the past few weeks, ever since the Capitol surrendered to the rebels. It's for your safety, said a man in a District 13 uniform, as he locked me and Mom in our own house. They took Dad away, just because he's the president's son. I don't think I'll ever see him again, and yet that fact hasn't fully dawned on me. I'm too busy being scared.

Suddenly, the noise coming from the crowd increases, and I focus back on my grandfather- he's neatly dressed, with the usual white rose pinned to his jacket. I can't help but feel a bit sad. We were never close, even though we are related, and I always knew there was something off about him- his deep knowledge about poison, that he insisted on passing on to me, was anything but innocent. And I still don't know exactly what happened to my uncle Cassius, who was one of the many family secrets and one day just disappeared- but seeing him looking just like he would for a family dinner as he awaits death is actually harder than I expected.

On the front balcony of the president's mansion, stands the new ruler of Panem, Alma Coin, who is staring eagerly at her mortal enemy. I tap my nails on the glass and frown; if there's someone I really hate in this world, that would be Alma Coin- her people have been hiding underground for seventy-five years, and they only dared to crawl out of their hole and start a rebellion because they got a little puppet to control the masses. And I know that bitch will stop at nothing just to see the entire Snow family dead.

Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay, is raising her bow; she's changed a lot since I last saw her, as she was being lifted from the Quarter Quell arena. She looks like she could rip my throat, even though I must be two times her size.

I hold my breath for a moment, waiting to see what she's truly made of, and a second later Coin's lifeless body falls from the balcony. I can't help but laugh, and I can see my grandfather doing the same, as the crowd steps over him and Katniss is dragged away from the stage.

Well done, Mockingjay, I think, as I walk away from my window. You're actually braver than I thought.

At last she sent for a huntsman, and said, "Take the child out into the woods, so that I may set eyes on her no more."

I can hear them crashing through the hall, banging on every door as Mom screams downstairs, as if that would stop them from taking me away. I've been expecting this moment since the rebels took the power, so I just cross my ankles under the chair I'm sitting on, while I straighten the dress I chose for today- white, with black flowery patterns decorating the chest line and the hem. This is the simplest dress I own. I'm not wearing any make-up, not even a wig, so I'm entirely in black and white, except for my reddish lips and blue eyes.

"It's open," I say calmly, when I sense someone behind my door.

He barges in, wearing his immaculate uniform, and runs his eyes through my bright-colored room before finally noticing me, a monochromatic spot in all that blue, green and pink. I put down the book I had been pretending to read and tangle my fingers on my lap, hoping that the soldier in front of me can't see how much they are shaking, and raise my eyes, observing him: he's very handsome, with hair as black as mine, olive skin and stormy grey eyes that reveal how distraught he is from the recent tragedy. I've seen him on the screen enough times to know perfectly well who he is. "Good morning, Mr. Hawthorne," I say politely.

He frowns, looking troubled, as if I'm not worthy of addressing him. "Miss Snow, I'm afraid I bring bad news."

I dig my nails in my palms. "Is this about my execution?"

"Not exactly."

"What is it, then?" I ask, surprised. "Are you here because of my father? Please don't hide anything from me."

"No, this isn't about your father," he says tonelessly. "Miss Snow, I'm here to inform you that you've been selected as a tribute for the 76th Hunger Games. I must take you with me."

"What? When?" I ask steadily, setting my jaw and dropping the damsel in distress act. I want him to see that Capitol girls can be brave too. But I still hope he's joking about the Games.

Ha! These soldiers wouldn't recognize a joke even if it wore a target for them to shoot their guns at.

"As soon as I receive the order to escort you to the Training Center," he replies.

I shut my eyes, trying to hide that this is what I least wanted to hear. "I thought your new president would be against that."

"She is," he says, a bit too harshly for my taste. "But president Coin told Plutarch Heavensbee about her idea before she died, and now he managed to go through with it."

I beam at him; that Plutarch surely has a way to always come on top, along with his precious Games, no matter who is holding the power. "And how does your… cousin," I emphasize the word so that he knows I never fell for that story, "Feel about these Games? She shot president Coin, after all- I'd say she didn't approve of her ideas."

I can tell I just hit a painful matter, because Gale Hawthorne's eyes darken for a second. "She doesn't know," he says. "She's… in confinement."

"Oh, right," I chuckle. "That whole shooting-the-president thing must have been quite a shock." I innocently widen my eyes at him, sensing his growing unease. "And may I ask who will the other tributes be?"

"There will be eight of you," he explains, obviously making an effort to remain polite. "Representing each of the remaining victors. All related to the ones who held the power before the rebellion- the children of your grandfather's accomplices, in other words."

I raise my eyebrow. I will only have seven opponents? They must be in desperate need of children, for them to decrease the number of tributes like that. "Will Alida be one of them?"

Now that I know I'll die for sure, I'm worried about her- Alida was not only an escort, but also the niece of a particularly influential politician.

"Who?"

I roll my eyes. "Alida Cox," I explain. "She was an escort for District Four. She wasn't arrested after the Quarter Quell thanks to me, but I don't know what happened to her since District 13 took hold of the Capitol."

Gale Hawthorne seems to think for a second. "I know who she is," he says, a little unpleasantly. "She's lucky she's got friends on both sides. If it wasn't for Annie Cresta, she'd be dead."

"So she's alive? Good!" I exclaim, pleased.

He just shoots me a harsh look, as the communicator on his wrist goes off. "You have to come with me now, Miss Snow," he says in a professional tone, yet managing to sound as if he is addressing something he's just found stuck to his boot.

Which means I'm winning.

"Can't you just shoot me now and pretend I tried to run away?" I ask casually. "That would spare me a lot of work."

"No, I can't."

"What if I really tried to run away? Would you let me go?"

"No. And I wouldn't shoot you either. They need you alive."

"Loyal to the bone," I sigh. "Unfortunately, we're not always loyal to the right people, are we, Mr. Hawthorne?"

"I don't think you know anything about loyalty," he says coldly.

"Oh, but I do. I'm loyal to her." I tilt my chin towards the mirrors, where we can both see my reflections. "And I can assure you she'll never disappoint me. Now," I get up from my chair, and point at my bare feet. "Can I go get my shoes?"

Gale Hawthorne nods, still visibly annoyed by my remarks, and follows me to my closet, making sure I don't disappear through any secret passages. He snorts unpleasantly when I open it to reveal hundreds of shoes, some of them still new. I choose a pair of black flat sandals before turning back to him. "Oh, don't worry," I say scornfully, gesturing towards the shoes. "When I die, this is all yours."

"Please hurry up, Miss Snow," he spits, as I calmly tie my sandals. If I'm going to die anyway, why not piss him off a little more?

"Please," I say ironically, as soon as I'm ready. I pat him on the shoulder, causing him to stiffen. "Call me Allie!"

Then, I grab my purse and stride out of my room for what's probably the last time, with a boy from District 12 close on my heels, pointing a gun at me.

They said, "We cannot bury her in the black earth," and they had a transparent glass coffin made, so she could be seen from all sides.

I look forward, refusing to let the crowd meet my gaze as my chariot rolls over the City Circle, but I can still hear their muffled laughter, and I can feel their accusing fingers pointing at me- whoever's in charge made sure we all looked ridiculous, and that no one would doubt who we are related to. They removed all our make-up, but some of my fellow tributes are still showing their bright-colored hair and tattoos.

There goes Lucian Crouch, grandson of a particularly praised- and cruel, according to the districts- Head Gamemaker, dressed with a purple tunic and holding a puppet that represents the past tributes.

They should have dressed him as a literal asshole, but that's just my opinion.

Most of the other boys and girls are dressed as politicians, and then there's me: they've pushed my hair back, so that everyone can see my face, and put me inside a suit with a big fat white rose pinned to the front of my jacket. Around my neck I'm wearing a chain with a bottle hanging from it. It's impossible not to see the word written around the label.

POISON.

"There must be seven of them, the table's laid for seven people."

Caesar Flickerman looks at me with his tired eyes- they reveal all the horrors he's been through at the hands of my own grandfather for giving that interview with Peeta Mellark, but his professionalism doesn't slip for a fraction of second.

"So tell us, Alva," he says in a surprisingly steady voice. "What will be your greatest weapon in the arena? Do you have anything that can put the odds in your favor?"

I raise my eyes from the string I had been picking up from the hem of my blood-red velvet dress- there are no stylists left, so I have absolutely no idea who made this; there are also no mentors, so I'm equally clueless about what I should say right now- and take in how strange Caesar looks without his colored make-up and hair-dye, now unable to hide his graying black hair.

I shrug. "I don't know," I reply, a bit insolently. "There's only eight of us, right? I guess that improves the odds."

"But you are all eighteen years old," Caesar points out. "And some of you look pretty strong. Doesn't that scare you?"

I look back, at the other tributes. The fact that we're all the same age isn't an accident- tired of seeing twelve-year-olds dying, the districts hand-picked only older children.

How considerate of them.

The others are just as unprepared as I am and all of them are retracted on their chairs, with the exception of Lucian and another boy, who have been fed with steroids since age fourteen and actually seem excited to be here; they concern me, but they're far from scaring me. The steroids don't reach the brain, so I'm not worried that they may have accidentally developed super-intelligence.

With that in mind, I turn back to Caesar. "No," I answer. "It doesn't scare me."

"You must put her to death, and bring me her heart for a token."

For the second time in less than a week, Gale Hawthorne bursts into my room without knocking. Only this time I'm at the Training Center, just a few stories below his dear 'cousin'.

"Miss Snow, you have to get up," he says harshly, when I don't move from my bed.

"Allie," I correct him, without even opening my eyes.

"I have to take you to the Launch Room," he continues, and I can tell he's gritting his teeth. I smile to myself. "So please get up."

I take my head off my pillow look up at him defiantly. Does he really think I'm going to make this easy for him? "Pfft. Make me."

Next thing I know, the covers are ripped off me and Gale has grabbed me by my arm in a grip of iron and is dragging me out of my bed and towards the door. "Hey! That hurts!" I cry, digging my heels in the carpet and burning them in the process; I may be a heavy girl, but he's pulling me as if I'm nothing more than a child, without even slowing down. "At least let me get dressed!" I shout, as I realize I'm wearing nothing but a skimpy nightgown. When he ignores me, I kick him behind the knees, but that only seems to make him angrier and tighten the grip around my arm.

Gale drags me all the way up to the roof, where we're picked up by a hovercraft. Once in there, he forces me to sit down on a cushioned chair, and picks up an abnormally large syringe.

"What is that?" I ask, unable to hide the concern in my voice.

Gale frowns at me, his mouth twisted with disdain. "You honestly don't know?" I shake my head. "It's your tracker."

He pulls my arm again, and points the needle at the soft skin right below the inside of my elbow. "Have you ever even done this?" I ask.

"No." Without another word, he pierces my forearm with the syringe. I do my best to ignore the sharp pain and cross my arms immediately after, refusing to look him in the eye for the rest of the trip.

However, when Gale shoves me inside the Launch room and I lay my eyes upon the plate that is supposed to lift me to the arena, I start panicking for no reason- I shouldn't be scared. I've watched the Games my entire life, and actually had fun with them.

This is not a TV show. This is for real.

With nowhere to run but the door, I spin around and try to punch Gale in the nose, only he is too quick and grabs my fist; I still manage to bury my knee in his gut, though he doesn't seem to feel it and simply twists my arm in a very painful angle. "You know how to fight," he states, sounding uninterested but surprised.

"I took classes," I grumble, not adding that I only did it because learning self-defense was practically mandatory in the highest Capitol circles two summers ago. Before that I took meditation, yoga, and… what was it? Oh, right. Pilates.

He points at a pile of clothes that is sitting on a table next to the couch. "Get dressed," he orders.

I think about saying no, just to get on his nerves, but then I take a look at my nightgown and decide that anything's better than this short, lace-y thing. My boobs are practically hanging out. "Fine. Turn around," I say.

"As if I'm going to look at you," Gale snorts, though he turns around nevertheless. "A girl from the Capitol."

"That's the only reason you're not peeking, though," I point out, squeezing myself into the clothes I will probably die in as fast as I can, before he changes his mind and decides to enjoy the show.

But Gale remains with his back turned to me, and I realize it's now or never: without thinking twice, I sprint towards the door, my heart pounding in my ears- the odds of managing to escape don't seem good- but the moment I touch the doorknob, something very heavy collides with me and begins pulling me back- that thing, I realize, is Gale, who apparently was more attentive than I thought. "Why are you doing this?" I shriek with frustration, as I'm forced to sit on the couch. "Why can't you just let me go?"

"Your people need to learn a lesson," he replies, without looking me in the eye.

I raise an eyebrow. "Isn't this what you claim you've been fighting against?" He doesn't answer, so I go on. "Don't you think there have been enough deaths?"

This seems to get a reaction. "All those deaths," he spits, "Were your grandfather's doings. Never forget that."

"But I didn't do anything!" I exclaim.

Gale punches the table, his grey eyes shooting daggers at me. "And do you think all those children who died in the past seventy-five years did anything?" he shouts. "They were paying the price for a rebellion that should have been successful-"

"But there was an agreement," I say steadily, "That you ought to be punished-"

"… And now it's your turn." Gale isn't smiling, even though I can tell he's at least a little pleased. I'm starting to think his face is always like this. "Think of this as your punishment."

I widen my eyes at him. "I hate you." I've never said this to anyone and meant it, much less someone so good-looking- if that even matters. "You should have gone in the arena instead of that baker."

Gale's eyes flash dangerously, but there's also pain in them- like he's actually thought about it as well. "You really are all the same, aren't you?" he asks with disgust. "Heartless spoiled brats that think of no one but themselves."

"I am not heartless," I protest, ignoring the 'spoiled brat' remark. That one is probably true. But what's so wrong about having money?

"Then prove it," he dares. "Prove that you've actually put someone's needs before your own, at least for once in your life."

"That's easy," I say without thinking. "I-" My voice trails off.

I never cared about anyone, now that I think about it- I never had to. Everyone around me had a life as perfect as mine, and when the rebellion fully hit us, I was too busy worrying about myself, especially since I was selected as a tribute. I remain silent, suddenly ashamed of myself.

"Thought so." The disgust in Gale's voice is now even more evident, and I'm furious that he's had the final word. "I won't say you're like an animal because that would be a huge insult towards them. I've seen more humanity in deer than in Capitol people."

I raise my hand, intended to slap him, but on that moment a voice echoes through the room, telling me it's time to step on my metal plate.

I don't know why, but a picture of Mom crying alone in our mansion flashes in my mind. I drop my hand, feeling a bigger urge that really annoys me, but unfortunately I didn't get to choose who I would spend my last minutes of freedom with. "Can you do me a favor?" I ask reluctantly.

Gale looks at me as if I'm crazy. "No."

"Can you take care of my mother?" I go on, ignoring him. "Not… take care, but make sure she's okay."

"Why would I do that?" he asks incredulously.

"Maybe because," I say quickly, aware that my time is running out. "You're supposed to have a heart, since I don't seem to have one? She's already lost my father." I shoot him a harsh look, so that he knows I'm only resorting to him because he's practically the only person I'm allowed to speak with. "And she's about to lose me. There's only so much that a mother can endure, don't you think?"

I spin on my heels and stride towards the metal plate. Anything- even the arena- is better than spending another second being scolded by those twin stormy clouds.

I still take one last look back, however, and I'm pleasantly surprised to see that Gale's expression has changed to the one I suppose he'd wear if I had actually slapped him.

Now, when the poor child found herself quite alone in the wild woods, she felt full of terror, even of the very leaves on the trees, and she did not know what to do for fright.

The Cornucopia is right in the middle of a clearing, so absurdly close that I wonder if they are trying to get all of the tributes killed right on the first day.

Knowing Plutarch Heavensbee, that's probably true.

It's warm here, so they didn't even give us jackets. I tug on my t-shirt, frowning; just like the shorts, it is hot pink (so not my color), in a clear mockery of the Capitol fashion; all the girls are wearing the same, while the boys' clothes are bright orange. It will be cruelly easy for us to track down each other- I can tell the districts are getting their revenge for all of the past seventy-five years, since this is their only chance to do so.

I focus back on the supplies spread in front of the golden horn, and shiver, as I realize I only have forty seconds left before I have to run for my life. I'm not able to use any of those weapons, nor am I capable of finding food in a forest, and I know the others aren't much better; none of us was prepared for this, and those three days of training weren't enough.

Ten seconds left- I decide that if I'm going to die, I'll die fighting.

However, when the gong finally goes off, I'm startled and forget what to do. A quick look around shows me the other seven tributes seem to be having the same problem.

Just do what you've seen on television.

I'm the first to get out of my daze and jump off my plate, and I immediately thank all those hours I spent on the treadmill, because I'm quickly joined by seven other people. I manage to seize a backpack and a bag- full of food, I hope- before I run to the safety of the trees.

Along the way, I stumble upon two girls I recall seeing in a party once, struggling over another bag. This reminds me so much of sale season that I almost forget where I am- that is, until Lucian suddenly appears and, much to my shock, snaps the neck of one of the girls.

Uh… maybe I should be scared of him.

I dive forward and pick up a knife she dropped, and Lucian tries to grab my arm, but I dig my pointy nails on his hand and he lets me go, luckily not bothering to chase me as I enter the woods.

I walk without stopping for hours, hoping it's enough to throw Lucian away from my track- I don't want my beautiful neck snapped just because he's having the time of his life. It appears Lucian's convinced this is just a reconstitution, judging from the way he seems to be having fun. Or maybe he's just as sadistic as his grandfather.

I grin, just as the sound of three cannons echoes through the forest.

I had a sadistic grandfather too.

At last she thought of something.

Two days. That's all it took Lucian and the boy he formed an alliance with to hunt down two other tributes; they seem to be convinced they're the Capitol version of the Careers, as if the fact they used to go every day to the gym suddenly turned them into trained killers. But I know Careers can be defeated too.

Think like a victor, think like a victor!

I take a few steps back, run towards the tree and jump, managing to grab a branch- it's about time, this is my fifth attempt at climbing this stupid tree. I swing for a moment, hanging from it with my hands, but end up slipping and falling on a bush. I hold back an unladylike curse, as I realize I've broken a nail.

I sit next to the bush and drop my face in my hands. This arena is so small it is only a matter of time before I'm found by those two pseudo-Careers. I know they won't make it any easier just because we're all from the Capitol- to them, this is just a game, like any other they've seen on the television since they could remember. For the first time, I feel sorry for the children from the districts, forced to fight to the death for our entertainment.

I pick up a berry and twist it between my fingers: nightlock, the deadliest of all berries, and one of the main ingredients of my grandfather's recipes. I could just eat them and end this, but I'm a fighter, not a quitter. If only there was a way to give the berries to Lucian and his friend without them knowing… But thanks to Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, now everyone in the country knows what nightlock is.

Then, my eyes fall on my bag- my bag full of red, tasty apples, and I feel my lips forming a smile as I squash the berry, letting the juice drip from my fingers.

"Are you afraid of poison?" asked the old woman. "Look, I'll cut the apple in two. You eat half and I shall eat half."

I know where they have set their camping; I only need to be careful not to get too close. I wrinkle my nose as I tear open a recently dead rabbit (Ew, ew, ew!), letting the blood of the animal pour and drawing a trail that disappears through the trees. Then, I go back to the beginning of the trail and drop my apple bag. I sigh; there are so many flaws in this plan that only someone as dumb as Lucian could ever fall for it. Making sure everything's quiet, I take a deep breath.

Then, I let out the most terrified, high-pitched scream I have inside me, also known as my concert shriek.

I run on the opposite direction of the blood trail, and I only have time to hide behind a bush before Lucian and his friend storm into the clearing, holding their ridiculous swords and spears.

"Dude, look!" I peek at them, and I see Lucian's ally pointing at the blood.

"Do you think she's dead?"

"Don't think so. We would have heard the cannon. We should follow the blood."

"What do we have here?" Lucian kneels down next to the bag. "It seems little Allie left us a present!"

"Great, I'm starving. Those supplies we found are freakin' disgusting." The other boy picks up the bag and points at the trees. "Let's eat along the way."

As soon as they are out of sight, I get up from my hiding place, and calmly get the red fruit from my pocket, while I whistle. I still have time to take a bite of my nightlock-juice-free apple before the two cannons fire.

As soon as they arrived home, they saw that someone had been there - for not everything was in the same order as they had left it.

I go down the stairs that lead me backstage without looking behind, as soon as my interview is over. I can tell they're not happy that I, the most hated tribute, was the one who got out alive. I could see it in the faces of the only remaining victors- Peeta, Enobaria, Johanna, Haymitch, Annie and Beetee (it seems Katniss is still in confinement). I may have survived the arena, but I will never be one of them.

I find a dark corner, lean my back against the wall and close my eyes, glad that I finally have some moments alone.

"Congratulations, Miss Snow."

"I told you," I say with a smile, without opening my eyes. "It's Allie." I open my eyes, and find Gale Hawthorne staring at me, with his arms crossed over his chest. "Are you here for the shoes?"

He shakes his head. "I'm here to take you home."

"Because you can keep them," I continue, ignoring him. "I won't be needing them anymore."

"I mean it, Miss S… Allie. Your mother is still very concerned, and she won't rest until she sees you."

I sigh. "Very well, Mr. Hawthorne."

"Oh, please," he mocks ironically, as he signals me to go with him. "You can call me Gale."

I raise my eyebrows as he places his hand on my back, guiding me. "Are you sure? Don't you think I'm just an extremely annoying, heartless Capitol spoiled brat?"

"I guess you've proved you're a little more than that. I admit I didn't see it coming when you won." He looks at me through the corner of his eye. "You're still annoying, though."

"Excelent! I was starting to think I had lost my touch," I say, as we walk towards the exit.

"Don't worry. You didn't."

We both remain silent as we head outside, to the grey light of a rainy day; the streets are strangely quiet, except for one or two stray animals, and there are still signs of the bombings. When we reach my house, I notice that the soldiers who used to stand on both sides of the front door have disappeared- not that it makes any difference.

Gale eyes the deserted garden for a moment, before turning to me. "What are you planning to do now?"

"I don't know." I shrug. "I'll probably go somewhere far from this place. I'm a pariah here, anyway- the other victors will never accept me, and I'm hated wherever I go… either because I'm a Snow, or because I killed people from my own town. Everyone thinks I'm a traitor."

"I heard they don't mind much about that in District 2," he says blankly. "Maybe you should give it a try."

"Maybe I should." I smile, climbing the stairs on the front porch. "So… I guess this is farewell. Goodbye, Gale Hawthorne."

But then it happened that one of them stumbled on some brush, and this dislodged from Snow White's throat the piece of poisoned apple that she had bitten off. Not long afterward she opened her eyes, lifted the lid from her coffin, sat up, and was alive again.

I plunge the dish on the sink, and begin scrubbing what is left of our meal, as I whistle some tune I have stuck in my head- I found out it's really relaxing to whistle while I work. I admit it took me and my family a while to get used to moving into a small cottage, after living in the Capitol all our lives, but the relief Mom and I felt when Dad was released actually made us forget we used to live in luxury.

Suddenly, I'm distracted from my task- through the kitchen window I can see a familiar figure on the front lawn, staring at the house. Not believing my eyes, I turn off the water, take off my rubber gloves and step to the door. I make sure my ponytail is still in its place before walking outside, not caring if I'm still wearing an apron.

"Well, well," I say, surprised. "What brings you here?"

Gale widens his eyes at me, and I place my hands on my hips. I'm aware that I've looked better before- I've lost a lot of weight, my skin isn't as white as before, from working on the garden outside, and don't even get me started on my nails. "This is your house?"

"Yeah." I squint at him. "Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering who it belonged to." Gale tilts his chin towards the place I now call a home. "I should have known better; who else would own a house with a green roof, blue walls and a pink door?"

I shrug. "Old habits die hard. But really, why are you here? I thought you'd go back to District 12."

"No, I… I was offered a job here." I can tell this is an unpleasant matter to him. "What about you? How are you doing?"

"Well enough." I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "I've gotten used to people pointing their fingers at me and whispering. They call me 'poisonous snake'." I make a hissing sound with my tongue and let out a laugh that comes out bitter instead of carefree.

Gale frowns. "How stupid. Don't listen to them."

"I don't mind it," I say lightly, shrugging again. "It's not like they're wrong, is it? Besides, I've been trying to redeem myself, and I've even made some friends. And I actually like it here."

As if it had heard me, a mockingjay starts singing the tune I had been whistling earlier, and I reply with the rest of the song; much to my surprise, Gale's mouth twists slightly, and he almost smiles (*gasp!*). "So you're happy."

"Yeah." I beam, realizing he's right. "You could say that."

"Well then." He changes his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably. "See you around?"

I wave at him, before getting back in the house. "See you around."

For some reason, I spend the rest of the day singing.