1

The Hunger Games were over. I was alive, and so was Peeta. There would be no more nights spent in a tree, petrified of what was going on around me. No more days spent wondering how some arena was planning on exterminaing me. No more sick Capitol games... at least for a while.

The Victory Tour was harsh, going from district to district, seeing the families of people who were killed by others, or slain by our own hands, to ensure our survival. The families were the worst. They looked at us with malice, anger that we were alive, and their loved ones were in a box, buried six feet under.

But even amongst all of that hate, the anger, the desire for vengance, was understanding. Knowing that we had no choice. That it was a fight for survival, and if their loved ones had lived, our families would be suffering just as much. They understood, even if they didn't agree with it one bit. Anger was easier to feel than understanding, easier to hide behind. I didn't blame them one bit. I hated myself too. I had killed, and I deserved the hate, I deserved their anger.

Peeta was just as affected by it. He felt their anger, their pain, their desire to see their children again, and he took it to heart. Peeta wanted to bring them back, to be able to appease the families. But we both knew that nobody possessed that kind of power. So we sat in silence throughout the proceedings. Not uttering a single word, only letting silent tears flow down our cheeks as we accepted the glares from the families and friends of the deceased.

Nights were long, longer than they were when we were in the arena. At least then we could prepare for the next day. On the tour we could only sit and wait. Peeta would paint or draw, creating scenes from the arena, the bloody deaths and the painful memories put onto canvas or paper; his way of dealing with the thoughts in his head.

I sat and stared out the windows on the train, the memories flooding through me with each new village, no way to deal with them except to ride the flashbacks out and try not to cry. Haymitch drank himself into a serene blackness every day, and Effie kept herself busy by trying to make the voyage as timely and smooth as possible. She seemed to be the least affected of us all.

Life held little meaning at the moment. Sure I had survived, but I sacrificed a part of myself in the process. I was no longer Katniss Everdeen. I was something else entirely; I was something without so much as a name.

We were pulling into the Capitol when Cinna came to my car to get me. "Katniss," his silky voice called, "we need to get ready." Cinna knew my pain was immense, and he attempted to make me as comfortable as he could with everything else.

I stood from my perch by the window and followed him out of the room. We walked down the hall to another car, where his assistants waited to prep me. It was a mindless routine of them chattering away about meaningless and frivolous things while they ensured that my body was hairless, my nails were in the upmost condition, and that I was clean and ready for CInna's transformation.

The whole process took two grueling hours, all of which was spent with me in silence, staring absently at a wall. They attempted to get me to talk at first, but after the first few tries, gave up and chatted amongst themselves.

Cinna finally entered the room, his gold eyeliner flawlessyly applied and flared at the edges of his eyes. "Katniss," Cinna began. His eyes held a spark of something I couldn't place; fear, anger, sadness? My insides knotted at his expression.

"What is it?" I asked, afraid of the answer. Cinna's actions were making me nervous, insinuating that something was going to happen. Something I wouldn't enjoy in the slightest.

"Katniss, tonight is very important," Cinna continued as he set to work on my hair. "Tonight you must be social and you must be on your best behavior. Be the girl on fire, the girl everyone wants to be or be with. Do you understand me?" His eyes met mine in the mirror. The dire importance of the situation lingered in his gaze, causing my insides to curl more.

"Yes, I understand," I said, my mouth feeling as if it were full of ashes. "But why Cinna?"

Cinna dropped my gaze and continued to work on my hair. I hadn't noticed the door opened, until Haymitch's drunken voice filled the room.

"Because you have been selected to be sold off," Haymitch responded. I froze, part of me understanding what he was telling me and the other unable to comprehend any of it.

"What do you mean sold off?"

"I mean that you are the Capitol's new sex slave, and everyone wants to sleep with the girl on fire." Silence filled the room. Cinna's hands kept twisting my hair around me head, never once faltering.

"Why?" I choked out, tears threatening to spill over.

Cinna chose to answer this time, cutting off Haymitch's blunt explanation. "They want to show you they still own you. People who can afford it, pay the Capitol to avoid the situation. You're family can't afford it, so you are being sold off."

"And everyone likes a virgin," Haymitch chimed in.

Tears began to fall from my eyes. "What about Peeta?" I asked. "Does he have to go through this?"

Cinna finished with my hair and began to touch up my makeup, making sure it was waterproof this time. "No." There was no explanation. Just a simple no. I didn't attempt to find out more. My world had finally shattered. Having sex with strangers, that was my future, and it was going to the highest bidder.