Katniss. Gone. She is gone. She probably can't even bear the sight of me anymore.

How could I have been so stupid? I smash a glass flowerpot into the wall, ignoring the blood and pain that accompany the shards in my hands. I know I'll regret this in the morning, when I have to go to work.

Why had I sent those parachutes? I should've known. Should've known Prim would be one of the first ones to go, the first to try and aid the children. Should've known Katniss would never understand my actions. Should've known that the greater good would not be enough for her.

And now Katniss hates me, will always hate me. She is off in the new twelve with Peeta, the baker, the weakling, who is certainly better for her, certainly more able to make her happy.

I climb into bed, exhausted from the day's work and from my little temper tantrum. I shake my head. Completely able to keep any emotion from rising to the surface around people, I really should have more self-control now.

Sighing, I fall asleep. I dream, and that is unusual for me. My mind is black and white, filled with reality; there is no room for dreams.

But, exceptions exist, even within my geometric mind. I am sunk in the deepness of exhausted rest, when Katniss's face swims into view before my eyes. Not surprising; I was thinking of her before I fell asleep. Then Katniss turns away from me, not saying a word, her expression blank. But once she has twisted away and I see the back of her, except it isn't her. Katniss is, quite obviously, no longer Katniss. I do not recognize this new girl. She does not stand with Katniss's proud posture, and her hair is not dark, silken brown but bright, fiery red.