Adjusting her pink hair Effie Trinket prepared herself to get up on the stage to read out this year's tributes from District 12.
It bored her, this job, but she was an actress and could always put on a face for the cameras.
Soon she hoped to be bumped up to a higher district.
When reading the names of the tribute's she had forced herself to feel no emotion and to just look happy, this was her job after all.
But when the children came to the stage to stand with her, especially when it was a youngster she couldn't stop her heart dropping.
There was one silver lining in this dark thundercloud of a mine.
Haymitch.
Haymitch Abernathy.
The drunken winner of District 12.
The only drunken tribute winner.
But Effie felt a strange attraction to him.
She loved his shaggy hair, his stocky build, his wild, dangerous look.
She loved him.
It was time.
Effie walked onto the stage and looked out at all the tributes and then behind her.
No Haymitch.
Her heart stopped.
She began talking, the usual waffle and then… there he was.
Drunk.
But still beautiful.
He fell off the stage.
Effie looked disgusted and left him when really she wanted to pick him up, hug him, tell him he was an idiot but in her eyes a beautiful one.
Of course she couldn't.
She had to do her job and so she picked out the first name.
"Primrose Everdeen."
A young girl, probably 12 but she looked younger, stepped forward and from then on her thoughts on Haymitch were drowned in a sea of cameras, events and acting.
Always acting.
Acting as if she didn't care.
When really, really she wanted to ditch her Capitol ways and run away.
Run and be free.
But this was Panem.
No one was free.
No one could ever be.