She bears witness to everything he endures: lashes and shocks, mostly, and lies about his love. Sometimes they dress him up for interviews. They are always dressing Annie up: rouge and lipstick and polish that makes her fingernails luscious, impotent claws.
On those day they both smile, pained. "Miss Cresta," he croaks. "How are you enjoying this ball?"
It would be funny if he weren't so bruised and she so naked. Annie finds the strength to curtsy. "Dear Mellark, it's simply divine." They waltz in adjacent cells, Peeta tapping out a beat. Reach out hands. Are almost able to touch.
