Sorry i haven't updated for ages! - the second part of my story is from Gyp's perspective - hope you like it!

PART TWO – GYP

CHAPTER FOUR – LET THE NINTEY-THIRD ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES BEGIN.

I hear my name being called and brace myself for the stage. As I enter under its bright lights, I hear the crowd fall silent at the sight of me. They have been waiting to meet me for seventeen years. I can feel the anticipation buzzing in the silence as I make my way across the stage to Caesar Flickerman. I catch sight of myself on the monitor on my way. The ice-blue ball gown I am wearing is cascading down to the floor and shining under the lights. It is a mix of white, grey and blue lace and is covered with sequins and pearls. The result is breathtaking. I look like a snowflake, or a raindrop. Like a very precious gemstone caught in the sunlight. As I watch myself glide across the stage I realise that I look like the crystal colour in my eyes, and I fully appreciate Cinna's beautiful work.

It was precious getting to spend these last few days with Cinna. I met him once when I was five. He came to visit us, wanting to meet his God-daughter. I didn't know him well, but I knew he must have been special for my mother to make him my God-father. I hadn't realised just how special he is until I see myself on the screen. The colour of my eyes is something rare, even down in the Seam where all you see is grey eyes, but the eyes I share with my mother are such a light grey they look like crystals have formed in our Iris's. It is a colour that nobody had been able to capture before. Untill now.

I feel the audience hold their breath as I walk forward and I notice Caesar Flickerman can't keep his eyes off me. I worry that I look silly or that I smeared my make up across my face.

"Gypsophilia, it's a pleasure. I am a great fan of both your parents," says Caesar, reaching out a hand to me and guiding me onto the velvet couch. He holds my hand so delicately it's as though I could break at his touch.

"Please, call me Gyp, and that doesn't count, the whole country is a fan of my parents," I say with a winning smile. This breaks the ice and the audience beam back at me.

"You look absolutely breathtaking tonight Gyp," he says, lowering his voice as though it's a secret.

"Oh is that what is? When I saw everyone staring, I thought I might have snot on my face or something," I say and the audience laugh again. I capture them on every word, my voice ringing out like birdsong.

"Hahaha, not at all, you look like a snowflake!"

"Well so do you Caesar, and look! We Match!" I beam at him again and gesture to his outfit which is sparkling white. His hair is a light sky blue this year and the whole ensemble matches mine.

"Ah! So we do! Shall we give a little twirl?" he asks with a grin, and the audience gives a loud scream in agreement. Caesar spins me so my dress whirls around me. The effect is beautiful. The pearls and sequins join together, reflecting the light all around the stage. When I stop, the audience screams at us not to, so Caesar grabs my hand and dances me round the stage. I throw my head back and laugh as we spin, dazzling people with my smile. When people begin to 'ahh' and 'sigh' I catch sight of us on the monitor and understand why. As I move, my dress practically shimmers; it glows in the light and consumes me. I am a perfect, shining light and as I glide across the floor my whole being seems elegant and graceful. Cinna has made me into perfection.

When we finish twirling, I am sure my three minutes are up but the buzzer does not go off. Instead Caesar brings up the subject that everyone is dying to know about; my training score.

"Gyp, I have to ask, what did you do to get that twelve?"

He's not really supposed to ask but no one is stopping him. Silence falls again. I made Hunger Games history by scoring the first ever twelve in the private sessions with The Game Makers.

I was waiting outside the Training Center with Leonn. He was trembling head to toe with fear so I held in him my arms until I had to let him go. He tried to give me a weak smile, but his white face was stricken with worry. But his attempt to be brave stirred something inside me.

"Leonn," I called, just as he reached the door, "show them what you're made of."

A spark flicked across his eyes then and he entered through the doors with clenched fists. I was so glad I had said something because later that evening we found that Leonn had scored a six. I was extremely proud of him. Leonn was a keen climber; a tiny little thing and could fly through the branches like a monkey. But I was doubtful he would have a decent score because what good was that in the training centre where there is nothing to climb?

When it was my turn to enter I realised exactly how Leonn would score so well. Past the doors the usually greyish coloured expanse had been transformed into a forest. The tree's were thick and leafy and rustled with life. As I saw a rabbit hop past me I realised that they had made a live hunting ground for us. Perfect.

I saw the bow and arrow hung from the highest tree and immediately started for it. Whenever I caught glimpses of The Game Makers on their balcony they were laughing, eating, and ignoring me. I was doing exactly what they expected me to do. If I wanted to have any effect at all, to show them just how deadly I could be I needed to do something different. As Katniss Everdeen's daughter they wouldn't be surprised if I could hunt. I needed to show them who I was.

Once I reached the bow I could tell eyes were on me, expecting me to shoot. But I didn't. I climbed back down the tree and walked into the center of the space. It was a slight clearing and The Game Makers could easily see me. Now that I had their attention I knew exactly what I was going to do.

I left the bow at my side, turned into the trees, and started to sing.

My voice was soft at first, gentle deep, and as it rose, it soared through the tree tops. The Mockingjay's flocked to the sound. When I first entered the center I could sense them in the trees and knew they were here. Now they perched before me, transfixed by my voice.

I had always known my voice was special. When I was out in the woods with my father he would ask me to sing to him and everything around me stopped. It was like that when mother sang too, only I was different. For her the birds stopped. For me, they were silent and possessed. My voice entranced them until they were lost in the ripples of my sound.

This happened with the Mockingjay's in the Training Center. They were so captivated by my voice that even when I stopped and drew my bow on them, they did not flee. I took them down in five's. I didn't need to aim. I knew where they were. In five seconds I had killed the twenty Mockingjay's in the Training Center and as I walked out the doors, their lifeless black bodies littered the training room floor.

"I sang to them," I say in a distant voice, answering Caesar's question. I am lost in the memory and when I look up at The Game Makers I can see I had disturbed them. I had shocked them, because how could someone so sweet be so cruel. But I am not cruel. I was simply giving them a taste of their own medicine, showing them what The Hunger Games really are: murder.

I had mercilessly slaughtered the birds to show them just how dangerous I can be. I can trap my prey and kill them. And I will do it in The Games without flinching. I have no problem taking advantage of the weak because I am now part of the Hunger Games; an event purely based on the exploitation of the vulnerable.

When Caesar looks to The Game Makers, the head of them whispers something into a microphone. His wispy voice echoes around the people but nobody seems to catch what he says.

I do though.

Beautiful but deadly. That's what he said.

I am glad. I need them to think of me as deadly if I am going to get Leonn home alive. For once someone has got me spot on. I am not afraid. Or angry. I am not even surprised I am here. I am so much more aware of The Games than people realise. I know what my parents did, I understand their punishment is me and because of that, I know my place in this world. My place as protector, as comforter, as a strength. I imagine Maizie, my fellow protector, watching me and hear her voice in my head.

"Oi, Golden Girl, pull yourself together!"

Imagining her husky voice gives me a push and I come back to the moment. I take the distant expression off my face and replace it with a beautiful smile.

"To be honest Caesar, I think they gave me the twelve as a sort of joke. I mean, can you imagine, a girl steps into the private sessions and starts singing? They probably just didn't know what to do," I laugh and the audience join me.

"Must of been a pretty good song to be worthy of a twelve," says Caesar, "I think we need a private rendition?" His voice rises to the audience as his arms go up and they roar in agreement.

I pretend to blush and argue with him, but I am honestly quite nervous. I don't sing to anyone a part from my father. I know I will have to do it in the end so I give Caesar a playful slap on the arm and begin my rendition of a song my father taught me.

There's a place I know where the world is quiet,

Where the birds sing sweetly, where the summer breeze riots,

Where the children can dance, where the babies can play,

Where my heart's with you chasing fears away.

It's a place so warm all you feel is my love,

You will be like a free bird flying up above,

I will cherish your heart as you hold onto mine,

Our love will know no bounds, will feel no time.

I can feel it as I sing; that stillness that falls when I open my mouth. People are lost in me and I worry they do not hear the words. But they will.

There you'll be, lying safe with me,

Holding my hands like it's meant to be,

I will keep you, nurture you, and show you right from wrong.

You are safe down there, where the Hunger Games are gone.

The song is splendid as I finish and my voice hangs in the air after the last few lines are long gone. The world is silent for the moments while I sing but when it lingers; I know it's because of my words. My words that for once tell the truth about these wretched Games. When I turn to Caesar, I see he has tears in his eyes.

"That was absolutely beautiful, my dear. And I bet we all wish there was a place we could keep you safe."

I realise then that the crowd are genuinely moved by my performance; that they feel attached to me. I understand that I have succeeded in winning them over. My look, and personality, and song have transformed me into something so untouchable, so perfect that I have become transcendent in their eyes and they want me to live.

"We are all betting on you," Caesar whispers, leaning to me and touching my hand. The whisper is still picked up by the microphone though and the audience stand and start to applause in agreement, telling me that they are all betting on me. As I leave the stage, I know I should be relieved that I have so much support, but since I know I am not coming out of this alive, all I can think of is how much money they will waste, and that thought gives me a dark satisfaction.

When I return to my floor in the Training Centre I find Haymitch waiting for me, with two opposing emotions plastered on his aging face.

"What is it this time?" I huff, too exhausted to argue with him. Haymitch and I have not been getting along too well since our arrival at The Capitol. Since our first coaching session it was obvious that Haymitch was trying his hardest to save me. He thought the best approach was to present me as innocent and lovable, seeing as I was already idolised in the Capitol and so I would have the best sponsors a tribute has had yet. But he didn't understand that I was never going back to District 12 again. We argued constantly because I wanted to be presented as dangerous, and he wasn't having any of that. In the end he cracked and had to get himself a drink, leaving me in Cinna's hands.

"What are you going to do?" Cinna had asked me.

"I am not sure, I think I am going to need support but I don't want to be portrayed as innocent because the other tributes will just think I am easy prey," I said as Cinna dried my hair into long waves for the interview.

"Nobody will think you are an easy target Gyp. The other tributes will be afraid of hurting you."

"What do you mean?"

"Gyp, do you understand how famous your parents are?" Cinna had asked me.

I thought back to the day Uncle Gale told me the truth about why my mother was so very afraid all the time. She had been in The Hunger Games. I knew that from school. What I didn't know is that she pulled a stunt at the end to save my father's life. The people of Panem thought it was done out of love, but President Snow saw it as an act of rebellion. As a result she was in constant fear of what could be taken from her as her next punishment. I understood that it was me.

"I do. Is that why people constantly stare at me?" I say smiling wryly. I am not amused by the people in the Capitol. Gut wrenchingly disgusted is a more accurate description.

"Yes. You are the product of the most romantic love story in all of Panem."

When Cinna said this I thought about how my parents act. They constantly hold each other, by a hand or a kiss or a look. They are never a part. I can tell it's because they need the comfort of each other. They clutch to each other like they are clutching at their own existence. There is also an element of something else between them, something more than need. It's pure, and can't be confined. Sometimes I see it bursting from the seams between them. They love each other so much and I can tell they don't quite see it as easily as I can.

"So what do you suggest I do, Cinna?" I ask him.

"Be yourself. But the part of you that I know you are Gyp, not this angry self that you have become since you got here. I know you are trying to save Leonn, and you think you need to become distant to do that, but that's not you are,"

When Cinna said this, it was obvious he understood my intentions, but he wasn't trying to talk me out of it.

"Be forgiving, and kind, and strong. Shine with the beauty and grace that you possess and they won't be able to resist you."

Cinna was right about that. In my interview I had charmed and smiled and sung them into falling in love with me. But I hated myself for it, it wasn't who I was. It was who people thought I was.

Before the interview, when I had driven Haymitch to the point where he needed his trusty old friend 'alcohol' for support, that was the last time I saw him before I went on stage. Now standing on our floor of The Training Center he looks pissed and proud of me all at once.

"Right sweetheart," he retorts to my huffy comment, "first off, enough of the attitude, don't forget I used to change your diapers."

The idea of a drunken Haymitch trying to change a baby makes me flinch.

"Secondly, was that song really necessary?" he asks.

Haymitch was referring to the Hunger Games song. It was created nineteen years ago by a girl before she had a child for which those words should apply. That girl was my mother.

A world where I could be safe; where there were no more Hunger Games. That place only exists in our dreams.

"Yes," I reply, because it was necessary. I needed to preserve something of myself in these last few days. I needed to show the viewers and The Capitol who I was and what I thought of them. And what better way to do that than through a mothers broken dreams.

"Okay," Haymitch says. I think he understands why I needed to sing the song. He watches me for a few minutes, as though trying to make up his mind about something and then he walks towards me in one quick swoop and embraces me. He smells of liquor and musk and I breathe in the familiar smell. Haymitch has been a pretty large part of my life growing up and I am going to miss him.

"I have someone here to see you," he says when he pulls away from me. I look at him puzzled because tributes never get visitors but when Haymitch points towards the living room, I see the shadow of a figure I know only too well.

I leave Haymitch and run down the hall, scared that if I stop, he will be gone before I get there. But he isn't. When I round the corner, I fling myself into my father's arms. They are warm and strong and clutch me too him.

"Gyp," he says softly, holding the back of my head in one big hand. His voice sounds pained, as though he hasn't seen me in months. We have never spent time apart so these days have been like torture. I suppose now we will have to get used to being separated forever. The idea of being separated from him sends pains through my heart and my resolve begins to melt.

I share something with my father that nobody else can share with me. Everyone expects me to be like my mother, and in many ways I am. But the most integral parts of my being come from him. They are shaped by everything he has taught me and I love him more than almost anything in this world.

We are so alike. We are calm, we speak through words and sounds, and we are both my mothers' constant protection. Between us we try to keep her going. But there are days when she is completely lost from us, days when she is consumed by images of dead children who take on the form of Mitchell and I once the light in their eyes has flickered out.

When I pull away from my father I can tell he knows exactly what I am planning to do in the arena. I can tell that he always knew, because if he were in my place, he would do exactly the same thing.

"Did you tell her?" I ask him, and he nods. My heart aches for my mother because I know she will be losing her mind knowing that I have chosen to die, that I have stopped fighting. But I haven't. I am just not fighting for my own life anymore. But then, I don't think I ever have been. Maizie and I fight for the lives of our family; for our parents and siblings, and for each other. I miss Maizie so much already.

"How is she?" I ask him. He doesn't answer. Tears sting my eyes. From his silence it means my mother is in a bad condition. He probably had to sedate her and so all I want to do now is to sit by her bed, stroking her hair and sleeping next to her. She likes it when I do that. Tears spill over my lashes then and my father cuddles me close to him.

"It will be okay darling," he whispers. He is crying now too because we both know it won't.

"How is she going to survive without me? We might lose her forever when I am gone."

"Oh darling, we will all be lost if you are gone." His voice chokes and I realise just how much I am hurting him. We are both conflicted because we want each other to live, but because he was the one who taught me how to remain true to myself in this world, he knows that I am not going to.

We spend the rest of our night together, lying on the sofa watching the sun set. It is our favourite colours; his is the sunset orange, mine is the dying sun yellow and we both sit in awe of it. Leonn comes to join us, and we both sit curled up next to my father, leaning on his broad chest and listening to his steady heartbeat.

As Leonn sleeps, I look at my father. I take in his blonde scruffy hair and stubbly chin, his lined leathery skin on his face that covers that prominent jaw that I inherited. I try to burn him into my memory but there is something that is missing. It is the feel of him I need to remember. He is like a sunset; warm, soft and gentle. I store the safe feeling of being wrapped in his strong arms into my mind; those strong arms that used to hold both my mother and I as we watched the sunset dying during my childhood, the arms that were probably the last to hold my baby brother, arms that feel like they would do anything to protect me if they could. This feeling was something I could never forget even if I tried and so it filters through every thought in my brain and I try to keep it there, locking it behind doors that I will open during the dark days to come.

"Gyp, sing to me?" My father whispers as we watch the orange sweep across the sky.

"Why?" I ask him.

"Because the world feels better when you sing," he says.

"Okay, but you sing with me."

We sing The Meadow, a song that rings across District Twelve all year to try and still starving babies' cries.

Our voices are whispers, echoing each other. I try to sing all the way through but the pain in my heart stifles my song and my father continues. He holds me and sings me to sleep in his arms, letting me feel like a child for a little while. In doing so, I say goodbye to my childhood, my family and him. It hurts because I am losing a piece of myself which is so important to me. It's the goodness in me that he molded.

As I drift off I hear my father say something to me. I know it's something important, but I don't register it. Instead I dream of a list of people and whisper them little goodbye's in my sleep.

The next morning I wake to find myself in my bed in The Training Center and my father is gone. Once up and dressed, Leonn and I march to the roof where we are lifted into a hovercraft and inserted with a small tracking chip. I take mine with gritted teeth but Leonn who is anaemic does not take it so well. He struggles and they end up tearing his skin when they try to insert it. Loss of blood is the last thing he needs.

The hovercraft carries us to the arena where in an underground room I am dressed by Cinna while I try not to let the fear consume me. I am wearing tight trousers, supple leather boots, and a waterproof jacket. Cinna attaches something to me while I gaze down into nothingness and I instinctively reach up to my chest to touch it. My fingers feel the cool gold and the outline of the bird and i know it's my mother's Mockingjay pin that she wore in her Games. I look up to Cinna. He takes my hands and looks into my eyes.

"I promise you Gyp, you are so much more like your mother than you realise," he says. I stare into his golden eyes, wishing to get lost in them, to hide from my fate. But soon an invisible glass surrounds me, separating us, and I am lifted from the room up into the arena, holding onto those golden eyes until they are lost from me forever.