Mockingjay Spoilers right here - not the whole chapter, just this note: Prim's dress is a signal to the rebels that she won't be the mockingjay. Cinna decided that she doesn't have the charisma and all that, so by giving her a "water" dress (extinguishing the flames in the first one) he's saying that she won't do it. Ok? Ok.

Decided

When I wake in the morning, my hair stands out from my head like the feathers of a peacock that I saw in a painting in the remake center. I brush it out and walk into the dining room after changing into a simple light pink dress. I choke down a piece of toast and some juice.

"Today's interview day," announces Haymitch as I eat. Peeta enters the room and takes a seat midway between the two of us. "I'll coach Peeta first and then you," he says. "Effie will be teaching you how to act properly so that nobody realizes how utterly awkward you two are." He guffaws and takes a swig from his liquor bottle. "I'll be waiting in there," he says, pointing at the door to the room with the television. Then he gets up and disappears behind it.

It's a few minutes before Effie calls me into another room that I haven't seen yet. It's fairly large with a couple of chairs and a small circular table. The wood floor's polished and the lights are bright.

First, she has me put on a heavy dress in a positively atrocious maroon color and some very high heels. Then I spend hours strutting back and forth for her. She says I'm learning how to walk on stage, but I don't get it. Anyone could do this. Finally, I'm told to go to Haymitch.

Feeling like a feather without the stupid dress, I walk into the television room to see him waiting for me like a vulture. He glares at me until I sit down and when I do, he just gives me a long, long look.

"What are you doing?" I ask after about ten minutes of this.

"Deciding," he mutters thoughtfully.

"Deciding what? Can I go now?"

"No. I've made up my mind on how we're going to portray you."

For the past week, I've had no say in anything. Not my clothes, not my food, not my schedule, not even what I dream. This is the worst yet, and I barely manage to keep my face blank. "And what's that?" It's no use arguing with Haymitch.

"You're going to be upbeat. Happy. Lots of smiles, jokes, and laughing."

I can't believe this. It's the day before I die and I have to act excited about it. But it'll help me get sponsors, so I answer Haymitch's practice questions without too much complaint. It's dinnertime when I'm finally allowed to leave.

Peeta and I don't talk over our meal for different reasons. I, for one, can barely even hold my fork and have to focus on controlling my trembling fingers. But Peeta seems very calm and relaxed. He doesn't speak because he's too lost in some daydream, I think. Maybe he's trying to block out thoughts of tomorrow.

After, my prep team returns with their arsenal of make-up and nail polish. I stand naked on the tiled floor of my bathroom while they scurry around me, filling the room with their chatter. I can't take in one word. Despite the chilling terror, I have to wonder about certain things, like why Flavius is literally painting my face with a light glitter, and why Octavia has painted my nails with such a pale gold, like a sunbeam.

Then Cinna comes in with a long white garment bag. I slide into the dress and look in the mirror. It's the complete opposite of the one I wore on the opening night, with its full skirt and ruffles. The bodice is extremely tight. There's a deep blue sash around my waist made of a wonderfully smooth fabric that Cinna says is called silk. The dress itself is a mix of colors: green, blue, even a few hints of purple. I can't tell what it's all about until I look in the mirror.

I'm an ocean this time. Well, water, at least. The dress is beautiful as always and I turn to thank Cinna. He holds up a hand.

"You haven't seen it all yet. Walk around."

I do, and the dress comes to life in a way I never imagined it could. The fabric swishes and as I take my first step, the ruffles slide slightly to reveal golden areas that imitate sunlight on the tips of waves.

"Oh, Cinna, it's wonderful!" I sigh. Back in front of the mirror, I can see the full effect of my prep team and stylist's work combined. The glitter and nail polish give my whole body an unearthly glow, as if I'm underwater. "How do you do this?"

"I think of the person and the feeling that surrounds them. It tells me the right color and design."

"I guess I'd have to be a stylist to understand," I laugh, and then I can't stop. It's like that first night on the train. If I've learned one thing in my time here, it's that nerves are a very, very bad thing for me to have.

I'm numbly aware of someone taking my hand and leading me into the elevator, and then to a room I've never seen before. The other tributes are there. I can't focus on their outfits and everything is going blurry. I reach up to wipe my eyes before I start crying yet again.

"NO!" Venia shrieks, and knocks my hand aside. "Sorry," she says as she dabs lightly at my eyes with a tissue, "but you would have smeared your make-up." I couldn't care less, but I don't say so. I just stand there as, one by one, the tributes are called into the front room – a balcony, really – to be interviewed with Caesar Flickerman. I think I may pass out when my name is called, but then I'm walking forward and there's no time to be nervous.

"Hello, Primrose," Caesar says with a smile. His lips, hair, and eyelids are all died an interesting shade of blue. It almost matches my sash.

"Prim. Just Prim." I say this out of instinct because I can't stand being called by my full name. I remember just in time to smile back.

"Sorry. Hello, Prim. So, tell me, what do you think of the Capitol?"

Upbeat, Haymitch growls in my head. "Oh, well, it's just so different!" I sound breathy and not at all like myself. "It's very new but it's growing on me." The audience laughs and a few, mostly the officials, shout out their thanks.

"What do you think will help you the most in the arena?"

That's a tough one. I can't think of anything to say for the longest time until finally I blurt out, "I won't drown, at least. I've become sort of an expert on swimming in clothes. There's not much in my size, I'm so small." Ugh, what am I thinking? But the words are out and I can't take them back. I just hope none of the potential sponsors are doubting me.

But I should know that Caesar wouldn't let me down. He smiles and shrugs. "Well, you look beautiful tonight." He goes on to ask me if I have any siblings back home. I wonder if he's heard about Katniss and her illegal hunting on the day that I was chosen. If he has, I can't really do anything about it.

"I have a sixteen-year-old sister named Katniss."

"Can you tell us anything about her?" Caesar asks, including the audience.

"She's very smart and can do anything if she wants to. I think she could win the Games if she was chosen." The audience murmurs questioningly at my hopeless tone. I can't let them see that I have no chance, so I keep talking. "But she isn't, so I'll have to do it for her." The murmurs turn into cheers, and I grin shakily.

"I bet you will," Caesar agrees. Then his tone turns confidential. "Now, just between you and me, Prim," – really? The whole world is listening – "I think that you can win these games. Just remember that I've got my hopes up that I'll be interviewing you again someday."

For a moment, my heart lifts at his words, but then I remember that he's said essentially the same thing to all of the other tributes. I barely have time to nod before my buzzer goes off. "Thanks," I say, and stand to walk over to my seat.

Peeta walks onstage and he and Caesar talk about things that I don't hear or understand. It's just hit me that this could be the last night of my life. But before the panic really sets in I remember that I'm on television and do my best to listen to my fellow tribute's interview. I hear Caesar ask something about a girlfriend back home. After a moment's hesitation, Peeta gives a nod that I think he tries to turn into a shrug.

"Can't make up your mind?" chuckles Caesar. "Well, if you win, you'll have your pick."

"That's not it," Peeta mumbles. "Winning won't really help for me."

"Why not?" Caesar asks, mystified.

Peeta blushes deeply and chokes out, "Because… her little sister…" he pauses and I know what he's going to say just before he speaks the words, "her little sister is Primrose."

The audience shrieks and even Caesar looks taken aback for a moment. I can't decide what I think about all this so I become absorbed in examining the ruffles on my dress. The buzzer goes off again and Peeta walks to his chair. I can tell he's looking at me but I very carefully avoid his eyes.

During the elevator ride to the twelfth floor, I'm silent. I stand across the tiny square room from him, with all the other tributes between us. Now that I'm off that stage, I can think about what's been said and what it means. The thoughts go round and round in my head with no solution until the elevator holds only Peeta and me.

"Look, I'm sorry," he begins, but I ignore him. It's not that I'm angry, but that I've begun to realize what must happen. So when the doors open, I stalk back to my room without looking at anybody: not Effie, Haymitch, or even Cinna. Numbly I change into pajamas and crawl into bed. Despite the sheets, I tremble with a completely new kind of fear. What I've discovered is this:

Peeta is in love with Katniss. In the arena he won't kill me because of this, but to go home – which he will do to be with my sister – I will have to die. This isn't as big of a problem because I have accepted since the beginning that I will never see my family again. The problem is that I still want to live. Badly. But my chances of survival are so slim that if I can make Katniss happy by giving her Peeta; I see no reason why I shouldn't. For that to happen my life must end. But the boy that loves my sister will have no intention of killing me and the truth is that I don't want him to. There's no way out of here.

When I finally sleep, it may be more unconsciousness than slumber. I'm terrified because there is one way to escape. A way that would make everyone happy except my sister, who will eventually move on, and the Capitol, about which I don't care. I will be the only person permanently hurt by this, because to escape – a word that seems more and more daunting – I will have to give up my own life, because Peeta will never take it from me.

Ok, so I know that was a little depressing but please bear with me.