"Now listen to me, Glimmer. Cashmere told me that you were goofing off and acting all crazy when she was working with you. You can't do that for the interview," Gloss scolds me once we are seated.

"Why not?" I ask. I thought it was going well for me. "Why can't I go for funny?"

"Because you don't look funny. You look gorgeous and proper and..." he trails off. "Just do what I tell you, okay? Acting goofy won't get you sponsors. You need to be sexy. A teen heartthrob. You need to make them want you alive. The Capitol has plenty of comedians. You need to play up your looks."

"But that's not me!" I protest. Gloss glares at me. "I want you alive. You're my sister, and I'm your mentor. My job is to keep you alive. And if I don't, I'll have Mom and Dad to answer to," Gloss explains. "So please, Glimmer. Do what I say."

"I'll do my best," I say, realizing that Gloss is doing his best, and that I should do the same.

"Alright, let's try it," Gloss smiles at me.

After four hours of me acting "sexy" Gloss lets me leave. I go to my room, exhausted, hungry, and generally unhappy. At home I was allowed to be myself. Happy. Carefree. Goofy. Here, I am forced to be someone that I'm not – if I want to survive – and I'll never be able to stop acting the part, until the moment I die.

Acting is hard. And I don't think I can do it for years. It would be easier to die.

The next morning, I am awoken by my prep team. If I am not ready for the interviews by evening, it will be too late. Tomorrow, I go into the Games.

My skin is transformed into a soft, blank canvas. My face is covered in a thin layer of makeup. Using eye shadows, liners, and mascara, my prep team makes my green eyes pop. They wash and dry my hair, letting large waves form.

I don't really know what time it is when Orion comes in with my dress, although I assume it is late afternoon, judging by the hunger pains in my stomach. Orion brings the dress, covered in an opaque bag, over to me. "Close your eyes, darling," he says. I do, and immediately, I hear the rustling of the bag, and soon the dress is being guided onto my body. I hear the buzzing noise and feel the dress contract as it is zipped up. Above my waist, it feels snug, and even clingy. Below my waist, I can feel it swish against my legs, barely brushing my knees. The dress is short, and the skirt is puffy.

"You can open your eyes now," Orion says. I open them, and look in the mirror that I have been turned to face. My dress is a light pink, about the color of freshly cooked salmon. It has a shiny – almost leathery – top, and light, fluttery skirt. "It's beautiful," I say, smiling.

"You look fabulous," Orion says. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," I reply.

After eating a light meal, one of the women from the prep team returns, applies lipstick to my lips, and exits the room.

"I think you're ready," Orion says. I nod, twisting the ring I got from Cashmere on my finger. Orion escorts me to the elevator, where Marvel, Gloss, Cashmere, Armilla, and Marvel's stylist are waiting. We all crowd into the elevator, and I manage to get stuck in the back corner. I'm practically pinned to the wall, but I could care less. The last thing I want to do right now is draw attention to myself. But it just a few minutes, that's what I'll have to do, seeing as I'll be the very first to be interviewed. But then it will be all over, unless by some strange series of coincidences, I manage to win the stupid Games. There will be no more public speaking for me, no more interviews. The thought comforts me as I make my way to my seat.