On the morning of the second journey day, we arrived at the Capitol.

The train station was astounding – great, towering white arches, glass and steel, impossibly clean, blindingly bright.

The people were arguably the most interesting thing, however, as I could never list all the shades and tones their clothes and skins embodied – but the implants to their bodies were something else. Feathery false eyelashes with minute jewels on the ends, sharpened teeth, capped with silver; I couldn't believe for the life of me how anyone could want to do that to themselves.

I shuddered at the thought of myself, or Jasper, looking like any of these fashion slaves that inhabited the Capitol.

I looked at the woman who had been at the reaping, and noticed that, compared to these painted freaks, she looked practically normal, even though, since then, she had changed her wig to a mass of aquamarine curls with purple glitter. I raised an eyebrow and turned away.

No matter how skeptical I was of the citizens of the Capitol, however, I had to get them to be on my side. I leaned out of the carriage window and waved, blowing kisses at some, smiling prettily at others.

This was where first impressions would count.