Preparations for the interview began directly after lunch. Catia and Cassia spent almost an hour on Willow's skin, buffing and polishing until it gleamed like satin, and then the three of them sat in near silence for another sixty minutes as the prep team stenciled faint and exceedingly delicate silver patterns on Willow's arms. On closer inspection, the tribute saw they were perfect replicas of a willow tree's leaves, and blooming white roses, and she couldn't suppress a happy smile.

They left her hair piled on top of her head whilst they applied her make-up with a light hand - "Keep it almost natural," Juno had demanded when Cassia had suggested giving the tribute false lashes and heavy eye make-up to draw attention to her face, "They love her as she is!"

That was the beauty of working with Juno, Willow had discovered. Despite her stylist's extreme personal fashion quirks, she was very in touch with what the Capitol audiences liked seeing when it came to the tributes, and she had realised early on that Willow's porcelain white complexion and her huge green eyes were what they adored about her.

So, deft but gentle fingers brushed on mascara, painted on eyeliner, and the only concession to heavy make-up they made was her lipstick, the shade that matched her hair, and when they allowed her to look at her reflection, after they'd pulled down and arranged her hair to their satisfaction, Willow couldn't believe how her skin shimmered, how perfectly symmetrical her face appeared.

"You did it again," she said, with another genuine smile at the twins. "I look amazing!"

Catia and Cassia beamed at one another, and at that moment, as though sensing they were ready for her, Juno entered with what, Willow presumed, was her dress. She couldn't see it though because the stylist had it covered.

"Close your eyes," Juno said with a small smile.

"Juno..."

"Do it," the stylist ordered.

With a grin, Willow squeezed her eyes shut.

"No peeking."

Willow felt the softness as they slipped the dress over her body. Chiffon, again, she thought, she'd know that material anywhere now, but it was a little heavier than the two previous gowns had been. She was made to hold her feet up, and sandals were slipped onto her feet and buckled up at exactly the right tightness. They were flat, no heel at all, and it felt a little strange to begin with. The three women around her adjusted the bodice of her dress a little, and Willow heard them wandering around her, their silent appraisal, and then there was nothing.

"Can I open my eyes?" Willow asked cautiously.

"Yeah," Juno replied softly. "Go ahead."

"Caesar, you have to sit still! This is going everywhere!"

Venetia sighed as Caesar, yet again, shuffled himself back on his chair, and the brush in her hand smeared jay blue hair dye across his forehead - he was usually so easy to work on, but today...

Caesar was making a concerted effort to stop fidgeting, but he was feeling restless. The fact he hadn't been able to see Willow last night was weighing heavy on his mind, and he was still trying to get his head around the guilt he felt. It hadn't been his fault as such - his producer had cornered him as he'd been about to leave the studio, and had kept talking to him for hours - but the Master of Ceremonies was feeling bad about it all the same, and he couldn't help wondering what effect it had had on Willow. Would she have figured something had happened to prevent him visiting, or would she be worried his feelings had waned?

He tried to push his concerns to the back of his mind, but despite his attempts, he simply couldn't get Willow out of his head, so he gave up, and instead tried to focus on what she might look like at her interview tonight.

Venetia sighed again, inwardly this time though. After what she'd discovered the previous night, she could easily guess what, or rather who, Caesar was thinking of, and, if she was honest, she wanted to warn him to stop looking at Willow Monroe in such a light, for whether his feelings were reciprocated or not, there was a high chance the girl would be dead by the following week.

The stylist remained silent, though. It wasn't her place to say anything, and she doubted Caesar would have listened even if she had.

Not all of the tributes had arrived at the studio yet, but Willow was already stood perfectly still in her alloted place. Ash was shifting from foot to foot beside her, and she willed him to stand still, because he was making her even more nervous than she felt already. The thought of meeting Caesar publically, for the first time since they had spent the night locked in her room together, was utterly daunting but she couldn't quite explain why.

"Well, if it isn't the latest Mrs. Flickerman..." a sultry voice sneered softly.

Willow knew without turning around that Jewel was stood behind her. Once again the District 7 tribute refused to comment, and she resisted the urge to shrug off Jewel's hands when they rested on her shoulders.

"You're just one in a long line y'know?" she said, stooping a little to whisper in Willow's ear. "Hundreds of women came before you... Although, if it makes you feel any better, as far as anyone knows, you're the first tribute he's been with..."

Willow remained silent, but Ash could see the flicker of anger in his counterpart's eyes, and almost instinctively, he knew that Jewel was baiting Willow about Caesar.

"He'll have forgotten all about you within a week if the accounts I've heard are anything to go by..."

"You seem to know an awful lot about Caesar Flickerman's love life," Willow muttered. "Something you're not telling us, Jewel?"

"My mentor told me," Jewel countered with a cruel smile. "And don't get cocky, Willow... I saw you with him, in the training centre the other night, I saw the way he held you, so don't try and pretend nothing's going on..."

And with that, Jewel gave her one last knowing grin, and sashayed away, leaving Willow shaking with fear that someone other than herself, Caesar, Delta and the male avox knew about their relationship and a blinding anger that was aiming itself, very firmly, in Caesar's direction.

Some of the tributes ahead of Willow dazzled, some were, at best, mediocre, but Caesar could feel the sense of anticipation from the audience as he approached Willow's turn in the spotlight, and as she began walking towards him, the crowds started going crazy.

Caesar did his best to remain looking impartial, but it was no easy task. If Willow been a vision of understated beauty at her first interview with him, tonight she was breathtaking, and take his breath away she did.

Her stylists had kept her gown along the same simple line of her previous outfits, an empire-waist, the floating skirt of her dress flowing perfectly from beneath her breasts to her feet, the stiffened bodice showing just a hint of cleavage. It was the same green as the leaves on the tree of her namesake, and a hint of silver sparkle on the straps, which crossed over her back and under her breasts, took it away from being called boring. It was beautiful and subtle, and very Willow.

Her make-up was limited to just mascara, eyeliner, and the, by now, custom bright red lipstick - in fact, Caesar himself was probably wearing more on his face than she was - but what really captured his attention was her hair. It was loose, curling down in gentle waves to her waist, just as it had done every time he had met her face to face, but on this ocassion all he could see in his mind was how it had looked spread out beneath her when he'd pressed her into the mattress, how soft it had felt tangled around his fingers when she'd been...

Caesar's body twitched at the memory but now absolutely wasn't the time to be recalling such things, he remembered, as he stepped forward to greet Willow and take her hand in his, a brilliant grin on his face.

She returned it with a small curving of her lips, and it was then that he saw that her smile hadn't reached her eyes. The gold-flecked, green gems that had gazed up at him with such hope the previous morning were now anxious and unsure, angry even, and Caesar felt his heart sink as he realised that she had indeed thought he'd deliberately stayed away last night.

Was there any way he could reassure her, he wondered silently, any way at all?

By the time he'd guided her to the seat beside his, Willow had surreptitiously tugged her fingers from his hand, and perched herself on the very edge of her chair, clearly uncomfortable in her surroundings, or perhaps she was just uncomfortable around him, Caesar thought sadly, and he couldn't help taking a deep breath before beginning her interview.

The ease of their previous public meeting had been replaced with awkwardness, and suddenly, he wasn't sure how to proceed, so he fell back on that old favourite:

"So, Willow, you've been here for a few days now... What have you enjoyed most about the Capitol?"

Willow froze momentarily. He was kidding, wasn't he? What had she enjoyed most about the Capitol?

Somehow she sensed "spending the night with the Master of Ceremonies" wasn't the answer he was looking for, and she certainly wasn't about to admit to doing such a thing in front of the entire nation, so she coolly told him that she'd loved the enormous choice of clothes, and the opportunity to wear so many beautiful dresses.

"You've looked absolutely stunning every time we've seen you..." He turned to the audience. "Hasn't she, ladies and gentlemen?"

There was a roar of positive consensus, and Willow gave him a tight smile in return.

This wasn't going well, Caesar realised nervously. The tribute was definitely giving the impression that she wanted to wrap her hands around his throat at that moment in time, and he desperately wished he could apologise for not seeing her the previous evening.

Maybe there was a way.

He sucked in another deep breath, took a running jump, and dove straight into his next question.

"You've gained a lot of admirers since your arrival in the Capitol, Willow, but what about you? Is there anyone special in your life?"

Caesar was suddenly gazing intently at her, the audience on tenterhooks, but forgotten once more, and Willow knew she might have imagined it, but she was sure she recognised that expression, the hope gleaming in his brown eyes, and she felt confusion settle on her again. Was he actually talking to her under the guise of an interview? Was he attempting to discover what he meant to her?

It was now or never, she figured.

"I thought there was," she said, her voice low, her eyes locking with his, "But I discovered earlier that I might not be as special to him as I'd hoped I was."

"I don't think any man could deny how special you are," Caesar replied softly, "And if one did, I'd say he was a fool. Wouldn't you, folks?"

The crowd gave a breathy agreement, and then there was an uncharacteristic hush from the watching audience as the buzzer sounded, indicating Willow's five minutes were up. She continued to gaze at Caesar until he remembered where he was, and he slowly got to his feet, and stretched out a tentative hand to her.

She stared at it for a long moment, trying to work through her confusion, trying to make sense of everything she'd just had thrown at her. Had Jewel been right? Would Caesar forget about her within a week? Or had she made such an impact on him that it had pulled him up short? She didn't know.

It was decision time.

She placed her hand in his, and his warm fingers curled around hers as he announced: "Willow Monroe, District 7!"

"You need to rest!"

Willow rolled her eyes.

"As if I'm going to sleep tonight! Does anyone actually manage to do that the night before they enter the arena?"

Delta saw defiance in Willow's eyes, and gave up immediately. What did it matter, she thought, not for the first time since meeting her latest tribute? Willow seemed to have an unnatural ability to get her own way without even trying.

"Fine," Delta consented stiffly. "Don't be too long."

Willow reached up and kissed Delta gently on the cheek. "Send him up?"

The mentor sighed, nodding slowly.

Still grinning, Willow slipped quietly from the room, her bare feet making no noise at all as she padded across the lushly carpeted corridor and let herself through the door to the stairwell that led to the roof. Even after all her visits, she still expected half a dozen peacekeepers to hurtle up behind her and bundle her back downstairs but, as usual, nothing happened, and a humming silence fell when she stepped outside.

The training tower roof had always been to be the one and only place in the Capitol where Willow was able to collect her thoughts, and make sense of them, but on this occasion, the tribute was struggling: What did she mean to Caesar Flickerman?

The fact that he'd asked her if she had anyone special in her life could not possibly be a coincidence, and she didn't think his reply to her answer had been something designed to make her feel better, either. And she was almost certain she hadn't misread the glimmer of optimism in his eyes when he'd posed the question to her. He had wanted to be sure that he was more to her than just the Master of Ceremonies.

The lights of the Capitol blazed as far as the eye could see, and several thousand feet below her, Willow could just make out the shrill voices of its residents, all excited for the start of the upcoming Hunger Games.

Was he down there, she wondered? Fighting his way through the crowds to visit her for what could easily be the last time? Or had she been wrong, would he not come?

A frown furrowed her brow as she recalled the bitter disappointment of the previous night, her misery at Jewel's cruel statements, the burning desire to feel his lips on hers, and she tried to force them away.

It didn't work, and the longer she sat looking out over the city, the more upset and frustrated she became. The fiery sun dropped low, painting a dramatic canvas of burnished orange, burning amber and golden yellow brushstrokes across the sky, and as it disappeared into the horizon and the moon began to shimmer, Willow's first tear splashed onto her clenched fist. It was followed by another, and then another, and before she knew it, she was sobbing, finally realising that he wasn't coming back.