The Finnick and Mags before me weren't the two familiar faces I'd known and loved. When they emerge from the shadows of the underpass, I am greeted with Finnick's same tanned skin and ruffled hair, but as the rest of his body materializes from the shadows of the tunnel, there isn't much else to see except exposed muscle and…well, exposed everything. Has 4's stylist put him on the chariot completely naked? Is this some sort of sick enticement for female sponsors? My stomach performs several flips as I pray they haven't done the same for Mags. However, as the cameras pull in on Finnick's face, I see small gold ropes lashing their way along his bare chest. A net! I see it now – a cluster of golden string knotting itself at Finnick's crotch. Thank God. As much as I loved him, I'm seventeen. I didn't need to be seeing that sort of stuff at my age. Once his whole figure is bathed in the light of the flaming torches illuminating the Capitol's streets, the silhouette next to him enters the glow. Mags. Oh, please don't have her in ropes, too! I hide my head in my hands as the frail old woman on the chariot is shown to the camera, and my heart stops.

She looks stunning.

Her thin, wispy, grey locks are pulled back into a straight ponytail. I see her prep team have done something with her hair to thicken it out, as I see it aches to be released from the plated gold band keeping it in place. Thankfully, they haven't used any wrinkle remover, and Mags' smiling face remains the same as she drinks in the applause with Finnick by her side. It is only until the camera angle switches that I notice her dress – a shining white at the neckline, descending into flowing cascades of gold material that end in two triangles.

She's a mermaid.

And she's never looked lovelier.

I relax back into my lounger, and as I watch them gaze in awe at the masses of Capitol frea-citizens, my brain suddenly produces the mental image of my riding the chariot instead of Mags. My long, unruly curls straight and radiant, with a green dress as opposed to gold. A small smile plays on my lips as I imagine Finnick reaching down and taking my hand as we wave to the crowd together, side by side, us against the world.

Perhaps I've been too hasty to lose faith in him. I mean, love is all about overcoming everything to be with the one person in the world you know would go to the ends of the Earth to make you happy. I know I'd do that for Finnick if ever he asked me to, so why aren't I doing that for him? I ran at the first sight of danger, instead of clinging on and never leaving his side. What was I doing, that day at the Justice Building? I was going to tell him I loved him and I would be with him through anything. So why aren't I? Trying to forget him, sitting at home in a teary mess, wishing there was some way to change what was happening, when all along it was sitting there in front of me. I have to support him. There's tons of Capitol representatives in the District, perhaps I could try and get him sponsors! Boost his chances of coming home to me…

I shoot up onto my feet, the immediate thought hitting me like a speeding Capitol train.

Get him sponsors…improve his chances of winning…make sure he comes home!

I had my plan. As soon as dawn broke tomorrow morning, I'd be down in the square raising money for Finnick and Mags. Many people in 4 admired the two of them, so I don't think it'd be such a challenge. I'd have Finnick's fan girls, and I know that some of the shop clerks liked Mags because she was such a humble Victor.

Then another realisation hits me, this time the impact of it hurts like a tracker jacker sting.

Who would give me money?

After all, it'd be me representing them. I'd be the one behind the table in the square taking donations. Who'd approach me to donate? They'd probably think I would bite them, or start spouting insane slurs into their face. Perhaps if they knew it was for Mags and Finnick, and they wouldn't have to approach me to ask. I hurry out of the room and to my art room – I have a special room in my cottage for my painting supplies, such as canvases, poster paper, paints, that kind of thing – and grab a large sheet of poster paper, my watercolours and a paintbrush. I set up the supplies in front of the television screen so I can watch as I create the banner, and by the time Chaff and Seeder from 11 appear dressed as sheaves of corn, my sign is completed. Its pale blue writing with ornate curls and decorative Hunger Games logo reads:

PLEASE SUPPORT FINNICK AND MAGS AS THEY COMPETE FOR VICTORY IN THE QUARTER QUELL

HELP THEIR CHANCES

MAKE A DIFFERENCE

SUPPORT YOUR DISTRICT

DONATE NOW!

ALL DONATIONS WELCOME – BIG OR SMALL, WE'LL TAKE IT ALL

I decide to go pick up some shells from the beach for decoration, but as I am about to exit the room, something on the television screen catches my eye. Has a chariot caught on fire? I dive back to my sofa just in time to see Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark glowing and pulsating, their clinging bodysuits generating the illusion of fiery embers – no, coal – as they glare away from the cameras, their faces unforgiving as the crowd murmurs words of 'I'm scared' or 'They look frightfully beautiful'. I hope Finnick makes them allies – they look like good fighters and strong partners to have.

I don't stay for Snow's speech, and by the time 12's chariot arrives at the Capitol's centre I'm halfway down the beach, my bare feet spraying sand out from underneath my heels as they hit the uneven dunes. The waves behave like barking dogs, playing around my feet and tickling my ankles as they break against my legs. I swim out in my sweater and jeans as deep as I dare, dunk myself underwater and begin the search for sea shells. I grew up in water (not literally, but my father owned a fishing boat so I often went with him and swam in the surrounding sea) so the salt water doesn't sting my eyes as I plummet gracefully to the ocean floor. I can hold my breath for exceedingly long amounts of time, so I know I don't have to worry about air. My suicide attempt was different, though – I wanted to die, so I didn't even attempt to hold my breath. I think I may have sucked in some of the salt water through my nostrils, as they've been burning a lot since that night.

Once I'm sure I have enough shells to attract attention to the poster, I drag my dripping body out of the water and traipse back to my cottage to attach them to the banner. I step back to appreciate my work, and I can't help feeling something click inside, as if something has resurrected.

And rapidly, I know what this new feeling is, this burning candle that feels ready to engulf me at any moment.

Hope.