Garett returns to his room before dawn breaks. I open my eyes gradually to see him getting dressed. Under the artificial moonlight everything is painted silver. I would have loved to stay tangled in his arms throughout the night, but it's better if Cecelia finds him in his bed rather than naked in mine.

He leaves a soft, lingering kiss on my lips before disappearing behind the automated door.

Juliana is there when I open my eyes. She has changed the color of her hair from pink to crimson; tattoos of flowers now slither up her arms, the outline of their petals matted with glitter. Even the color of her eyes has changed. "Good morning, Anya." She cheerily greets me. "We need to start the day, so off you go to the shower!" She pulls down the sheets that cover me. I pull them up quickly again once my brain starts functioning and makes me remember that I am naked.

Juliana makes a clicking sound with her tongue. "Come on, you have to get ready! We don't want to disappoint Zander, would we?"

To hell with Zander, I think, but I don't want to disappoint him again. Not after I got a 6 for my training score.

"You did a good job." Cecelia assured me after seeing my face turn red. The celebration for Garett's 9 died down the moment my score was announced.

Zander scoffed. "She could've done better." Woof consoled me by handing me a piece of candy. I unwrapped it to see the caramel tart that Cliff loved looking at in the candy shop.

Juliana and Vergil are already waiting for me in one of the conference rooms. At Juliana's feet is a pair of shoes so tall I feel nauseous just by looking at it. Vergil greets me with a smug look on his face. "Ready to work, sweetcheeks?"

The heels add inches to my height, and to the difficulty of walking. Juliana has been tasked to supervise my walk, always by my side to catch me just in case I fall.

I can't tell her that I need some space to walk.

Vergil has moved to the end of the room: he sits cross-legged on the chair, his arms folded on his lap. He still has his natural skin color on, but now a white wig rests on his head. As always, Vergil Wellwood looks ridiculous. But his eyebrows are raised, and it looks like he is not breathing, anticipating the moment where I will trip and fall flat on my face.

I don't, though. Even with Juliana hogging my personal space and Vergil's finger rhythmically tapping on his knee, I cross the room with hardened ease.

Take that, I want to yell. I shrug at Vergil to hear out his commentary.

He shrugs right back at me. "Mediocre. Do it again." He sounds bored. The tapping continues. "This time, please do it more gracefully. You look like a chicken in heels."

I have never seen a live chicken. They come to our district as frozen meat. I have seen birds though: they don't walk—they hop. Judging by the look on his face though, I guess a walking chicken is bad enough.

"She's actually great for a first-timer." Juliana beams. "I remember the first time I wore heels. I wasn't fabulous at all."

"Weren't you?" I mumble, and walk back to the opposite end of the room.

We continue to work on my walk for twenty more minutes. I have finally achieved a normal, confident walk that doesn't have slight trips or foot bends. I even manage to balance the book on my head that Vergil decided to incorporate during the last few strides. I bet I would've scored an 8 myself if I walked like this during the private session with the Gamemakers.

Vergil makes Zander watch, him participating as an audience member alongside Juliana. I'm the tribute to be interviewed, of course, and Vergil takes the role of Caesar Flickerman. He does his horrible Flickerman impression which is excruciatingly painful to watch.

Zander shakes his head as soon as Horrible Caesar offers me a seat. "Do it again." I roll my eyes. People seem to have a penchant for making me repeat things. "I didn't feel anything."

I cross my arms over my chest. "What do you want to feel? Happiness? Fury? Second-hand embarrassment?"

"Not bored out of my wits."

"You're always bored out of your wits." Juliana gets in between us before Zander could reply to my remark.

We do the same thing for ten minutes before Zander gives up, groaning in frustration, and sends me out with Vergil to practice for the interview.

"I don't get what he wants me to do." I whine as Vergil and I take our seats on the couch.

"It's as if you don't know him." Vergil chuckles.

Vergil says my answers are boring. It's not my fault my life is boring compared to his standards of debauchery. He tells me to add movement and to be more enthusiastic. I don't know how to act enthusiastic, though, after hearing of my training score and thinking that the Games are finally tomorrow. I try to be, though, since we have already set-up a persona.

The Anya to be presented during the interview is to be confident, a wee bit curious, elegant, and sensual. I don't feel sensual at all. Or sultry. Zander said I should look and sound sensual.

"Fine," I told them through red cheeks the night before. "Just don't have me talking like a pervert."

Vergil nodded solemnly "Sex sells," he said, "but cheap sex?" He made a face as if he smelled a dead rat.

We try another question. I fumble for words but there's no cohesive thought forming in my head. "I would like to thank your mother for your pleasant face." Vergil sighs exasperatedly. "If not for her, this would be a disaster."

The session ends with me groaning in frustration. Vergil sighs as he says, "Let's hope for the best, shall we?" before going off to teach Garett.

After lunch, it's Juliana's turn to prep me. The interviews do not start until eight o'clock, but she tells me that I need to do the full-body treatment to look… fabulous. She gushes at me as she herds me into the elevator. "You will love this," she squeals in delight as she presses the button to the remake center. "We'll make your skin smooth, shine your hair. Oh, oh, we'll also soak you in some scents so you'll smell like it for twenty-four hours!"

I can't help but look horrified. "You're going to marinate me?"

The marinating procedure is even more horrifying. I am poked with needles—they don't hurt but they are terrifying all the same. The next steps of the treatment are less horrifying, at least. There is the bath, waxing, hair wash, and then the prepping. Three hours and fifteen minutes in, and the prepping begins. The prep team returns with me and Juliana to our floor.

My over-excited stylist leads me back to my room. She makes me sit on the bed and close my eyes.

"How can I get dressed with my eyes closed?" I tell her, but she insists, and I oblige. Zander must've told her to capitalize on my looks now that the session with Vergil was an utter disaster. We manage to get dressed though, with the help of the prep team. I feel the fabric clinging coolly to my skin. There are sleeves that reach my wrists. For the slightest of seconds I feel the hem of the dress brush my ankles, but I am guessing that the length is longer than what I felt.

Juliana tells me not to open my eyes still. I feel the prep team working all around me. Cardea's hands start working on my hair; at the same time, I feel Moira painting my face. Helio is chattering away with the newest Capitol gossip, but I guess he is doing something to make me beautiful, too.

I must've dozed off because I don't feel them finishing up. Juliana shakes me gently and says I can open my eyes. Finally, I bite back my tongue.

Even through all the make-up, I still recognize myself as I look into the mirror. My hair has once again been brushed up, though this time is has been braided in a messy fashion and collected in a bun. It's all held together by a crown of flowers, which Cardea tells me are fresh from her greenhouse. They are all flowers that I do not know, and I can't keep track although Cardea begins telling me what they are.

My make-up is tamer compared to what I wore during the parade. My eyes are made to shimmer with the help of light eye shadow with barely-there glitters. My lips are painted to be pink, my cheeks tinted to look as if I had just returned from a short run. Moira has also enhanced my cheekbones, something that Helio approves of.

"And now for the best part," Juliana helps me stand. She urges me to take a look at myself in the full-body mirror. I do so, slowly, anticipation and nervousness coursing through my veins. When I do look in the mirror though, it takes a whole minute before I can smile.

The dress is wonderful. Juliana's obvious taste for sheer cloth is still evident: the whole dress is sheer, the color of it matching my skin tone to create the illusion that it is only the strategically-placed rhinestones that I am wearing. Patterned as flowers and birds, they cover my chest and front and behind, but not enough to hide my arms and thighs and legs. I look wonderful— a regal beauty of blue and white stones, a queen with flowers adorning her hair.

If I cannot play the part of a sensual tribute, then I can look the part, at least.

"Juliana, it's fabulous." I tell her with a breathy voice. She makes me wear bejeweled heels, an inch higher from what we used during practice earlier.

"I know." She winks.

We do need the approval of one more person, though. Zander is seated on the couch, dressed in a blue button-down shirt that brings out the nice color of his sun-kissed skin. His blazer hangs on the armrest of a sofa, undisturbed. Juliana told me last night that the white sticks Zander smokes are cigarettes: he has one again between his lips, smoke slowly rising from the tip. Juliana rushes to his side and whispers to him. When he sees me, he stands up and raises his eyebrows, doing his trademark pose of crossing his arms over his chest.

Over the course of days I have been with this man, and the stories surrounding him from the district, it's impossible to feel even an inch above Zander. It must be because his status as Victor, or his unbending gaze. I resist the urge to cover my chest as I follow his eyes.

You wanted a sensual tribute, right? I want to spit out. I'll give you sensual.

I stare back at him, my lips forming a smug smile. He seems to approve because he nods, and puts an arm around Juliana's waist. "Well done, Julie." He says to her in a voice dripping with sensuality and approval. "She looks fabulous."

If people could melt, Juliana would've been a puddle on the floor. Instead of answering Zander with her usual fabulous tirade, all she could manage is a soft sigh.

Moments later, it is Garett who steps out of his room with Cecelia and Woof in tow. He looks handsome in a tailored burgundy suit that looks like velvet from afar. When he sees me, I could see his cheeks turning a nice shade of pink.

"These cuff links look nice, don't they?" He says, without skipping a beat once he comes up to me. He looks like a shy, small child, though.

I laugh. "They do."

"You look beautiful, too."

"You don't look so bad yourself."

But not everyone in the room felt in awe towards me. Cecelia takes one look at me and loses it. A guttural sound escapes from her. In a flash, she has Zander by his collar and slams him on the wall, close to one of the decorative tables. A glass vase shatters on the floor; everyone starts screaming, shouting. Garett and I stand motionless. I don't breathe. I can't move. Fear has set in my bones.

"You bastard!" Cecelia screeches through gritted teeth. "You blithering idiot!" She has Zander pinned to the wall with her arm, her free hand pulling him by his hair. He's wincing in pain.

The look on my mentor's face makes me motion back into reality. I feel my knees buckling. I can feel a hand on my back, offering support.

"What have you done?!"

"Cecelia, calm down!" Vergil shouts. He looks panicked. Adel tries to pull Cecelia away from Zander but she's too strong. She just pins him harder on the wall.

"Not now, Ces." Zander grunts. He tries to slip away but Cecelia's grip on his hair is straining him. "We'll talk about this later."

I can hear Juliana asking if she should call a Peacekeeper.

"There are hundreds of angles!" Cecelia continues on, not giving any chance to Zander. I feel nauseous. Someone, please call for help. "Hundreds, and you had to do that!" I don't have to look anywhere to know that she is pointing at me. Shame washes over, and I cover my chest. I feel naked despite the dress I'm wearing. Suddenly, I don't feel very beautiful. I want to cry, but I hold back the tears: I can't ruin my make-up. Instead, I look down at the floor. Someone please just end this all and kill me now before the Games even begin.

I don't know how the commotion ended. Vergil had Juliana lead me down to the car that was waiting downstairs. My stylist looks shaken as we ride the elevator to the ground floor. She tries to tell me a story about a party that she attended last night, but she can't tell it straight.

It takes 15 minutes before the car door opens and Zander comes in. He doesn't speak: instead, he just nods to the driver, and we start moving. His hair is fixed again, but his clothes are wrinkled. He takes out another of his white sticks from his lapel, sticks it again between his lips, and lights it up. Inhale, exhale: smoke comes out of his mouth. Juliana rolls down the window for a bit, but not fast enough. I convince myself that my eyes water because of the smoke coming from Zander's mouth instead of the words from Cecelia's earlier.

o-O-o

I'm a nervous wreck.

My palms are sweating like crazy; my throat feels parched even if I keep sipping on a glass of water. I feel like jumping at the slightest of movements that I can see from the corner of my eye. I'm breathing through my mouth, something I do to calm myself down, but my heart keeps beating loudly in my ears.

I try to keep busy by taking in my surroundings: the chatter of the mentors and their tributes, the shuffling of the crew's feet to make sure that the show will be flawlessly executed. I hear from one of the assistants that the male tribute from District 7 ran off to the nearest bathroom to vomit. I can feel my dinner churning in my stomach, too, but I should keep it down. I can't risk anything.

We have about fifteen more minutes before we are brought onstage. Mentors are giving last pieces of advice. Some of them are comforting the younger tributes, jamming down last minute instructions in their brains.

If I wasn't busy freaking out, I would be amazed at the star power inside the room that is more than enough to power the whole of District 8 for several months. There's the famed Finnick Odair, the youngest winner of the Hunger Games at fourteen years old. He's talking with another Victor, whom I make out to be the winner of the 54th, from District 2. There is also Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the Second Quarter Quell. He already looks drunk. Osmium, the Victor from the previous year, stands tall and proud beside his tribute. He's laughing, and so is the male tribute: they must be having a good time. I try to find Garett and Cecelia amongst the crowd, but I don't see them. It would've been nice if she could give me additional advice, but I guess my dress ruined everything.

Oh, I'm going to screw this up. I bury my face in my hands and sigh.

Zander slips beside me. He has a drink in his hand: champagne, I believe. "You ready?" He asks me before taking a sip from the crystal flute.

I try to sound indifferent. I fail miserably. "You think?"

He shakes his head. "Don't let Juliana's hard work go to waste."

It's wasted the moment Cecelia pinned you on the wall, I think. "Easy for you to say." I mutter as I look at the ground.

"Look for me in the audience. Pretend it's me you're talking to."

"I'd snap." I say. "You're not even interested in hearing me talking."

He raises his eyebrows. "That's true." A server passes by and retrieves Zander's now empty glass. He places it gently on the tray and strides to the next Victor. You can try to find the less conspicuous person in the whole audience and focus on them, pretend they're family or something like that."

"Is that what you did during your interview?"

"Didn't need it."

I remember his interview. Zander played himself as the mysterious boy from the textile district. The mysterious boy from the textile district who knew how to throw knives and had an aptitude for swords. I try to stop myself from snorting. "Nice."

He nods towards the big screen in front of us. I could see the crowd, some of them trying to find their seats. "The people seated in front are the most lucrative sponsors. Make sure you acknowledge them."

I'll try my best, I almost say. Scratch that. If Zander says I have to acknowledge them, then I have to acknowledge them.

And then he comes close to my ear and whispers: "And if Caesar asks you if you have someone special back at home waiting for you, you tell him no."

The image of the boy back at home flashes in my mind. His face—the blue eyes that smiled with his lips, that said too much when I boarded the train…

And then it's Garett's face, the sensation of his kisses creeping down my spine.

"Why?" I manage to ask.

"Just do it."

I don't argue. I don't even speak until I hear someone from the crew, shouting for the tributes to be seated in the chairs that have been lined up close to the backstage. Zander taps me softly on the shoulder and nods before going to the exit to take his place in the audience. I in turn make my way to my seat, marked with the number of my district. Marcy waves at me from her chair. Garett is already seated in the chair next to mine, looking absolutely handsome and aloof. When he sees me though, he breaks into a smile.

"Hi." He says.

"Hi." I smooth out my dress as soon as I take a seat. I can feel my cheeks turning red again as I recall what happened in our floor earlier. Before we could talk further, I see Marcy from the corner of my eye, coming closer.

She looks pretty in her green dress that stops just above her knees. On her head is a small tiara with jewels of pink and yellow. "You look so beautiful. Like you're from the Capitol itself." She tells me, eyeing my dress with awe.

I try to ignore her last statement. "You too," I reply. I touch her dress and feel its texture on my fingers. "Green suits you."

She turns to Garett. "And you look good too," she tells him shyly. I imagine how much courage it took her to say those measly words.

Garett smiles her his smile, the smile that would take the breath away of the girls in school. His smile that Iris loved. "Thank you, Marcy. You look beautiful as well."

Marcy turns a bright shade of pink. I'm unsure of how to break the silence when thankfully, Aiden turns up, looking sharp in a tailored black suit.

"Ah, we are once more complete." He says in an obnoxious Capitol accent. I roll my eyes.

"Are you guys ready for the interview?" He asks. Marcy's pink face suddenly turns a bit pale. Garett just shrugs, and I fight the urge to lose it.

Aiden eyes us conspicuously. "Seems like you are all prepared." He says sarcastically. Before Marcy could speak, the crew member tells us that the show is about to start in 30 seconds. At his cue, the number 30 appears on the screen, and starts to countdown.

We bid our short goodbyes to each other, and they go back to their seats. Garett leans towards me and whispers, "Are you alright?"

"Splendid." I say under my breath.

"Fabulous." He says, and I could not help but smile.

The number 1 disappears from the screen and the stage light up. Caesar Flickerman smiles his trademark smile, and greets the audience in that upbeat voice of his. He looks even more animated up close, a tad bit different from when you watch him onscreen. "I'm so excited to meet all of them. Are you?" The audience cheers back in response. I feel my body stiffen as I think about the questions Caesar will ask me, how I will answer them in return… Please, don't let me barf my dinner when I get on stage. "This year's crop seems promising, don't they? Well, without any further ado, ladies and gentlemen, let us get to know the tributes of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games!"

The crowd roars and cheers and shouts. Thunderous applause fills my ears until I think I can hear no other thing. The silence is actually deafening when the crowd hushes down after Caesar calls the girl from District 1.

She is wonderful to look at, with her platinum blonde hair and blue eyes. She strides to the couches in her long, elegant purple gown, the same shade as her namesake. Unlike the scowl she wore on the day of the parade, and her ever-serious face during training, she is now wearing a wide smile on her face. She looks prettier with a smile. I guess she wants to pass off the façade that she's serious when it comes to the Games itself but still a normal girl when she's not holding a bow and arrow in her hands.

"Amethyst, Amethyst," Caesar chuckles as they take their seats, "you are as beautiful as the gem you are named after."

"You humor me, Caesar," Amethyst laughs. The audience laughs with her.

"I feel as if you know me too well." Caesar playfully says.

Their playful banter continues on, but it bores me. Rather, the tributes from District 1 make me slightly terrified with their training scores that I decided to not listen to their interview. After all, what will I be missing? Their resolve to kill those in the outlying districts and to win this year's Games?

I've heard declarations like these for so long now.

But when the girl from 2 steps onto the stage, I cannot help but look at the screen in front of me and watch, no matter how preposterous her declarations of victory may be.

"The girl that you volunteered for," Caesar says after the cheers die down, "I have heard rumors that she is your cousin?"

"Yes," Lysistrata says simply.

"Ah, you own flesh and blood. I can understand why you volunteered to take her place."

"It's not just that, Caesar." She speaks with such authenticity, I find myself believing her. "I volunteered to bring honor to my district through this renowned pageant. The Capitol has been generous to all of the districts in Panem. This is the least I could do to show them my gratitude for all of their blessings."

Forget believing her. The words coming out of her mouth are lies. Lies to me, sweet nectar to those in the audience. The camera actually pans to a woman who dabs the corner of her eyes with her handkerchief. Marcy looks back at me and pretends to gag.

"And we hope for you to bring honor." Caesar says solemnly. He takes Lysistrata's hand in his and raises it. "Lysistrata Valle, from District Two!"

The three minutes allotted for each tribute seems so long here, compared to watching the program back at home. It may be because I have no choice but to watch everyone and everything, including what happens when short commercial breaks are needed. It may also be because of Caesar's questions. Vergil mentioned once that Caesar works for the tributes, and not against them: I can see how. He makes every tribute shine in their own right.

Marcy tries her hardest to hide her nervousness, though occasionally she slips, and she bites her fingernails when she thinks of an answer to Caesar's question. The people still cheer for her though, when she takes her final bow.

And then 12 of us are left. And then 11. Then, 10. The pair from District 7 gives nice but forgettable interviews. I wipe my palms down my dress. I have a great feeling that I will do a lot worse than anyone who has come and gone from this room.

The crew member calls me to the side of the stage as Caesar is wrapping up with the male from District 7. I fidget with my ring as I wait for Caesar to call my name. I just wish he wouldn't. I hope he forgets my name and skip over to Garett.

It does not happen, though.

"And here she comes, ladies and gentlemen! Anya Sowe from District Eight!" Caesar's voice rings out.

Surprisingly, my feet have not turned into lead. With every step I take forward, it feels as though the nervousness takes a step backward to hide away. I find myself smiling— they're actually cheering for me. I acknowledge the crowd with smiles and little waves.

Caesar gives me a kiss on each cheek before making a gesture to present me to the crowd. The cheers grow louder; I can hear my ears ringing.

"My, my, Anya." Caesar begins as he gestures for me to take a seat on the couch. "You look absolutely lovely. Like the patron of flowers."

I decide to go along with his banter. A sensual and friendly tribute. "A flower amongst the pavement of District Eight." I jokingly say. The crowd cheers. I can hear someone cry from the left, "I love you!"

Caesar feigns surprise and raises his eyebrow in the direction from where the confession of love came from. "It looks like you already have an admirer." He grins and turns back to me. "Let's hope that Anya here does not have a special someone waiting for her back in Eight."

The boy with blue eyes appears in my head. His cheeks turn bright red when he sees me in my garb. He scratches the back of his head, and smiles sheepishly. I can feel my heart sink. I almost say his name out loud. Zander told me to do this. I tell him. His name echoes in my mind, but the sound seems foreign now. It's for my chances of winning the game. You would understand, right? You wanted me to go home. "You wound me, Caesar." I say, trying to look as crestfallen as I can. "I don't have someone like that back in the district."

He gapes, his lips the shape of the letter O. "No!" He says, looking aghast. I just shrug in return. "That's hard to believe, a beautiful girl like you." I try to smile as sheepishly as I could without looking like an idiot.

"Well, it looks like that's about to change." Caesar winks at the audience, and they cheer and whoop in return. He waves a hand in the air. "Enough about that, though, my sweet." His tone turns soft and caring in an instant, it's like a switch in his brain turned off. How many times has he done this? How long has he been running this program, again? I can't seem to recall. "How are you liking the Capitol so far?"

I try to look wistful while lying through my teeth. "Everyone here has been nothing but kind." I look at the audience. Seated in the sixth row is my mentor. He nods at me while I form the words in my head. "I've been here just a few days and I already feel like I found a new home." Home is such an easy word to use. The audience seems to eat it up: they applaud me for my words. "It feels like every face I see is family." At the mention of the word, Caesar asks me about my family, and I tell him just enough: that Mom is a dressmaker, how my brothers are balls of energy, how my dad lost his legs in that freak factory accident but still lives with his head held high. "He told me to be brave. I plan to do just that. For them." I can see the lady behind Zander dab the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Very heartwarming," The empathy is dripping in Caesar's voice. "And you are being brave for them. A six for your training score! That's not bad." The crowd cheers. He managed to turn my measly 6 training score into something the crowd loved. "Do you mind sharing with us how it went?"

I laugh. A sly smile, that's what needed for this, so I do it. "A woman never reveals too much." I place a finger on my lips as if I really do have a secret to keep. Caesar groans in mock defeat. "You'll just have to wait and see once the Games begin." I can see myself writhing in the hands of the girl from District 2, my neck wrapped in her fingers. All they will see is my death.

"And we definitely can't wait to see more of you, my beautiful flower." Caesar takes my hand and kisses it. We stand up, and he guides me to face the crowd. He raises my hand and shouts, "Anya Sowe, from District Eight!" The crowd roars. Most of them are on their feet, applauding. A few toss flowers on the stage. Have they been carrying them the whole time? A red rose lands close to my feet. In one flawless move I pick it up, and bring it to my nose for me to breathe in the scent. It's sickly sweet, like the smell of the sticky buns served hot from the Plaza bakery. The strangeness of the flower, it smelling like cinnamon, makes me smile. Before I forget where I am and what I am doing, I blow a kiss towards the direction of where the rose came from.

My time is up. I glide off the stage and down the stairs, where Garett is preparing for his time in the spotlight. His frown turns into a smile when he sees me descending the stairs.

"You were amazing." He whispers as I reach him.

My hand finds his and gives it a little squeeze. "You'll do even better." I take another step down, but he holds me back gently.

He lowers his head towards me. To others, it would seem like he is whispering something to me, but in reality, he kisses my cheek. He then lets go of my hand and climbs up the stairs. The crowd roars when he enters the stage, emerging into the light.