"NO!"

In a moment I am at his side. The sword didn't hit his heart, but just looking at the wound, I know he can't be saved. It's only a matter of minutes before he's gone. The cannon fires for the girl.

"Conlan!" I can feel the tears begin to run down my nose. The large saltwater drops splash against my knees which can't feel a thing.

He slowly lifts his arm and places his hand on my cheek. "Don't cry, Valeria," he whispers. "We did it. You won."

But I'm not happy. I don't want to win anymore. I want Conlan to win. I hate the Hunger Games. I hate the Capitol.

There's so much I want to say. That I'm sorry. That I'm grateful. That it was instead he that deserved to win. But my lips refuse to move.

He reaches out and clutches my hand. He pulls it down toward his mouth and kisses it. I suddenly remember. This was the boy I watched through the butcher's window. The boy I admired so much. How could I have imagined that less than two short weeks later I would be helplessly watching him die while I sat by in agony?

His eyes flutter shut. He is still breathing, but barely. Now I lean down and kiss his forehead. The cannon fires.

He has been so much more than a crush to me the past few days. In fact, I don't know what exactly I think of him now. How could I love him? He was a friend. No. He was more than that. He was my selfless protector. My savior. And now he's gone.

The trumpets blare and the announcer comes on to say something, but I'm not listening. I'm hunched in a ball on the ground now, clutching my numb legs. I bury by head in my knees and just sob. But as I lift my head, I realize I'm not sad anymore. Instead, I'm angry. Really angry. I know I'm supposed to distance myself from the bodies now, so I move my hands as fast as I can away from the girl, from Conlan's dead body. I have to escape from this. I can't take it anymore.

It doesn't help that I have to stop every few yards to rest my hands. Every time I look at my legs is a reminder of how he saved me. Why didn't he just leave me there to die!? I have to get away from this place.

When I get as far as I think I need to be, I lift my head to the sky and just scream. As loud as I can, until I can't scream anymore. It feels good. The hovercraft appears above me, and a ladder falls down. Good. I get to leave this place and never come back. I will be a crazy person, and that satisfies me.

Once I place my hands on the ladder, some sort of electric current freezes me to it and the ladder begins to pull me. As I'm riding up to the hovercraft, I realize both of my hands are bleeding severely and may have been for some time. Finally, the metal doors seal shut below me, and as the ladder releases me I slump to the floor. Capitol doctors dressed in white surround me, and I begin to scream again because I don't want them around me. One picks me up, and another holds me still to keep me from thrashing. They're taking me to some sort of medical room, and as they set me down on a silver table, a needle jabs my arm and I fall unconscious.

...

When I wake, the first thing I feel is fear. Of what exactly I am not sure, but I don't like it. My lucidity has not returned to me, and weirdly I enjoy the fogginess of mind. I am lying in a bed, in a white room that appears to contain only the bed. My hair, which was a dirty, tangled mass when I exited the arena has been washed out and brushed and now falls in a soft wavy curtain over my shoulders. My skin has been scrubbed down and cleaned and shows no sign of wounds or scars. It's like everything that happened in there was just a dream. But I know what the real proof will be.

I tentatively lift the covers on my bed and gently touch my thigh. No, it was all real. In fact, I have to quickly set the sheets back down because the memories are coming on so fast and strong at the sight. I guess even the Capitol doctors could not repair the damage done to my spine.

I piece of the wall opens, and a girl with sleek black hair, an Avox I think, enters carrying a tray. I want to ask her to stay, because her presence comforts me, but she sets the tray down on my lap and exits, then the wall slides back into place. I am slightly disappointed at the meal, which I hoped would be an extravagant Capitol meal, but instead is just some chicken broth and bread. But I finish it, and slide almost immediately back into deep sleep.

...

Waking again, this time I feel anticipation. When I look around, I realize why. The wall-door is open, clothes have been left out for me, and best of all, sitting next to my bed in wait for me is a wheelchair. Today I will exit this prison and go to meet my team.

But I cringe when I look at the outfit. A black tank top and blue shorts- the outfit I wore in the arena. It's a new one though, because the actual outfit I wore was torn and blood-stained. But I pull myself up and change into the outfit.

Then I take a deep breath and ease myself into the chair. I like it. It's simple, not electric, not designed for fashion. Doesn't seem made for Capitol people. I guess Johanna must have ordered it for me. The handles on the wheels also seem extended a bit, likely because I'm so small, so I don't have to stretch my arms way out. I take hold of them and slowly begin to move myself forward.

I turn just the right wheel in hopes of turning myself to the left, and it works. I roll out the doorway and begin to wheel myself down the empty hallway. Where is everyone? Suddenly I spot a flash of bright purple that evokes eagerness in me.

"Otillie!" I shout, and I know I sound like a little girl, but I don't care.

Her voice answers me back from the end of the hall. "We're over here, Vallie!"

I'm pushing this chair forward as fast as my hands will let me. I long to see a familiar face, any face I recognize, so much that I don't really care if it's President Snow's face. And my wish is satisfied, because waiting for me at the end of the hall is not only Otillie, but Johanna and Indigo as well.

As I near them, Otillie is shouting praises and congratulations, but that means nothing to me. Of course she would be doing that. What really surprises me is Johanna. She smiles and tells me, "Good job," and I think she really means it.

A pang of guilt surges through me. I know that it was through no fault of my own that I won. I hardly did anything. It was all Conlan...

"I'm proud of you, too, Val," Indigo is saying, "Now come with me. I need to get you ready for tonight." He takes the back handles of my wheelchair and directs me back down the hallway toward an elevator. It is only then that I realize that there have been cameras here this whole time, taping my reunion. No! No cameras! But I know that there will be cameras following me off and on for the rest of my life. I should get used to it. But I don't want to. I don't want the eyes of the world in my private life. And that's when I lose it.

"No! Get them out of here! Get those cameras away from me!" I feel bad screaming in front of Indigo, but I just can't stand it.

He keeps his calm though, and wheels the screaming Valeria into the elevator. As the doors close, I stop screaming to catch my breath and look down. I suddenly notice something on my wrist that must have been there ever since I woke up. It's a bracelet. A medical bracelet, that reads MENTALLY DISORIENTED. Well I should say so. I chuckle.

...

Sitting in front of the mirror, I conclude the person showing in it is not me. This girl is older, a woman really, and unlike me she looks capable of killing. I wear a tight black dress that is dotted with, though not covered in, dark green sparkles. From the neck to the waist, my dress is a simple pattern, a v-neck with no puffed sleeves or fancy patterns. From my hips to the end of my wheelchair is layer after layer of sheer black fabric, and on my feet rest black shoes with four-inch heels, though that should really have no point.

And the dress is not the end. My hair, which I expected to be styled, has been flat-ironed, so instead of my usual slightly wavy hair, it falls like silk very straightly over my shoulders. What must be three pounds of makeup coats my face. It sharpens out my round face. Black eyeliner and dark green eye shadow bring out my eyes in a dark and menacing way. My fingernails are coated with black nail polish. Even being in the wheelchair adds to this look because it hides my true stature, so you might think I am taller.

I take a second to take in the whole look. This is what I will wear to the crowning. I seem to be at least three years older. Elegant. Sophisticated. And deadly. But why? Then I remember. I wasn't supposed to win. I didn't kill anyone, so I shouldn't be the victor. The fact that I am is the result of an act against the Capitol. And that's dangerous.

So this is how and why Indigo has calculated this look. To protect me. When I am out there, I cannot appear innocent or sweet. I must seem like I could've killed someone, even if people remember that I didn't. And if I cannot pull this off, I and my family could be in serious danger.