Thanks for sticking with me guys. Still a few chapters to go.

The world is white, not green. White like that man who murdered the baby on reaping day!

I bolt upright, and shove away the white monster trying to attack me. He wants to pin me down and paralyze me again so the ants can eat me, but he's not as good as the white flowers and my head is still free to move, to bite.

The monster snarls and comes at me with a knife, gleaming silver in the odd non-golden light and I try to lunge away until a voice makes me freeze.

"Wiress, stop!"

It sounds familiar enough to make me pause, the silver descends into my arm with a familiar prick, and the darkness comes again.

-xXx-

I am drowning, drowning in a sea of molten copper, I can feel it burning as it pours down my throat and scalds my insides. Seeps into my skin and leaks from my eyes, burns, burns, burns. I gasp in pain, but there's no air, and I watch as the molten waves wash over people I know, melting them down, adding them to the flow…

The world is still unnaturally white. The same way my skin is unnaturally gold. Not gray, not red and blistered and sore, but pale gold. There are no monsters this time, so I run my fingers over this strange skin that can't be mine. So smooth, too smooth, no scars, no burns, no scratches.

There is a needle in my hand, and I follow the cord with my fingers all the way up to the clear bag on the stand. It has green writing on it. The color makes me relax; at least there is something green here.

Even my dress is white, under the white sheets. I don't like white. There was a reason but I can't remember. I bite my lip, trying to remember and the door slides open.

"Wiress?"

Black and white and silver. More black than white, so she can't be too bad.

"Wiress? Can you hear me?"

Of course I can hear her. What a stupid question…

More voices, distant beyond her.

"-no response yet. It happens often enough. Sometimes they don't respond for a few days after waking."

The woman frowns at me. She looks so familiar, but I can't remember why. Balia? No, that's someone else.

"Dido."

She smiles at me, and I remember.

"Why….why am I" here in this soft white bed? I "died."

Maybe this is where the dead tributes go before we're sent home to be buried. But why would they bother making my skin gold and removing all the red? The losers aren't meant to look pretty.

"You won Wiress. You won."

Won what? The Games?

"But Jasper…"

"Your final blow was successful in the end. He died before you did, though you were badly hurt."

I close my eyes, forcing away the memory of that terrible breathless pain. All I remember is red.

Something touches me and I jerk away, snarling, but it is just Dido beside me, shaking her head as she clasps her hands behind her back. Probably reaching for a knife like Jasper did. She's going to kill me!

I try to roll away but she steadies me with her empty hands and I breathe again. And again. It's not quite right. One side doesn't seem to be working very well.

"I have sent for Beetee. He was by your bedside for most of the last three days, but they insisted on an interview. He will be back soon."

Beetee. My mentor.

"He…saved…?"

I remember a parachute, a syringe, a bottle. Shaking fingers and hundreds of small black bodies. A knife in from behind into the neck of a boy. These pretty hands are the hands of a murderer. Not so pretty any more.

"He helped you, but in the end you won yourself."

"No," I tell her softly, shaking my head as I stare at those pretty golden fingers that should be stained red. "I didn't." No one did.

I don't know how long she stays there while I examine my killer's hands, but she is over by the door when Beetee comes.

"Wiress?" he asks hesitantly, staying well back.

"I'm…I'm here," I tell him. Though I'm not sure if that is true. My mind keeps jumping here, there. I may be here now but in a minute I'll be there, hopping and scrambling around.

"That's a relief," he says and steps closer. He is wearing blue. Blue isn't too bad. The sky was blue.

He puts his hands on the edge of the bed, spread wide so I can see they are empty and smiles.

"How…how long…?" I ask.

"Since the Arena? Four days. You were quite wounded."

I know. I remember "Spear…couldn't breathe…"

He nods and half reaches for my arm before snatching his hand back, curling his fingers tightly.

"It pierced your lung. I'm not surprised you couldn't breathe very well. But the Capitol surgeons got to it quickly and knew how to fix it. You might feel short of breath occasionally for the next few weeks but it will get better. The other external injuries were easy to fix."

All the scratches and scrapes, the cuts and bruises gone. The blisters and bites vanished.

"But what about the…" The fingers shaking thing from the flowers and the not moving and the pain and the ants all over me!

Crawling everywhere, biting, gnawing. Eating me from the inside out.

His hands are pinning me down, I can't move, I CAN'T MOVE!

"Wiress, relax. You're safe. Nothing can hurt you now."

But I can feel them crawling, burning, I can't move, I "can't move!"

He lets go and the crawling recedes. I look again at my hands, but there is nothing there. No bites, no black lumps with spindly legs.

"See. It's ok. You can move. You're safe."

Safe. But I can't be safe in the Arena.

"You're not in the Arena anymore."

Of course I'm not. "It's not…. green."

He smiles again, and says "No. It's not."

"It's white. I don't…"

I shudder and he frowns.

"You don't what? You don't like white?"

I shake my head and wrap my arms around my shoulders. He goes to the door, where Dido and the other man are waiting. I can't hear what they are whispering; maybe they are planning on killing me. I'm a killer too, so I can't blame them. Beetee comes back with the man, who now has a gray shirt and brown arms. No white.

"Do you want to try and get up?"

I'm not sure. The last time I stood up I stabbed someone in the neck. Maybe I should just stay here. But here is white. I push aside the sheets and let Beetee and the man help me sit up. It hurts a little, more ache than pain and my chest feels funny. I look down at my right front and poke the place where the spear was.

It feels smooth under the soft material.

"We removed all the scars," the man says but I know he is wrong. There are plenty of scars, just none on the outside.

They help me stand, and I flinch at the expected twinge of my bad ankle, but it doesn't come. The floor is cool to my bare feet, cool and metallic and so reminiscent of getting out of bed at home that I relax a little. Once I've proved that I can take a few steps unaided the others leave and the man passes a bundle of clothes to me before they close the door.

I'm alone again in the glowing white walls. I shudder and change from the loose white robe to the clothing I have been given. Green shirt, green jacket, trousers with pockets. There's a bulge in one of them and I pull out the ring. Ezra's ring. My family.

Will they be happy I'm alive? They just watched me kill in front of the entire nation. In front of my innocent brother and sister. But I am still here. I am still mostly me, I think. I shove the short white socks in my pocket and loop the shoes over one arm. Let the cool metal floor keep me aware.

The corridor is empty when I step out. The walls are more silver-gray than white and I relax even more. At the far end I can hear voices, loud and whining, low and sharp. They don't see me until I'm in the doorway. Beetee is staring at some papers, zoning out the low argument between Dido and Carmenius.

My shoe knocks into the wall with a soft thud and they all turn to look at me. All smiling, though Carmenius' doesn't reach his eyes. As usual.

"Oh. Did you need help with your shoes?"

Dido steps forward, but I shake my head.

"No, I prefer…prefer to.."

I frown. The word evades me, slipping through the gaps in my thoughts. I chase it down and pin it until it goes back in line.

"Barefoot."

Dido shrugs and lets me be. Carmenius snorts loudly.

"Oh great. I finally get a Victor, and she's gone loopy already. Just my luck."

I don't think. I just launch at him, the rubbery shoes my only weapon. There are hands on my shoulders, pinning me, trapping me, and I try to pull away.

"Can't move, can't move, can't…"

The pressure eases up and I turn to see Beetee, crouched behind me, raise his hands up high away above his head.

Carmenius is by the doorway, blood on his face and in his bleached hair. Dido shoves him out, though her head doesn't even reach his shoulder and he glares at me for a few seconds before saying "Loopy. Completely nuts."

I snarl at him and he scurries away. That's useful to know, and funny too. He's scared of a little girl like me. I laugh at the thought and hear someone else join in.

"Well," says Beetee as he stands and offers me a hand. "That's one way of getting rid of him."

I take it and he drags me to my feet. My breath catches again on the right side of my chest, but it's only uncomfortable not painful. I've had enough of pain for now.

"Let's get you upstairs, so you can change and eat. It's nearly lunchtime."

Beetee leads me by the hand and I don't resist. Dido follows behind, her hand there supporting my back whenever I falter. The unexpected contact still makes me flinch, but I'm getting better by the time we reach the end of the hall. The lift is white and I huddle in the corner for the few seconds it takes to reach the ground level. Through the doors I can see a handful of people, but the tinting stops them seeing me. Probably for the best.

This lift is transparent and I stare out over the beautiful city as we rise up. The sharp edges are strange after the days surrounded by hazy green. Going back home will be even worse, where everything is uniformly square and smoky gray. I'll have a house in the Victor's Village now, out on edge of town by the cemetery. No green even there, just gray concrete and brown dirt.

The apartment looks empty with just the three of us there. When Dido leaves to finish preparations for tonight it's even more forlorn. I glance out to the balcony where Stuvek and I spoke the night before the Arena. Probably the last conversation he ever had, considering his stylist.

"Did you want some air?"

No. I've had enough fresh air for this year, and I don't really want to stand out on the balcony full of memories. The couches are the same, as is the dining table. Do they ever change from year to year? I trace the artificial patterns imprinted in the tabletop, following the swirls and spirals back and forth until I notice the Avox server has placed a plate of brown mush in front of me.

"Applesauce on toast. Your stomach shouldn't reject it."

I'd forgotten Beetee was there. He's sitting now, his papers spread out in an arc in front of him. He's got a plate full of stew, thick and steaming chunks of meat and splashes of colored vegetables. My stomach growls and he must see my covetous look towards his meal.

"Believe me, you don't want to eat this. I didn't listen to Cupros or my stylist and spent most of the night trying not to puke on television. Stick to the simple stuff."

In that simple statement he reminds me of two things: The Victory ceremony is tonight, which explains why my stylist and prep team are out preparing, and that Cupros is also gone.

"Where is…" I frown again. The name was there a second ago, on the tip of my tongue but now it's gone. What is wrong with me?

"Dido? She's finishing up your dress for tonight, remember? Your prep team will be here in half an hour to get started."

Yeah, I know that. I shake my head.

"No, where is…" I gesture to the empty seat at the end of the table where Cupros usually sat during meals.

"Cupros? He's…out."

"Drinking." I don't make it a question. Beetee shrugs in an affirmative way and gathers up the papers into a single pile where they won't get splotched. He doesn't start eating until I pick up one of the now-soggy brown triangles and force it down. It's actually pretty good.

While we eat I consider the problem I seem to be having. Words getting lost between here and there. It's not like me. My brain functions like a complex circuit, like the maze, every pathway known and remembered. There shouldn't be breaks in the circuit.

"Beetee."

He looks up from his plate, eyebrows raised above the wire rims.

"I can't….I'm…words…"

I slap the table in frustration. Why is this so difficult? I take a deep breath, and imagine the words scrolling across a screen, saying each one as it appears.

"I…can't…seem…to…find…the…words. They…keep…not…being…there."

He frowns and toys with the fork for a few seconds before delicately laying it down.

"I was afraid of this."

With a heavy sigh he pushes aside the half-empty plate and clasps his hands on the table.

"Do you remember the white flowers in the Arena? "

How could I forget?

"They are an unusual cultivation, and are used for unusual purposes. The nectar is extracted and used to make a drug called Limbo. It causes temporary paralysis in the user as well as heightened stimulation and occasionally hallucinations. Most doses only last an hour or so."

I shudder at the thought of people willingly letting themselves be immobilized. How could they see that as fun? Even now I can feel the ants crawling, biting, the burning seeping up my frozen limbs.

"Wiress. WIRESS!"

I stare at the knife jammed into the table. It wasn't a very sharp knife, but it's imbedded at least an inch deep. Slowly I uncurl my fingers from the handle and clench them together in imitation of his. Maybe this is why he does it. He gives me a jerky nod and sits back.

"Do you remember what I was saying?"

"Flowers are…drug."

"Yes. Inhaling the scent should have put a tribute out for half an hour, an hour at most. But you got a full dose when you fell into them, much stronger than planned. The doctors said there might be some side effects."

Like my shaking fingers and inability to verbally complete sentences.

"Permanent?"

He looks away, down at the table.

"Hard to say. There are some medications that might help, therapy. You will get better. The question is how much."

I nod, even though he's not looking. I could manage the speaking issue I think; it's the shaking that bothers me. How could I ever design or build properly with tremors in my hands? At least he's not trying to hide the facts from me. I'd rather know now, so that I can work out what to do.

"Beetee?"

He looks up again, and I realise for the first time how tired he looks. His skin is more gray and the usual dark circles under his eyes are enormous bags that drop well below the silver rims of his glasses. Even his normally neat, straight hair is scruffy.

"Thank you."

He stares at me. "For what?"

"For….for being….honest. And for…"

Every word after the first few is a fight. Like I'm trapped in the maze again, and the letters keep running away. I'll just have to learn my way around again.

"For?" he prompts and I try to smile, to show him it's ok.

"For…saving me."

He smiles back, but it has a wry twist to it and doesn't stretch to the rest of his face. His knuckles are white on the tabletop as he replies.

"I'm not sure you should call it saved."

I knew that before going in. I understand it now. The pain of living is far worse than the pain of dying, but it's that pain that makes us who we are. Keeps us together. It might be better for me to have died, but there are others who would have been suffering instead. My sacrifice to them.

We both jump as the door bursts open, and I'm lucky that the knife is so thoroughly wedged in the table-top because I don't quite manage to pull it free before my prep team reaches me.

Lorcan looks the same as before, but Juliette has dyed her bouncy curls a bright yellow-green and filled them with red and orange flowers. Marius has replaced his blue eye-liner and lipstick with the color of grass. It inexplicably calms me and again I let go of the knife handle.

They drag me away to my room and strip me down, chatting away excitedly as the brushes and creams are unpacked. I could never get a word in edgeways anyway, so my speaking problems are no issue here. None of them have ever worked on a Victor before and they all seem to have a hundred stories about how wonderful the experience has been until I just want to hold them down and make them watch what I will be watching tonight. Hold their eyes open while person after person dies on screen and ask how is this wonderful? Beat their heads against the wall until they understand that it's not just a game.

It scares me that I could do it. So I stare at my killer's hands, flexing and unflexing my fingers while Juliette fiddles with my hair and Marius adds layers of something to my face, neck and shoulders.

Lorcan catches my hands mid-flex and starts working on the nails. There was still paint on some of them in the Arena. Most of them were cracked and torn, caked with dirt and blood, swollen with bites. After the white room they are all uniformly short and rounded. Lorcan covers them with thin ovals of copper etched with silver. The same circuitry designs as I had for the interviews. Apparently they've become a new trend.

Just like flowers, thorns, dark curls and golden skin. Juliette's little sister now wears a ring as a necklace, as do her friends in school. Marius says the sales of green make-up and dyes have sky-rocketed.

I'm not the only trend-setter. The floppy shoulder-length haircut that both Jasper and Sparrow wore is back in for men, as are their gold and red-gold hair colors. Apparently Francis had a birthmark on her shoulder in the shape of a butterfly that has been mass-produced as a temporary tattoo. All the little girls are wearing them.

I stay silent, hearing over and over Francis's scream as my stake-trap smashed into her leg. Sparrow's sing-song caper right before his death. Jasper's cracked laugh as he feasted with bloody hands. Felton's ragged breathing as he stared at me through the hedge on the first night. Tobias's screams as the ants ate him alive. No one will remember them though. No-one will remember Stuvek, with his tousled hair and wry humour, who died in the bloodbath.

Dido chases them out around four and lets me just sit in the chair as she tidies the jars and brushes and lays out a covered dress. I keep my hands wrapped around the ring, let the smooth silk strand rest against my cheek. In the other room I can hear them all still chirping. A dry laugh that might be Cupros. A nasal whine that is definitely Carmenius. All here to celebrate my living. The others' dying.

I don't want to watch it; I know it will be like any other show or book, burn itself into my memory so that I can never forget. I've already watched four people die, that was bad enough. But the others, the others who deserved to live as much as me. Junis, the two boys who teamed up. Stuvek. Even Francis. She tried to kill me, but she didn't seem evil or cruel even if she did volunteer. I overheard her before the Games started saying something about her other choices. To her dying wasn't as bad as living as she was. Do I want to know? Do I have a choice?

No more than I did when my name was drawn at the reaping. I could have done as my sister said, as my district partner did and thrown myself into the bloodbath. Let Jasper catch me with his spear in the first minute. I could have tried to run at the end, could have hit him hard enough to knock him out and fled until something else caught him. Those were the choices I had, and I let them go.

Now I have to live with the consequences of victory and murder.

When Dido tells me that dinner is ready, and do I feel up to joining the others I stand and let her lead me out.