Warning delivered, Haymitch ushered me out of his house, probably hoping to keep Effie and her cheer away. Undoubtedly, the Capitol woman would have disregarded knocking, boundaries, and personal space in her efforts to insure her two Victors were in place, and then dragged him along because it was still his responsibility as their mentor to showcase what the Capitol expected of its Victors.

District Twelve expected nothing, if only because Haymitch was our first Victor. Everyone knew Haymitch was hailed by all of Panem as a raging alcoholic.

From what he had just shared, apparently even the Capitol had appallingly low expectations for their poorest district.

Weak. The first to die. Don't care enough to wash the coal dust off.

I made my way across the street to a blindingly dressed Effie, with one last glance at the door I had just come from.

Whenever I thought of Haymitch, it had been with anger. He staggered around drunk any time he bothered to make the walk from Victor's Village to the town, although he was more regularly seen in the Seam. It seemed like he made a point to embarrass himself whenever someone from the Capitol visited. And for all that the previous tributes never stood a chance, I hated him for not even trying. For enjoying his fancy foods and expensive alcohols as the Games tore families apart.

I had never given him credit for surviving. I didn't understand what winning meant. Probably more so now that it was my turn.

Rebel? Was he warning me to stop my trips beyond the fence? My hunting activities, and Gale's, were the worst keep secret in the district. Everyone was aware we subverted the law on a weekly basis and didn't care. Our hunting benefited them frequently when we needed bread or grain or milk. Or items like clothes when they could no longer be repaired.

Maybe it was a simple warning to pay closer attention. Capitol presence would be frequent the first few months, and unexpected with how little I cared. I relied on Peeta to inform me on when Miss Manners are more important children's lives planned to visit.

I couldn't stop, but I could be extra cautious the next few times I planned to hunt.

"Katniss, dear, there you are." Effie smiled brightly to match her outfit, sweeping her arm around invitingly. "Come along now, hurry up. We have much to do, so many decisions to make."

I walked stiffly past her, as she insisted on remaining in the door until I was inside Peeta's house, and then followed her grudgingly into his living room, where I sat on the opposite end of the couch.

Effie, oblivious to the tension, perched in between us and used her arms to draw us in closer, until she had one Victor pressed into each side.

"This is a preliminary meeting, darlings. Soon it will be time to choose your talents. Everyone in the Capitol currently lives in anticipation of discovering how you will now spend your days, now that they've been vastly improved."

Peeta's blue eyes bore into Effie. "You mean they want a return for the money they spent keeping us alive."

I stared, surprised by the baker's bluntness. Typically, Peeta was more willing of us to humor her. I actually believed he genuinely liked her, instead of resignedly putting up with her like I did.

Effie pursed gold painted lips. "It's only to be expected. They spent good money to influence the Game's Victor. That the two of you are here is proof. Your love story was so powerful that they changed the rules. Naturally, your actions reflect on them. They don't want to be connected to the next Haymitch."

I hadn't realized that the rich elites could throw their money around like that. Was that why Snow had allowed the rule change?

And yet they loved me. The Girl on Fire. The rebel, Haymitch's voice whispered in my head. The Hunger Games had given me a name and it had spread like wildfire. It was my worst fear in the aftermath, that the Games would somehow define me.

"Anyhow, that's not what I came here to discuss." She pulled a plain, for her tastes, a solid pink color with not a sparkle to be seen, from nowhere. It looked fit to burst from the number of papers held within it. "Now, we wanted to be prepared for every eventuality."

"Don't you mean possibility?" I interrupted.

Effie blinked. "Isn't that what I said, dear?"

I glanced at Peeta for his opinion. I thought eventuality sounded more predetermined, as though we were being presented with options instead of the right to choose. Peeta shrugged, apparently either as lost as me, or perhaps not willing to point out Effie's error to her face.

"Naturally, Peeta, you'll be an artist. It's been so long that I can't remember the last time we had a Victor with your talent. There will be a figurative bloodbath as people vie for your works."

I felt sick at the mention of a bloodbath. How could Effie stand to talk about that event so casually, cheerfully even?

Peeta looked at me, face carefully blank. "Assuming you don't object."

I objected to the whole notion that this farce was necessary, but I knew that wasn't what he meant. It was just a painting, I reassured myself. No one in the Capitol would own me if they hung a portrait of my likeness on their wall. I'd probably even been replaced with next year's Victor. Quarter Quells were a much bigger affair than the regular Games.

Effie steamrolled over any response I may have given by pulling a catalog out from her binder. She paged through it to show Peeta its contents, all the while explaining how to use it to order the necessary supplies.

She turned artificially colored eyes to the female Victor. Was there no part of this woman that was real? "As for you Katniss, there's already a waitlist of people, with more being added every day."

"Waitlist?"

"Oh, yes, you wouldn't know what that means out here. You've already been booked for several events. People on a waitlist are next in line if an engagement falls through or a spot opens up. They're essentially letting you know that they're interested in your services."

"What services?" I scowled.

"Your singing, do keep up, dear," Effie admonished, like it was my fault the Capitol had made plans for me that I was completely unaware of. "That song you sang for poor Ree was simply touching. Now the upper crust of the Capitol wants you to sing at their parties."

"Rue," I corrected sharply, trying in vain to ignore the images of her final moments. "Her name was Rue."

Peeta reached out to me, fingertips grazing my arm before I jerked it away. I didn't want him comforting me. I didn't need to be comforted. Rue hadn't even been dead a month and already people were forgetting her name. The Hunger Games were over, so people moved on with their lives, sparing no thought those that didn't make it out.

I refused to sing for those people. Each and every one of them was another Effie. Shallow and riddle with holes, like a thimble.

Effie was still rambling delightedly about all the other things she had scheduled me to do. Guest appearances, attending parties, and wouldn't I just love to Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith this year.

"That was President Snow's personal suggestion, Katniss. He thought you were so wonderful during your interviews."

All the rage that had been building suddenly fled, leaving me deflated. Panic quickly took its place. This was exactly what I feared. Snow was going to force me to be some kind of mascot or spokesperson for the Games. My little act of rebellion would be forgotten, twisted by the Capitol until nobody in Panem remembered the fiery girl from Twelve was only there to spare her sister. Instead I would be the new face, like Finnick Odair or that chick had ripped someone's throat out with her teeth. They would find new and creative ways to light me on fire every year.

What if they tore out all my hair and replaced it with fire?

Peeta's fingers curled around my forearm and I startled, reflexively jerking away from his touch. Unlike the last time I had withdrawn, Peeta followed, his hand grounding me in reality. His grip was soft, but firm, as expected from someone that spent their day kneading dough and painting cakes but could still heft fifty pound bags of flour.

"As much as I would love to have an excuse to see Katniss dolled up every year," he began, "that seems more like a job than a hobby. Perhaps she could be my inspiration."

For a moment, Effie's eyes sparkled at the idea. The tightness in my chest that I hadn't notice loosened.

Why was Peeta so damned nice? We had been fighting, taking turns ignoring the other, for the last two weeks. I was still avoiding him. Why would he offer to spend any more time with me when we couldn't last two days without one of us blowing up at the other?

"Oh, that sounds fabulous darling. All of my friends will be positively clamoring for your paintings if paint Katniss." The baker's son reclined back against the couch, visibly relieved by Effie's approval. My throat tightened. I wanted to thank him, but I couldn't get the words to form.

And then it turned out thanks were unnecessary.

Effie clapped her hands to bring our attention back to her. "Now that that has ben settled, we must order Katniss a new wardrobe. You can't appear in the Capitol dressed like—"

"Like me," I snapped, wishing my Girl on Fire moniker was a little more literal. What I wouldn't give for some fire right now, I thought, glaring at her towering wig of coiffed sunshine.

Effie pursed painted lips. "So, plainly rather. We need to get you the season's highest fashion if you're going to be on stage with Caesar Flickerman."

"What?" I said, dumbfounded.

She dug into her binder, flipping to a section marked by bright pink pieces of paper and removed the whole section, setting it down on the coffee table. It turned out to be a stack of fashion magazines, and presumably catalogs, several inches tall. "I know you have your signature style dear, and fire tones absolutely compliment your complexion, but pastels are all the rage at the moment and there's been an increasing demand for pearls lately. That's my doing, you know. I told everyone how coal can become a pearl."

The escort looked pleased with her contribution. Was I supposed to be grateful for her ignorance?

"I thought we just agreed I would pose for Peeta."

Effie blinked, nonplussed. "Yes, of course you can do that as well, but President Snow wants you to join Caesar and Claudius. And it would be a shame if we never heard your lovely singing voice again. Oh, I know, maybe they can create a song for the Games. You could sing at the parade or the crowning. Or both, yes. I'm positive the Gamemakers would agree with me."

My vision swam before me, a blur of colors overshadowed by the hideous yellow shape that was Effie that I couldn't block out.

There was a solid warmth next to me, pressing against my side from shoulder to knee. A weight settled across my shoulders, an arm. Peeta's arm, I distantly realized, still struggling to breathe. He whispered in my ear, words I couldn't decipher through my panic.

Haymitch's warning couldn't have prepared me for this outcome. It was worse than I had imagined, sitting there next to Peeta in the final interview, knowing that, for our safety, for Prim, I would have to feign being in love with the baker's boy for the rest of my life. I had been disgusted by the thought, still vehemently opposed to love and all its troubles, and yet bitter that the Games had stolen that choice from me.

I chose to give Peeta a chance because I didn't want the Captiol to decide who I was. If I could come to love him, even just a little bit, then a part of their control vanished. Our love wouldn't be just a story concocted to get both of us out of the arena.

It would be real.

And I found myself surprised by how much I wanted that, wanted something that was all my own.

I hunted because I needed to in order to survive. I was good at it because I had to be. I sang because it made Prim smile, let her forget, even just briefly, how unfair life was with our father gone on mother mentally checked out.

For all that I thought Peeta's love was a gimmick for sponsor's, he wasn't forcing me to love him back. He said he would be happy with whatever I gave him, so long as it was real.

And Snow had just taken that away from me. He was going to reshape me into a Capitol citizen. Dyed skin, implanted gems, animal features. I hated looking at them. Their modifications and extravagance. They were nothing more than shallow puppets.

If I became one of them, Peeta would lose his love for me.

New plans in motion, Effie took her leave, not noticing the Victors she had left in shambles.

It took an age for Peeta to coax me down from my panic. He took my limp hands in his own, pulling me towards him until our locked hands rested on his thighs. "It'll be okay, Katniss. I promise. We'll get through this."

"How? You can't—"

"You won't be alone."

I stood, ripping my hands away, incensed that he was still spouting that drivel about how we could get through anything together. "We can't go a day without mortally offending each other. How am I supposed to trust you to have my back? To keep me from shattering into pieces only to be put back together in the wrong order?"

"Because I love you," he proclaimed with confidence.

"You won't. Not when they're done with me."

"Aside from his hair and eyebrows, Caesar, looks pretty normal," pointed out Peeta. "Besides, I don't love you for you looks. I love you for you."

"What does that even mean?"

Peeta joined me in standing, cupping my face so I was forced to meet him head on. His blue eyes burned with love and determination. "I love the girl willing to break the law to feed her family. I love the girl that sings when words fail her. I love the girl that cares for her sister like Prim was her child. I love the girl that still returns to the woods to hunt, even though it reminds her of the Games. I love the girl that doesn't give up and forces people to acknowledge her. I love the girl that defends me when I won't do it myself."

Peeta's voice softened at the end of his rant, cautious about dredging up the cause of their most recent fight. "Even if they change how you look, they'll never change who you are, Katniss. Nor what you mean to me."

"Peeta," I said hoarsely, trying not to cry.

"I can paint anywhere. They'll have to lock me up to keep me away from you."

I closed the distance between us, sinking into his embrace. "Don't let me forget who I am. I don't want them to change me."

"Never," he vowed. "We'll get through this together."

I shut my eyes, letting his words wash over me. This time, I believed him. For all that we fought, Peeta and I kept coming back together, drawn to each other like two magnets. We were stronger together than apart.

"Can we pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist? Just for a little bit." I wanted it to be just me and him, for as long as we could get away with it.

My answer was a gentle press of his lips to my forehead as he lead me upstairs to his bedroom, where we curled up together, forgetting about Effie, Snow, the Capitol, the Games, the talents forced upon us, and the ugly future looming over our heads.