Things moved quickly after Effie's visit. Far too quickly.

The trains ate up the distance between District Twelve and the Capitol. Packages arrived almost daily. Canvas, brushes, paints and other supplies for Peeta. Items which he genuinely appreciated and was excited to use. They were higher quality than anything he could scrounge up locally. He spent several hours clearing out all the furniture in one of the spare bedrooms so he could set up a proper art studio with enough lighting and space that he could work on several projects at once.

Watching him sweep a brush across the canvas, colors blooming to life, was relaxing. Already he had been flooded with requests for my image. The Girl on Fire. I studied every replica he made. Staring at my face, I found myself feeling like it belonged to someone else.

The fierce expression on her face. The confident look in her eyes. They can't have been mine.

I couldn't recall ever feeling confident or fierce. Not even during the Games. No, my primary emotion there was fear. Not for myself. For Prim. Who would take care of her when I died? For all that I fought, I had never expected to emerge the winner. No, I fully expected for my body to be shipped back to the district in a crate of a coffin.

For Peeta as well. The baker's boy willing to die for me. He had wormed his way into the heart I thought only held room for my little duck.

Peeta had a chaise in his art room, just beneath the window. I frequently found myself laying upon it, losing myself in watching him work. Inevitably I would fall asleep. Peeta would unearth a soft, earthy green blanket and lay it over me. His fingers would linger feather light on my cheeks before returning to his brushes and paints.

I slept better in Peeta's presence. It was a sanctuary where I could pretend we were a Seam girl and Town boy who had bucked expectations like my parents, and not two teens trying to prevent the other from shattering. Sometimes those one- or two-hour naps on his chaise were the only times I could sleep.

Effie's visit had been a blessing for Peeta. The aspiring artist could now do what he had previously only dreamed off. For me it had brought a resurgence of nightmares. And every time I came home from hunting to find a box on my doorstep wasn't helping.

The boxes were filled with clothes. Capitol style clothes. I could already feel they way they would constrict and constrain me. Tight in all the wrong places, and pinching whenever I tried to move. Couldn't sit comfortably in them either.

Except for those Cinna created.

Cinna, bless his soul, had designed most of them. Apparently, based on the note he had hidden rolled up and stitched into the hem of one dress, he had started creating outfits with the intention of claiming I was the designer. He was going to let me take the credit for his work.

I had cried over that note, unable to fathom why a man whom I had only spoken to four times when he dressed me would extend an offer to essentially fake my talent.

Prim had been startled by my outburst, and likely didn't believe my excuse that they were tears of laughter because the dresses were hideous, but she didn't pry.

Since Snow had had other plans for Panem's newest sweetheart, Cinna had convinced Effie to let him be responsible for the new wardrobe the escort insisted I needed. Effie agreed easily. It was Cinna's genius with the chariot outfits that made me the Girl on Fire. In her mind, there was no one better suited to the task of making sure I was dressed to impressed. I much preferred his elegant but utilitarian designs over what sponsors were sending. They were fancy but not over-the-top extravagant.

However, I couldn't escape some truly atrocious pieces. Handpicked by Effie herself or Capitolists that hoped to earn favor or appear to have close ties with the newest victors if I was seen wearing something they had gifted me. Some included personal notes from people who had spent money on ensuring Peeta and I won.

I wanted to toss every article of clothing that didn't come from Cinna into the fireplace and watch as the monstrosities were reduced to ashes.

Instead, box after box of dresses and pantsuits, all supposedly of the Capitol's couture, filled my closet. Prim ooh'ed and ah'ed over every piece, running her hands down crushed velvet and silk and satin and cashmere and a dozen other fabrics, exclaiming happily how she wished she could see all the citizens in the Capitol dressed like this.

Busy fawning over a particularly ghastly beige tiered frock adorned with thousands of silvery tassels with a sheer neckline that would expose more cleavage than I was comfortable with—it honestly reminded me of a lampshade—she hadn't seen my face twist. I would have to be dead before Prim step foot into the Capitol.

With a cheerful wink, she had whisked away the dresses that didn't belong to Cinna to hang in their mother's closet. "There's far too many to fit in yours, and mom's the same shape as you."

Before I knew it, my house was bursting with eccentrically colorful clothes and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground as I made for the boundary fence.

Winter in District Twelve was hard. Before, the house was so rundown every cold breeze blew straight through. Mother, Prim and I would put all the bedding in one bed and slept together to keep warm at night. Food was always a concern. Hunting became a daily task, sometimes twice if Gale and I hadn't found enough before school.

I hunted on autopilot, checking Gale's snares and bagging his catches—four squirrels, a rabbit and a fox. The animals that I managed to shoot were all scrawny. Desperately foraging out in the elements because they needed to.

Winter meant it had been six months since the Games. Half a year had passed since Prim's name was drawn. Six months since I had to fight to return home to her. Been forced to kill other children. Since I nearly took my own life.

Six months since Peeta and I won.

Victor. Panem's greatest lie. The Games only ended if you died in them. People thought you were lucky or blessed if you survived, if you came out of top. Knowing what I do now, I knew that wasn't true. The only thing the Victors won as a continued life of torment, forever tied to the Games for their achievement, and the awful people that celebrated the event each year.

Freshly fallen snow also meant it was almost time for the Victory Tour.

The Victory Tour followed six months after the Games. The Capitol forced the year's Victor to travel to each district and make speeches thanking them for their tributes and making the games great and exciting. The districts put up a pretense of being happy because it was required, but in reality they were bitter and angry at the loss of their loved ones.

It was the Capitol's way of keeping the horror fresh, having the recent Victor, or Victors in mine and Peeta's case, parade through each district to celebrate their good fortune.

I dreaded this more than the idea of becoming Caesar's new co-host for the Games. How was I supposed to look Rue's family in the eye and thank them for their daughter's contribution when I was the reason she was dead? How could I pretend that Cato was a worthy opponent when I still heard his screams at night as the mutts tore him apart?

How was I supposed to stand in front of each district and thank them for making my games memorable when all I wanted to do was forget?

When some nights dark thoughts slithered through my mind, and I dreamed that my voice caught in my throat. And instead of me climbing the stage on shaking legs, my silence damns an inconsolable Prim, carried between on stage by a pair of Peacekeepers.

The arrival of the first snow signaled the end of the quiet pretense Peeta and I had been living in. The flurry of white flakes ushered in a bustling crew of Capitol people to prep us for the tour.

And just like that, all the progress Peeta and I had made since Effie's last visit evaporated.

Dreamless nights in his arms no longer happened. I stared at the wall and avoided sleep, not wanting to confront the nightmares that awaited me. Nor quiet mornings after where I took comfort in learning how to bake. Learning to create something instead of destroying, Simple breads for now, but one day Peeta would no longer be able to coerce me into talking about my feelings with cheese buns.

The buns were actually unnecessary. All he needed to do was turn those soft blue eyes on me, look at me like I personally made the sun rise each day.

Thankfully for my stomach, Peeta was unaware of the effect his eyes had on me.

Now his eyes looked at me the same way I looked at him. Panicked more often than not, searching for an excuse to escape. I could no more give him and out than he could for me. We were both trapped, surrounded by cameramen, stage hands, stylists, Effie, and dozens of tv crew personnel as they prepped for Caesar's interview.

The Capitol's presence drove a wedge between Peeta and I.

No, I suppose that was being unfair. I transformed into a wooden doll when they descended upon us. I pulled away from Peeta's affectionate touches, turned deaf ears to his whispered reminders that we were in this together.

The emotions I was still struggling to label were forcibly drowned out by the star-crossed lovers act. Only I knew it wasn't an act for Peeta, and that it wounded him to see me faking the loving gestures that sold our story.

I cared for him. Wasn't that enough? It wasn't love but it was something.


When the preliminary footage was finished to the producer's expectations, I hurried into my house. I wanted nothing more than to be in the woods or next to Peeta, but both of those options were denied to me until the tour was done with.

I found my mother and Prim in the kitchen, carefully grinding at herbs for the clinic she still ran out of our old house. Prim was chattering excitedly. For her, the arrival of the prep teams and camera crew was good news. Last time a camera crew came out to District Twelve it was to film the feast after we returned. Before that, it was when they came to visit the families of those that made the final eight. Prim associated the cameras with good news, because they're presence meant I was still alive.

The return of the cameras meant the return of the lies. Being madly in love with Peeta, whom I was slowly getting to know, and swooning like a lovesick girl. Pretending to be grateful to Snow and the Capitol for our lives and cushy homes and the wealth they gave us for winning.

Mother, face drawn and pale, pointed with a knife to the door of my unused office. The door of which was ajar. Apprehensive, I left Prim and our mother to their work. I hovered on the edge of the door, pushing it open like I expected a snake to come from behind it and strike me.

All things considered that was exactly what happened.

My vision was filled with white. Dreadful white roses lined the windowsills and a particularly grandiose pot sat on the corner of the desk. Their fragrance was overwhelming.

"Come sit, Miss Everdeen. I have something I would like to discuss with you."

Robotically, I took the seat across from my guest. Although, with President Snow seated behind the desk, it felt like I was the one out of place. What was he doing here? Snow never left the Capitol. The nausea which I had been fighting from the blood-scented roses doubled at the realization that President Snow had traveled all the way out to District Twelve to pay me a personal visit.

"Things will be much easier between us if we don't lie to one another, what do you think?" Words caught in my throat, I nodded. I was too terrified to speak. There was a viper in my home, just across from where my mother and Prim were busy in the kitchen. He was too close to my family, and every instinct I had was screaming at me to get rid of him. And I could only do that by listening to him. "Good, glad you agree."

President Snow smiles, lips too full and stretched too long. Likely one of many modifications. "My advisors were concerned you would be difficult, but you're not planning on being difficult, are you?"

"No," I finally managed speak.

"Of course, you're not. No, the girl who went to such lengths to preserve her life wouldn't throw it away so easily." If only the monster before me knew of how many nights I had dreamt that exact scenario, dying in the blaze of fire that bore down upon me instead of fighting. "And then there is your family to think of. Your mother. Your young sister. All of those . . . cousins."

I choked. "Cousins?" I realize it was a mistake, but it was too late. I forgotten that the gamemakers had arranged to interview that Hawthorne family, posing as cousins, because the only family I had was my mother and sister, and that wasn't enough to fill a fifteen-minute segment.

Snow chuckled, unconcerned. "No need to panic, my dear. I already knew they were not your relatives. But all of Panem does not. All of Panem was moved by that stunt you pulled with the berries. And that is where my problem lies, Miss Everdeen." Snow braced his elbows on the desk and fold his fingers beneath his chin. "If Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane had had any brains, he would have blown you up right then. But he had an unfortunate sentimental streak. So, here you are. Can you guess where he is?"

I nodded once more, no guesses necessary. Obviously, Snow had ordered him killed for besmirching the sanctity of the Games.

"I thought so. Your love-crazed act caused quite the uproar in the Capitol. They were ever so moved by the idea of young lovers that couldn't bear to be parted. But you and I know differently," Snow's voice was soft, yet dangerous. "And, so do the districts."

I stared at him, bewildered. Where was he going with this speech? Would it kill him to get to the point? The longer he was present in my home the more on edge I felt. I had unwittingly stirred a hornet's nest and was waiting for the inevitable sting.

"This, of course, you don't know. You have no access to information about the mood in other districts. In several of them, people viewed your little trick with the berries as an act of defiance, not an act of love."

"I thought we agreed not to lie to each other."

I was more taken aback by my comment than he was. "The true nature of the berries is not a question to you or to me, Miss Everdeen. But not all the districts are convinced. No, what they saw was a girl from District Twelve, of all places, defy the Capitol and walk away to live a fairy tale happily ever after. If she could do that, what is to stop them from doing the same?"

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. "You mean . . . uprisings?"

President Snow rubbed at the spot above his left eyebrow. "Not yet, but they'll follow if the course of things doesn't change. Do you have any idea what that would mean?"

It was hard to imagine something worse than the Hunger Games, which had come about after the first uprising. The one where mythical District Thirteen, if it ever existed, had been wiped off the map by the Capitol's weaponry.

"Whatever problems you may have with the Capitol, believe me when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a moment, the entire system would collapse."

"It must be very fragile if a handful of berries can bring it down."

There was a heavy pause as we surveyed each other, like two alpha buck readying to fight to prove themselves a better mate to a doe. "Come now, Miss Everdeen. Didn't we agree to be truthful to one another?"

His smile was wicked. "The problem is not the berries, but you, Miss Everdeen. You have sparked a fire, that if fanned, will reduce the nation to naught but ashes in the wind."

"I didn't mean to start any uprisings," I protested weakly. I just wanted to get home to Prim. It was Peeta and Haymitch that had concocted this stupid doomed-to-die-star-crossed lovers façade. Why was I the one being threatened? Haymitch claimed I lacked any acting ability, so it wasn't like Snow could believe I was responsible for the story.

"I believe you," he said sympathetically, and my spine shivered at the idea of this monster feeling that way towards me, "however, it doesn't matter. I wouldn't be here if I were the only person that had doubts."

His message was clear. I needed to convince the districts to return to normal, stem the uprising I had inadvertently brought to fruition. That I was a foolish girl who didn't realize her actions could be misconstrued as defiance against the Capitol.

"Your Victory Tour starts tomorrow. By the time you reach the Capitol, I expect all of Panem to know that you are grateful for the Games, because they brought you and Mr. Mellark together."

The President of Panem stood and regally swept from behind the desk. "By the way, Miss Everdeen, Caesar and I do look forward to working with you. The Quarter Quell is an exciting time to appear as a host."

The door clicked shut quietly behind him, but it sounded like a cannon to my ears.

I had once chance to save Prim, Peeta, and my mother. Probably the Hawthornes and Mellarks, too. I had to convince the districts that the lie was real. And I was a terrible liar.

Iron burst across my tongue. I spat a mouthful of blood onto the roses Snow left behind.

Snow had just stolen the one thing that had been mine; my relationship with Peeta. Whatever Peeta and I were was supposed to be kept separate from the Capitol's schemes. We'd play the desperate lovers on screen, but off it we were just him and I. A boy in love with a girl that didn't know how to love.

But he made me want to.

And now that choice had been taken from me.

I had to love Peeta, or my family would pay the price.