This day will be divided into parts, being it is the last day before the official Hunger Games. Part One, read!

I awoke from a nightmare that seemed to never end.

Tonight, I wasn't dying. No.

Juniper Lee was.

I awoke from the nightmare, screaming. A short cry, I transitioned to breathing heavy after a second or two. I immediately brought my knees to my chest, burying my face into my hands.

"Dream," I wheezed, "Just a dream, just a dream."

I bonked my head back to the head board of my bed, sighing. Juniper's screams rang in my head, but diminished slowly after a few moments of breathing. My eyes fluttered open and I wiped my light sweat off my forehead quickly, sliding out of my bed.

I was soon dressed after a cold shower to completely wake me, and I was instructed by a very frustrated Cashmere to put on my training gear for a two-hour session with her. Then I would come back and shower, to practice and figure out my angle towards the interviews. Finally, I'd meet my prep team and Cinna down at beauty-base zero, where I'd prepare for the interviews. Adjusting the bottom of my training shirt, I squeezed my wet hair and heard it drip on the ground, reaching for the door. I was met by Cornelia, who look like she was about to knock on my door. My eyes widened a bit in confusion, and she adjusted her bright orange headpiece.

"Lillianne, Cashmere has told me that you have first session, and she's already down. She expects you to be down in exactly ten minutes."

I nod. "Alright, sure."

I started to move around her, going for the dining table to grab a cookie or something, when Cornelia cleared her throat.

"Also," She continued, "You have received something."

I raised an eyebrow as I bit a macadamia nut cookie. "Huh?"

She reached the coffee table and grabbed a bouquet of lilies wrapped in blue ribbon. On the ribbon was a tag card with a large '12' on it. I grabbed it gently, smelling it's sweet aroma. I looked at the card.

From our tributes and the victors, we wish you luck on the 76th annual Hunger Games.

I turned the card over to the very back and saw a post-script scrawled in black ink.

P.S. Look pretty for the interviews, Ice Girl.

Smiling, I knew the postscript was most likely from Alex. I looked up at Cornelia.

"What is this for?"

She shrugged.

"No idea."

Running. That's what I did a lot of for about two hours. Cashmere was in a better mood, but she wanted to emphasize my two strengths: Running and knife work. I obliged, doing everything she said. For the first hour, it was half an half, running drills and climbing, running and climbing, climbing, jumping off then running, and then hiding knives while running. I learned to conceal knives in many parts of my clothing, even in my pant pocket without cutting my skin like and idiot. The second hour was situational: in case I fall off a tree and I get ambushed, in case I'm cornered and have only one knife, in case I can't walk and have to climb and throw knives from up top. By the last five minutes, Cashmere was somewhat pleased and I was exhausted. I wondered if I would really live long enough to execute any of the exsercises she gave me, but shook off the thought in an attempt to be positive. Cashmere personally walked me back to our floor, pressing the number on the elevator's side to 13, the penthouse.

It was awkwardly quiet, with me trying to control my breathing and Cashmere looking fabulous to death in a similar outfit to mine but with her hair waved down her back. She reminded me very much of me at the moment, only I could see the victory in her eyes as she waited for the elevator to stop. I sighed, scratching my head.

I didn't have that look in my eyes.

Suddenly, I'm pushed harshly onto the wall and I cry out, my arm feeling the cool metal. I turn to Cashmere checking her closed fist vainly.

"Uh-OW?" I say loudly, rubbing my arm. She wipes her knuckles.

"That was for your score." She said abruptly. I looked down at my elbow to see it red from the impact.

"And this-"

Without another warning, I hear movement and I brace myself for another hit, when arms are wrapped around me. Eyes wide and arms at my sides, I experience Cashmere hugging me tightly. I don't understand.

"This is for tomorrow."

I gulp, moving in her embrace. Tomorrow. Hunger Games day.

"If- In the case-" Then I bury my face into her shoulder. "Cashmere, if I die, I'm so sorry!"

She rubs my back and I prepared for another lecture on honor and pride. But I didn't get one. Instead, Cashmere sighed.

"Don't be. I'm sorry you have to be here."

I don't cry. There was no need to. Besides, I had a feeling I should hold off on emotion until we got into the arena. But I felt hopeless. Without being able to do much, I cautiously clung to her. She pulled away after a few moments, holding my shoulders.

"I have faith in you, Princess." She replied, rubbing my shoulders. "Just…have faith in yourself. You need to give yourself some more credit." She smiled. "C'mon. Take a shower so we can talk about your angle."

The elevator dinged and I walked hesitantly to my room.

"So, Lillianne Snow, how are we playing this?"

Lounging on the couch in the living room, Cashmere and I lay on two long couches. I flicked some of my wet hair back, and brought my feet up to the couch, feeling the velvet on my bare legs. Instructed to wear so by a note from Cinna in my room, I wore creamy cloth shorts and a pale blue button up shirt. My hair was drying and already waving like a mess on my shoulder and back. I looked over at Cashmere, who had changed into a pink bandage skirt and a plain white t-shirt, and shrugged.

"I don't know."

Cashmere put her hand on her chin. "Well, how does the Capitol know you?"

I scoffed. "That's easy. I'm Lillianne Snow, President Snow's youngest granddaughter. I was on the Ceasar Flickerman Show every year on my birthday week to celebrate. They've known me since I was around three."

Cashmere snaps. "Exactly! That's it!"

I cock my head to the side.

"Exactly what?"

Cashmere jumps off her seat with a determined look in her face. "That's it, Lillianne! They know you as little Lilly! The President's youngest granddaughter - heck, even I watched you on the Ceasar Flickerman Show back home in One when I was younger. But we need to change that…they need to see…they need to see…"

Then I catch her brain wave. "They need to see that I've grown up."

She snaps again int triumph. "Yes!"

I nod absently. Then I frown. "But…then what?"

Cashmere scoffs. "What do you mean, 'Then what?'"

I sat up straighter, putting my legs down. "I mean, yeah, I've grown. But what am I? An idiot, brave, sarcastic, sexy?" I gag at the last one, knowing I am in no way sexy. Cashmere smacks her forehead.

"You have a point."

I stood. "Look, I've grown up. And I want to cut the ties I have my grandfather."

Cashmere looks at me with wild eyes. "You can't say that, Lillianne-"

"I can say whatever I want to say!" I shout loudly, my inner seven year old coming out. Then I sigh. "I mean, I don't want to be known as "President Snow's granddaughter my entire life. I'm Lilliane. Just Lillianne. And maybe if I show them that I'm just like any other tribute, I can get a bit farther than we both know I'll probably get."

Cashmer bit her lip. "That's risky, Lill. The fact that you have such a high status can help you."

"But it can break me as well," I say as a matter of factly. "No one likes a stuck up tribute. They want a story."

Still not sold, she shook her head. "Lillianne, your grandfather is a very important man. One wrong move-"

"It doesn't matter." I say, cutting her off. I clench my fists. "President Snow has no control over me. He's not my father. He hasn't lived with me my entire life."

My mentor sighs again. "Fine. We'll cut your ties to the President. But how do we do that?"

We grow quiet. An idea pops into my head, but I want to shake it away. This one is too risky for my own life. Cashmere notices my internal struggle.

"Say it. Might as well."

I bite my lip. "Well…what if….with the timing and with how everything is…"

"What?" Cashmere interrupts, clearly wanting a concrete answer. I breathe in deeply.

"What if I don't agree with my grandfather?" I apprehensively reply coyly.

"You already don't." She answers harshly. I nod.

"But what if…I take it a step further?" I say, lowering my voice. Cashmere raises her eyebrow.

"What are you getting at, Snow?"

"What if I'm - the rebel?"

She tenses. I go on. "Think about it. Not a rebel as in 'I hate everything!' I mean, I agree with this - rebellion."

"There is no rebellion," She says quickly. I scoff.

"Please. Everyone in Panem is in on it." I respond. She rubs her chin, considering this.

"Think really hard about this, Cashmere," I coo, "I can grab their attention. I can have them at the palm of my hand. I can use the rebellion - well, the idea of it - to my advantage."

A smile is playing on her lips. "Cynical, conniving, strong - this would be a surprise for Panem." She grins. "I like the way you think Snow."

I grin back. "Thanks. Learned from the best."

She winks, sitting back down. "Now, let's really make a game plan…"

Review for Part Two: The Interviews~