By the time Prim met her stylist, she was scrubbed, sanded, smoothed, and stinging. The prep team had looked alarming, and some of the things they'd done were frankly invasive, but their distant manner had reminded her of her mother treating patients. Bodies were just bodies, after all, when you worked with them every day. The tall stylist was another matter. He looked at her as if he really saw her. She clutched her robe around her but tried to meet his gold-edged eyes steadily.

"Hello, Primrose," he said. "I'm Cinna, your stylist."

"I'm Prim," she corrected in a soft voice.

"Prim," he amended, and sighed. "I know this must be very strange for you, but your body is like a canvas to me. I need to see it in order to do my work. Would you feel more comfortable if I called Venia back in while I do that?"

Prim smiled at him suddenly. He smiled back and his eyes crinkled in a way that made his gold eyeliner almost disappear. "That's okay," she said. She felt more at ease with Cinna's gentle manner than she had with Venia's distance and odd comments. Before he could ask, she removed her robe and set it aside. In spite of her decision to trust him, she was still relieved to find that his gaze on her body was clinical and distracted, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

"Alright," he said after a moment and handed her the robe. "Let's chat."

The talk held few surprises until the topic turned from the usual costuming practices to what Cinna had in mind. When he mentioned that his chosen theme was coal itself rather than the people who mined it, Prim raised an eyebrow. "Didn't they try that a few years ago?" she asked, "With the tributes who were naked and covered in coal dust?" She'd only been eight or nine at the time, but it had made an impression.

"I have something new in mind," Cinna said, and added firmly, "you will not be naked."

That was the most reassuring thing Prim had heard so far.

"Since you're so young," he continued, "I started rethinking my approach as soon as you were chosen as tribute. The original costume I designed would have suited an older girl, but once I saw you, I realised we had the opportunity to do something really striking with you and Peeta." He grinned suddenly. "How do you feel about fire, Prim?"


Katniss listened with half an ear as Gale reminded her that the opening ceremony had taken place the night before. She had eaten the stew, bathed, and changed into clean clothes, all with Gale's explicit instructions. Now they were back in her kitchen and he seemed to think he had something important to tell her. Didn't he realise that nothing mattered anymore?

"Since they're in training today, and they don't televise that, they're rerunning clips from the opening ceremony," he said. "Katniss, I know it's hard, but you need to see this. It's like nothing they've ever done before. I think District 12 has a really good team behind them this year." Katniss didn't understand why Gale thought she would care. A good stylist and support team would be helpful normally, but she couldn't remember a child as young as Prim ever winning the Hunger Games. Certainly no one as gentle and innocent ever had.

"Katniss!" He shook her. "Look, I'm just going to put it on. Once you've seen it, we can talk."

He switched the screen on and Caesar Flickerman's familiar face filled the screen. His jovial voice was too alien to Katniss's thoughts, so she tuned it out. Then the image shifted to show the tributes in their chariots. It all looked normal to Katniss as they paraded past the camera, until a flicker of light from the last chariot caught her eye. As the District 12 chariot slowly came into view, Katniss's gaze was fixed to the screen, hungry for Prim's face and some clue to how she was feeling.

Instead of the pale, scared face that she had last seen, though, the girl she saw on the screen was breathtaking.

Prim was very short and slight next to Peeta, but she shone, and it was impossible to look away from her. She was dressed in a white unitard with a subtle sparkle, edging into blue at her arms, legs and throat. She was adorned with a tiara and cloak that streamed behind her in shades of white, blue, and yellow. Next to her, Peeta looked as solid as a mountain, a contrast in black with an answering shimmer. His cloak was in shades of red, orange, and yellow. And both of them were on fire.

Katniss realised she was clutching Gale's arm. She tried to speak and her raw throat responded with reluctance. "They -" she swallowed and tried again. "They set her on fire?" Her voice rose to a hoarse shriek.

"Look at her, Catnip," he said. "She's fine, they're both fine. It's some kind of fake fire the Capitol dreamed up. Looks like flame but doesn't actually burn."

Katniss didn't let go of his arm, but she took a few breaths and looked more closely at Prim's face. Her expression was grave, her eyes huge. The fire around her lit up the night and the girl at its heart was a bright, impossibly tragic figure. She looked so tiny next to Peeta, so delicate, and yet she blazed. Katniss felt a surge of gratitude for the unknown stylist who had done this for Prim. No one had ever made an impression like this before. Prim might even get sponsors, which Katniss hadn't dared to even think about before.

She buried her face in Gale's chest and his arm came up around her shoulders.

"I can't, Gale," she choked out. "I can't hope for her. There's no way she can win." Gale's rough, steady hand stroked her hair. "I know, Catnip," he said. "But I think now she has a chance to survive for a while in the arena – maybe even up to a week or two, if she's clever and lucky. Now we might have a chance to do something about it."

Katniss pushed back against Gale's chest and stared at him, her mind wiped clean by shock.