Wiress came to the Capitol the next day. I watched as she got off the train with her district partner, who she seemed quite companionable with. Two people were following her, the Escort and her Mentor, I was sure. I remember her Mentor's games well. When he won, everyone was shocked. And he seemed to be, too.

I really hoped he could help my girl get through this. She looked bewildered at the three members of her prep team who came to take her away. I watched the proceedings through a one way mirror. As her mother, it was my duty. The prep team tearing off her body hair, the washing, the scrubbing. She was so thin. I could count all of her ribs, I could see the tiny points of her vertebrae. I could see her prep team's thoughts on their faces and I wanted to bang on the mirrors and cry out at them: It's not her fault! I haven't been with her!

But, of course, I can't. I can only stand, weeping, as they poke and prod her and make her stand, naked and vulnerable, waiting for her stylist. But I'm relieved at who finally does show up.

Angelus is one of the more decent stylists out there. He's been with the Games for a very long time, and his Tributes always look very nice, and well-put together. He was also terribly, terribly kind. Even to the Avoxes. During his interviews, he was always unfailingly enthusiastic about his Tributes, always building them up. He was strange looking with the Capitol fashions of course, but really, it's his personality that makes him attractive. He didn't need anything else.

I watched as he looked my girl over, and when she looked down in shame, he shook his head and lifted her chin, asked her to smile. She has my smile, my good teeth. He laughed and pointed them out to her team, how perfect and white they were, how expensive looking. The team smiled at that. And my daughter smiled too.

She was so, so beautiful.

Later that day are the Opening Ceremonies of the Games, and then I would be serving at dinner. I would meet my daughter for the first time in eleven years. The two of us serve Beetee, the Escort from District 3, and the stylists while the Ceremonies are taking place. But we watch, too. We're required to watch, of course. Especially me, because that is my daughter up there.

None of them notice me, and I'm glad. I'm able to watch my girl, watch the Ceremonies. The two of them, my Wiress and her district partner, look wonderful together. The stylists have done such a wonderful job with them. They look like royalty. My girl smiling and waving and so charming, like her father had been. I can tell that there are some portions of the crowd that love the two of them. I love seeing the roses come down upon them. Especially when one of them gets stuck in my daughter's elaborate hairstyle.

All I want is to look at my little girl. To etch her face in my mind forever and never to forget her. There are tears coming down my face, and my partner tugs me in the back to fix myself. It won't do to show too much emotion, after all. Or any. Any at all.

I do well. For the most part. But then, something happens.

My girl laughs. She laughs and it completely unnerves me, undoes me, makes me drop my tray. I'm shouted at as tears run down my face. Shouted at, but not beaten, at least. Not today, anyway.

It doesn't matter.

I'm remembering a time, a time when I was still Aerial Mihos, when my husband was still Romex Mihos, and our daughter was a bright two-year-old. Her laugh. It was the same. I still heard it in my dreams. She must have been the tiniest baby in District 3, but she had the biggest laugh.

We were a happy family. Despite everything. Despite my husband's not-quite-sane-ness, despite the hardships of 3. We were a happy family. Which begs the question: Why did I do it?

I'm sent away. They know who this girl is.

So that is my punishment. One more day without being in the same room as she is. It's better for her, I'm sure.

Still, I weep myself to sleep, that night. I hate the sound of my tears.