A/N: YATTA! Are we all excited for the Games next chapter!? I hope so! And if you have any more comments on your favorite/least favorite tributes, post 'em! Or if you just have a comment, post it! Now, let's get started!

I wake up on my own, taking a shower with some experimental scented foam before I dry off and dress up in an all-white outfit.

I'm actually the last to arrive at breakfast today, and once I'm seated, everyone is discussing approaches to the interviews. There's already been a rough schedule worked out for Twig with Ime and Mill, and Mim is quick to claim me to train, though I don't think Lily was jumping all over the opportunity herself. Mim's just excited District 4 finally has a "proper lady" instead of a rude, muscular one. She doesn't seem to realize that Lily is glaring daggers at her as she continues her meal.

And once I'm finished, Mim whips me off to my room to start working with me. She first puts me in unearthly-high heels and teaches me how to walk in them. It hurts my feet to death, but it's kind of fun otherwise. Then I'm taught proper etiquette when walking around in a long gown; I insist on tripping over it instead of lifting it up, but she solves that problem soon enough.

We go through various other things, like the proper posture and to keep smiling no matter how many knives go through my cheeks.

Then we break for a lunch of pearl-sized tomatoes with salad and a juicy piece of steak. It doesn't seem to last long, because I'm soon off to the sitting room, where Mim gazes at me with a look in her eye that makes her seem like she may actually be thinking. I just start to open my mouth to ask her what she's doing when she makes her first comment.

"I'm not sure exactly what angle would be a good one for you," she sighs, somehow still managing to sound excited about it as she scrutinizes me further.

"A-angle?" I ask, drawing away when she walks closer to me.

"Yes, what you're going to be for the audience," she trills like everyone knows what an angle is. She looks at me a little more, tapping my chin to move my head with one of her too-long fingernails.

"Maybe a shy, humble sort of thing?"

Okay, I may be many things, but I'm not shy, and I'm not humble. Just ask Iah. He's seen me be a wacko at the few sports games our school has—let's just say, if I were a boy, I'd be one of those fans with a giant letter painted on my stomach—as well as what I'm sure was a solid hour of bragging after I got the highest grade on the big math test.

But, I guess not jumping around on the float, next to Twig of all people, did make me look kind of shy. I'm a decent actor, so I could probably pull it off.

"It's decided, then!" Mim exclaims, the hint of uncertainness from her last sentence completely gone. "We'll try that! So, I'll be the interviewer, and you answer me. Remember, you're the shy little girl who just can't believe she's been given the honor of all of this!"

I nod, registering the fact that she thinks 16-year-olds are comparable to little girls, and we begin the mock interview. She asks me simple questions that are easy to answer, and she's absolutely thrilled that I'm so excellent at this.

Before I know it, the day has gone, and the minute I'm ready the next day, I'm placed in Tora's care.

Fortunately, I'm allowed to wear some normal clothes to this session as she scrutinizes me. Twilly and Tilly come in with something blue wrapped in plastic in their arms, and Tora lifts my sleeve up. I frown for a second and disrobe, but it's luckily not long before the newest garb is thrown over me.

Once I have it pulled down to its proper place, I sneak a look in the mirror. It's a much lighter, brighter blue than the parade outfit, and the entirety of the fabric seems to be swirling around me.

Now Tora has come back, and is putting on my makeup. It feels like much more than in the parade, but my eyes are closed too often to see for sure.

She continues to work on my outfit, carefully adding details to both the dress and my exposed arms. She also wraps something in my hair and tops it off with a light hat I can't see that well.

She seems to be finished, and finally lets me see myself in the mirror.

The dress is beautiful, dotted with tiny jewels on every curved wrinkle, and it sends waves of light every time I shift a leg. Swirling, wave-like patterns have been stenciled onto my arms, and extremely light blue ribbons adorn my hair. I'm topped off with a simple, white newsboy hat that's slightly too big for my head, but it's tilted back so I can see.

My makeup, though, makes me almost unrecognizable. I've always thought I was pretty, but I look like a model now. If you look closely, you can also see a bluish tint to some of the lines, a feature that goes well with the clothing.

I notice Tora leaning over next to me, and when she stands, I look to see a pair of dark blue heels that aren't anywhere near as tall as the ones Mim made me wear yesterday. I step in, and Tora motions for me to turn. Twilly and Tilly immediately start spluttering praise, and Tora nods approvingly.

Now Tora leads the way to the elevator, where I meet up with Mim and the others from my district. Twig is actually wearing a shirt today, but it's tight enough to still show his muscles. Otherwise, he's dressed impeccably.

Now we're ushered into a line with the other tributes just beside the large outdoor stage, and we seat ourselves in an orderly arc.

I almost collapse onto the chair, I've been shaking so badly. Hopefully no one will notice; after all, their attention should be on the girl from District 1, who's already up for her interview.

I don't pay much attention to her myself; she obviously going for the "vicious" angle, and I have to admit, I'm kind of intimidated myself. So, instead, I focus more on Halen Crask, the blonde interviewer who's always jumping around the stage just as much as he's interviewing the tributes. It's annoying to watch most of the time, but I'm so jittery I almost find his antics funny.

And then the buzzer for Phemus, who's been convincingly playing the sullen-and-hostile angle, rings, and I'm called to the interview. I'm grateful my dress hangs past my knocking knees as I try not to stumble on my way over. Halen reaches a hand out, and I shake it slightly, remembering I'm supposed to be shy and modest.

"So, Circe," he starts, just as overenthusiastic as everyone here seems to be, "what's it like being in the Capitol for you?"

"Oh, I…" I smile and try to blush a little to hide that I have no idea what to say. "I like it a lot. It's a… very nice place and all." I swallow before I decide to add a little more. "I never would have imagined ending up here."

"I wouldn't imagine so," Halen responds happily. "How about the clothes? I imagine you've been thinking your dresses have been spectacular just as much as I have."

"Oh, yes," I reply easily. This is something I kind of know how to talk about. "Tora's a magnificent stylist, isn't she?" I model a bit in my dress to show off her work.

"She is. So, how about your training score? What went through your mind when you saw that six?"

"Um, I…" I try to think of something convincing, but the best thing for this act is the truth. "I was kind of surprised. I mean, I knew I did well, but… I-I didn't know I would score a six. I was just… kind of hoping for at least a four." I smile shyly to end it.

"Well, good job, and I'm sure we all wish you the best of luck, Circe Heron, tribute from District 4."

I nod quickly and shuffle back to my seat. Hopefully, I pulled that off well. No way of telling for sure since I won't get benefits from anyone willing to sponsor me.

I sit quietly through the rest of the interviews, and once Shaw from District 12 is finished, we all stand for the anthem and then disperse.

I'm left to wander around my room for a while, not wanting to take off Tora's lovely dress and outfit, but having to if I want to join the others for dinner.

The main topic is, of course, not me, but Twig, and his beautifully-executed confidence vibe. How content but deadly he seemed. How he seems he could just reach over grinning and snap your neck. Like a twig.

I tune out as usual, picking at my food.

It's so easy to get caught up in the festivities. Forget you're about to be sent to your death for the entertainment of the Capitol. But it's really going to happen. I'm going to be shipped off, and for all I know, the person sitting right next to me laughing today is going to be the one to kill me tomorrow.

I'm quick to block out the thoughts of my death and redirect my attention to the food. It's still just as wonderful as ever, but I can't help but be reminded that I'm going to have nothing at all to eat soon.

I end up leaving early to climb into my bed; the interviews were much later than the near-midday light in the City Circle implied.

It's still hard to accept that I'm about to be sent to my death…

No, I think, trying to shake the thought out of my head. I don't have to die. I could figure out a way to win… Maybe…

My eyes close, and I drift off to sleep.

I see no one in the morning, save for Tora, who dresses me in a plain, black shift—my arena outfit will be set up elsewhere—and leads me to the roof.

A hovercraft appears out of nowhere, making me flinch a bit, but I recover in time for a ladder to come down. I start to climb up it, but on the first rung, I'm frozen. I panic for a moment before realizing this must be a precaution; last year, a tribute from District 6 had tried to fling himself off the ladder to his death. He failed, but I guess they don't want something like that happening again.

Now the ladder has brought me to the hovercraft, but a lady with bright red hair informs me she's giving me a tracker. I would wince if I could move as she pricks my upper arm and squeezes the syringe.

Now the current that had been holding me in place vanishes, and I rotate my joints, wanting to be sure I can still move after that. Tora follows me onto the hovercraft, and a silent servant directs us to a room of breakfast.

I must have eaten less than I thought at dinner last night, because I'm shoving down rolls and bacon like there's no tomorrow. Which may be true.

I continue to gorge myself on the bread until I'm sure I'm about to vomit, and then the table is cleared, and I'm left to stare at the window that's just been blackened.

The hovercraft lands much earlier than I want it to, and Tora and I dismount the vehicle via the ladder. But instead of a rooftop, we're inside an underground tube, and, after some quick instruction, we're inside the Launch Room.

I have to go through a shower and teeth-cleaning slowly so my oversized breakfast doesn't make a reappearance, and I don't even attempt to clean the back of my tongue. Tora rearranges my part a few times in wait for the clothes, but it takes so long she eventually starts a series of thin, short braids positioned opposite my center part.

And the clothes are finally here. A simple, tan tank top, with darker brown pants and black boots that squeeze my calves uncomfortably at their highest points. I click on the rigid, brown belt and look over the outfit.

Generally, tributes receive an outfit that corresponds to the arena. This is sending a mixed message, though: either it's hot above waist level and chilly beneath, or the Gamemakers want to see how we'll adapt.

Tora hands me my necklace, and I'm quick to put it on. It slips right over the imprint it made on my skin; I never took it off last night.

"And now we wait?" I whisper to Tora. She nods.

I try to seat myself, but I'm freaking out too much to stay that way for long, and I find myself pacing the floor rapidly.

"It's time to prepare for launch," finally calls a pleasant female voice lacking the odd Capitol accent.

I start for my metal circle shaking. Once I'm on, I look back at Tora nervously, wishing she could say something to help me. But she still can't speak. She instead smiles and gives me a double-thumbs-up. I try to smile back, but the cylinder lowering itself around me is disconcerting. Tora stands up stiffly, and it's a moment before I realize she's telling me to quit slouching. I stand up straight, managing a small smile at her before I'm whisked upward by the disc.

When I hit the surface, I'm blinded—after about fifteen seconds of complete darkness, sunlight is too much to take in.

But I do hear the announcer, Core Brig. "Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Thirteenth Hunger Games begin!"