The first dress looks like it's made out of a million tiny sparkles too small to see, yet big enough to glimmer and gleam and catch the light. And the fabric melts into my body, swaying with me. My long, dark hair is braided into a single, loose braid that starts on the top of my head. I remember Katniss's hair in the opening ceremonies and scowl at Soranor's design. Copycat, I think angrily. But the dress is so comfortable, so gorgeous, that I can hardly say anything bad about it. And it's the color of blue-green, like the sea, ever-changing as the light hits it. My fingers caress it.

" Beautiful, isn't it?" My mother says from behind me. I whirl around in shock, eyes automatically looking for a weapon. Just another example of how the Games have changed me. I force myself to stay calm.

"Yes. I love it. Thank you, Soranor. And you too," I say, nodding to my prep team. The two girls giggle. Flocum tries to give a dignified smile.

I turn my attention to Delijha. "Are we going?" I ask, hoping she'll say no, the train broke down, or, no, we actually took your feelings into account and canceled the tours or something along those lines.

"No, not yet, we're waiting for Karsa," She sighs. "Again." Karsa is my dimwitted mentor. In her Games, she got shot in the head. It was at the end of the Games and her other competitor, this girl from Three, fell off a cliff. So Karsa won. But now she's… a bit strange in the head. She like a melody, but someone is playing all the wrong notes, turning something beautiful into something… ugly. I shudder. Karsa… she's… I don't know. You think you know her, but then she just… changes, right in front of our eyes. She's really slow, and either Delijha's scared of her or hates her or both. When they're together, they're lutes that are afraid to play together. One plays along the lines, the right notes, the classic tunes. Then the other plays with a wild, crazy, different touch. Both afraid to move to the other's level incase they cannot come back. Not knowing that levels don't matter. Levels, lines, are all that separate me from the other children my age. Actually, that isn't true. What separates me is the 17 slips of paper that had my name written on them in the huge glass bowl that was marked GIRL on the podium on reaping day. 17 slips. Complete luck. Yes, I'm the luckiest person alive. Hahaha. Not funny.

I nod. "Fine with me,"

" I wasn't asking you! "Delijha snaps in her high voice. Then she adds in a mutter, "Can't believe that girl even won her games. Not even smart enough to come at the right time!"

I turn on her. " What was that?"

"Nothing! Nothing, nothing at all,"

"You sure about that?"

"Yes, of course. I didn't say a thing!"

"Right. Sure,"

"You should have more faith, Rue,"

"I could say the same to you, Delijha. That's enough!" I snap to the prep team, who are adding last minute touches to the dress. They jump back. "Thank you."

Delijha shakes her frilly hair. "Oh, well. No matter. But really, Rue, you should work on your manners. I see that you are successfully getting over the barbarisms of your district. " She smiles sweetly.

I want to slap her.

Delijha isn't being sarcastic. That's really what she thinks. That's how all Capitol people act. It's infuriating, that their biggest worry is that their manners aren't perfect, while the rest of us battle starvation, whippings, sickness, and death. I've never before realized how much I hated the Capitol people. Anger and shallow resentment, even jealousy, yes, but hate, no. Frustration, dislike, annoyance. All of the above. But I've never experienced this much hate before. No. That's wrong. I did experience it once before. When Katniss died. No, before that. Right as Katniss was dying. The memory is small, but I am too tired to stop it from coming. Let it come. Let me remember.

A replay. A replay of the same memory as before. But seen from far away. Like I am a ghost. Watching the scene unfold. Zoom in one detail. The last part. The part where a small, dark girl holds an older girls hand as she dies. I vaguely recognize that the girl may be me. This is my memory? It seems impossible. But it does not matter now. I move closer to the two girls. I hear the older girl say, softly, like she wants no one to hear her,

"Sing, Rue. Sing."

The little girl swallows hard. Opens her mouth. And starts to sing.

"Deep in the meadow,

Under the willow,

A bed of grass,

A soft green pillow,

Lay down your head,

And close your eyes,

And when they open,

The sun will rise,"

I find myself singing along. Do I know this song?

"Here it's safe

And here it's warm,

And here the daisies guard

You from every harm,

Here your dreams are sweet,

And tomorrow brings them true,

Here is the place where I love you,"

The birds fall silent. The dark haired girl continues in a softer tone.

"Deep in the meadow,

Hidden far away,

A cloak of leaves

A moonbeam ray

Forget your woes,

And let your troubles lay,

And when again its morning,

They'll wash away,"

I sense the song is nearing its end. The last verse is barely audible, but I can hear it just fine, as though I am the one singing it. But I'm not.

Right?

"Here it's safe,

and here its warm,

And here the daisies guard,

You from every harm,

And here your dreams are sweet,

And tomorrow brings them true,

Here is the place where I love you,

Here is the place where I love you…"

~…~…~