I am so scared. I cling onto Gale for support. I didn't let go until we reached the capitol. It's clear that Haymitch is going to be no help at all and all that Effie cares about is her hair. She must think she looks "fashionable."

Why me, out of ALL the other kids in my district, why did I have to be chosen? My name was only in there once. The odds were completely in my favor, but that doesn't matter now. The odds were never in my favor and I'm going to die because of it.

I cry slightly, but Gale comforts me. I can see why Katniss adores him. She won't admit it, though. Neither will he.

We're pulling into the train station to the capitol, finally. I look at the people through the window - the people who will be betting on how soon I'll die.

I don't get why they where all this. Well, I guess since they don't have to do anything, why not just slap on a bunch of stuff on their face and call it beauty. I call it art.

There's green wigs, purple lipstick, someone that stenciled eye liner into the shape of a dragon, pink eye brows, floral eyelashes, ect. And they think WE look unattractive.

I'm trying to take my mind off of the games, but it isn't working. All I can think about is how I'll be dead in a week. I'll probably die within the hour of the games.

I'm shoved in a styling room. My prep team surrounds me. I learn that their names are Flavius, Octavia, and Venia. They go to work on my nails, my eyebrows, the hair on my legs, etc. They have to hose me down multiple times, which makes me feel a little bad. But they don't even talk to me. They're just chatting on how they're going to purchase a scarf made out of bear skin because it's the "in thing." It's like they don't even care about me.

They strip my robe that I was wearing, but I don't feel a need to put it back on. It's hard to feel self conscious around them.

Finally, after I'm waxed and rinsed and sprayed and all that, I wait for my stylist. I wonder what costume I'll be in. The stylists have done really strange things in the past. I just hope I'm not like that one year where they were naked and covered in charcoal.

My stylist comes in and he actually looks relatively normal. I'm shocked.

He evaluates me for some time and then hands me my robe.

We go over and eat. The food is really nice. I'm used to fresh meat, but this is a delicacy compared to that.

I learn that his name is Cinna. "I'm sorry that this happened. I can't imagine going in at your age. This must be awful for you, but I'm hear to help in any way that I can."

That makes me feel a little better.

After some fitting and adjusting, he allows me to look. I'm stunning. My hair is done nicely and the outfit looks really different.

I'm all cool with it and going along until we reach the chariot and he pulls out a match.