A/N: I put this on a rush so if you catch any mistakes/errors, I'm truly sorry! I'm gonna edit this later

Disclaimer: No i don't own THG

And I'll never be quite the same
as I was before this
Part of you still remains,
though it's out of focus
You're just somewhere that I've been
And I won't go back again
You're just somewhere that I've been

"Ghost of You" - Selena Gomez & The Scene

For the next few days, I stay in the hospital.

I've been staying on my bed the whole time, doing absolutely nothing. I don't talk, not to anyone but Haymitch. I refuse to eat, so they have to stick an IV to my arm to get the nutrition into my system. I just stare off into space like a mentally ill person.

Or maybe I am.

My door swings open, but I don't turn around or even flinch. I let the person step into my room and sit on the chair beside my bed.

"Katniss," the person says.

I look up. "Cinna."

A ghost of a smile appears on his face. "They told me you won't talk to anyone. I guess they were wrong."

I simply shrug, and hung my head down.

"I hate to tell you this, but," he puts his finger on my chin and lifts my head up to face him, "they are dying to see you again, Girl on Fire. You can't sit here forever."

I shrug again.

"Caesar's gonna interview you in two days. You will have to watch the recaps of the games, and then President Snow will put the crown on your head," he says, tapping on my head playfully.

I nod. "Okay."

"Are you sure you're ready for it?" he says more gently.

"I guess I don't have a choice," I mumble. It doesn't matter whether I'm ready or not for the after games celebrations, I'll still have to smile for the cameras all the way.

"You're probably right. That means," he takes a plate from the table beside him and put it on my lap, "you gotta eat something. I've created a beautiful dress for you, and I want it to fit your body perfectly."

I look down at myself. I've gotten much skinnier—what's left of my body are just skin and bones. It will be very disappointing if the dress that Cinna created especially for me don't fit.

I pick up the spoon and start to eat whatever it is on the plate. The food tastes bitter on my tongue, but I swallow it down anyway. Cinna stays beside me and watches my every move. I finally take the last spoonful of the food. He takes the plate from me and puts it back on the table. He then grabs my hand and rubs it gently.

"It will be alright, Katniss."

I take a shaky breath and then I look up at him, and I whisper, "I hate this, Cinna. I don't want to do this. I'm not supposed to be alive."

"Don't say that," he says firmly. "Just go to sleep. When I meet you tomorrow, you'll be as fresh as a flower," he stands up and smiles before leaving the room.

The next day, I'm moved back to my compartment at the Capitol, the same one where I stayed in before I was thrown into the arena. Everything in this room still look the same—the bed, the carpet, the walls, the table, the couch, the bathroom, the closet, everything. It feels nice to be in a place that's familiar to me, unlike the cold, quiet hospital room with different doctors and nurses checking up on me three times a day.

There's a faint knock on the door, so I stand up from the edge of the bed I'm sitting on. I know it's not Effie, nor it is Haymitch. Because if it was Effie, the knocking would be so much noisier and soon would be followed by her chirpy yells, telling me to be "Up! Up! Up!" and that "The dinner is starting! Don't want to waste such good meals, do we?" And it's certainly not Haymitch because there are no grunts or growls or the sound of the clicking of his bottle of liquors against my door.

I swing it open to see the red haired Avox. Her lips curled upward very slightly, and I'd bet she's smiling. I smile back and nod, motioning her to come inside.

I can tell from the glint in her eyes that she's happy and relieved to see me. She put a tray of food on the table in front of the couch and gestured at me to come and have a taste of it.

I furrow my eyebrows. "No fancy-schmancy dinner with Effie and Haymitch?"

She shakes her head and shrugs, as if saying I guess not, I don't really know.

Oh well. This is much better than having to talk about my victory with Effie. I'm not up for faking smiles. Yet.

I sit on the couch. But instead of eating the food, I'm sliding my back against the couch and drop my head on the handrest. And then I start sobbing again.

I don't even know why. I don't know whether the tears are of joy or sadness. I don't know if the reason I cry is because I'm glad that I'm alive and I still have her here, staying in this room with me and not backing away or even flinching at me, the monster who killed her supposedly lover with all her selfishness; or if it was because the reality has begun to sink in, that I'm now a victor, I just survived the games, just like Haymitch, and soon I will be celebrating the death of the other 23 tributes. I'm going to have this happy life, with a big new house and endless supply of food and a pool of money back in district 12 while they're all nothing but a memory.

A memory that will haunt me, endless nightmares that will appear for the rest of my life no matter if it's day or night. I wonder if someday I would be like Haymitch, soon starting to get my own liquor supplies and get wasted on my couch everyday, in order to block out all the pain that suffocates me.

The Avox kneels in front of me, wiping away my tears with tissue and brushing my wild hair back into its place. Soundlessly, she soothes me with the soft look in her eyes and her gentle touches of her fingers against my hair, my hands, and my cheeks.

I'm the victor. I just survived hell. She's the Avox. The one who got her life taken away by the Capitol, along with her tongue. But she's the one taking care of me, putting me back into one piece, and what have I done to her? Nothing. Gale and I did nothing to save her or her brother, even though we knew we could have. I just watched them from among the bushes. I just stayed there while they were screaming and begging and pleading for help. I did nothing when the spear made its way into her brother's chest. I did nothing when the claws dropped down to the ground and grabbed them. Nothing, nothing at all.

And now she's here, rocking me back and forth between my incoherent mumbles, trying so hard to make me stop crying. Why is she trying to make me feel better? I don't deserve this.

I look up to her, my eyes blurred with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I rasp. She shakes her head and gives me a sad smile. She then helps me sit up and takes the glass on the tray. She takes my hand and wraps it around the glass, forcing me to hold it, and slowly lifts it up to my mouth. I gulp down the water slowly, and then she puts the glass back on the tray while I try to recollect my breaths.

I can't really remember the next things that happen after that. All I know is that she manages to get a few spoonful of chicken soup into my mouth, and soon she's helping me stand up and leads me back to my bed and wraps the warp, thick blanket over my body. Her finger brushes again softly, and I could swear I hear her hum in my ears in attempt to make me fall asleep.

When my eyes finally flutter closed, she is still there.

I wake up just a second before the door starts pounding.

"Up! Up! Up! It's a big, big, big day, Katniss! The crowd are dying to see you!" Effie's excited voice booms against my door, just as I expected.

Yeah. Dying, I snort.

I groan as I groggily slide out of the bed. I expected my feet to step onto the cold floor but instead I feel the soft, fluffy carpet tickling under my feet. And then I remember that I'm still stuck in the Capitol.

Last night was dreamless. No nightmares, not even a blink of one. Maybe it was because I cried too long that it drained my whole energy to even have a dream, or that the voice of the Avox girl's humming was keeping my nightmares away.

"Katniss?" Effie tries again, softer this time. But still banging on my door.

"J'st uh 'sec, 'ffie," I mumble as I stumble to the door and swing it open.

"There you ar—oh my buttons! What happened to you?" she frantically yelps, putting her palms over both of my cheeks and grabbing my face closer to hers, examining it very closely. "What did you do to your pretty little face?" and then she picks up a few strands of my tangled hair, "And your beautiful hair?"

It's nice to see you too, Effie, I roll my eyes. Knowing that I would never get out of her grasp no matter if I tried, I just sigh.

She rants on, "Your eyes are red and swollen! My dear god, this… this looks like a messy spider web!"

"I know, Effie."

She lets go of me. "Oh! I'll go get your prep team and let them do their magic on you!" she says before running out without even waiting for me to respond.

Right. Prep team. Cinna's new dress. Recaps of the games. Reliving the weeks of torture. The crowning. Interview with Caesar Flickerman. And the crowds—those ones who'll love me, and those ones who'll wish I'd rot in hell for killing the boy who was madly in love with me.

But I don't have time to break down one more time because my prep team is already here, standing in front of me.

"Ooh! Katniss! It's good to see you again!" Octavia chirps, pulling me into her tight embrace.

"Alright kid, let her breathe," Flavius says, tapping on her shoulder and giving me a smile.

Venia steps in and envelops me into a quick hug and smiles, but then she frowns. "We really need to, as Effie says, do our magic to you."

The three of them giggle, and I manage to let out a small, genuine smile.

After hours of plucking out every bit of the hair on my body and untangling the mess of my hair and making me look "beautiful" again, my prep team smiles.

"Thank you," I say. They all nod and start to make their way to the door.

"I'll let Cinna in," Flavius says as he closes the door.

A while later Cinna enters the room, smiling at the sight of me looking as fresh as a flower. "Well, look at you, Girl on Fire."

I smile sheepishly at him, remembering how awful I must've looked a few days ago, with swollen eyes and red-rimmed cheeks, having a major mental breakdown, crying and clinging onto him, holding him for dear life. Thanks to my prep team, I now no longer look as messed up.

"So," he says, putting his huge bag on my bed.

I stare at the bag, knowing that inside it is my new dress. "Are you gonna burn me alive again?" I half-joke, half-feeling actually terrified.

He must've seen it in my eyes as he laughed, "No, not really. Now, untie your robe and close your eyes."

I do as I'm told; I strip down into nothing but my undergarments and close my eyes. I cling onto his upper arm as he helps me get into the dress. The material fabric feels soft as it brushes against my bare skin. It does not feel uncomfortable at all, just like every other dresses Cinna has made for me.

He zips up the zipper on the back of my dress and puts his hand on my back, gently pushing it to make me stand straighter. And then he whispers in my ears, telling me to open my eyes.

I open my eyes and see the reflection of myself on the mirror in front of me. I stare at it in shock, not believing what my eyes are seeing. I look beautiful.

"Cinna."

"Yes."

I run a finger down the soft material of the fabric. My dress is strapless and falls just a few inches below my knees; it hugs my body just oh-so perfectly, it's tight but not uncomfortable—just tight enough to wrap around my body, showing off every remaining curves I have on my body. I realize that Cinna has added soft pads on the front side of the dress, right over my breasts, making them look fuller that they actually are. I must be really skinny that he thinks my appearance—my body—isn't going to attract many of the Capitol people's attention. Starting a few inches below my abdomen, the dress gets looser and lighter, that if I move my hips around or twirl, the skirt will flow around my legs. With its color, the skirt will look like flames.

It's orange. Sunset orange, just a few shade softer than flame orange, and on the skirt-like lower part of the dress there are a few strikes of lighter orange—almost yellow—and a few strikes of the deeper orange—almost red. Still, it makes me look like I'm hugged by the flames, like they're licking my legs, burning me alive once again. With the addition of black laces around my waist and my back and a few colorful tiny gems on the skirt—that look a bit like the gems Cinna has put on my interview dress, the one before the games—the dress looks stunning, and so do I. I'm still on fire. That's what I am. The Girl Who is on Fire.

"You like it?" he says, so softly.

I'm trying so hard not to actually burst into flames. "No. I love it."

He smiles, and then his face turns more serious. "Has Haymitch talked to you at all? About your interview angle?"

I shake my head.

He rolls his eyes. "That drunk bastard," he mutters and sighs, "You're gonna be the grieving lover, Katniss. Can you do that?"

I keep my face as straight as possible, though all of the emotions are starting to well up in my chest. I nod.

"Just try and find me, okay? Remember what I've told you—talk as if they're your friends. But don't reveal too much if you don't want to." He kisses my forehead and leaves the room.

The red-headed Avox comes back into my room to clean up some of the mess on the floor, and then she stares at me, the edge of her lips twitches again as if she's giving me a smile. And then she opens the drawer beside my bed and pulls out something golden. She hands it to me. My mockingjay pin.

Good luck.

"Thank you," I say before she disappears. I attach the pin on the right side of my upper chest carefully, trying not to ruin the dress.

I'm again alone in my room. Only me, Cinna's beautiful dress, and my—Madge's—pin, waiting for Effie to escort me.

A movement catches my attention, right in the corner of my left eye. I whip my head toward the silhouette, wishing they'd let me bring my bow and arrows so I can attack the intruder, and I immediately stare at the person who's now leaning against the wall with their arms crossed in front of their chest nonchalantly. The person, a boy, looks up, his blonde hair flies up from his forehead as he whips his head toward my direction.

A pair of familiar blue eyes bore into mine.

They're undoubtedly Peeta Mellark's.