Want a sugar cube?" he asks in his old seductive voice. That's how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies. Before I had any idea what made him tick. The memory actually coaxes a smile out of me. "Here, it improves the taste," he says in his real voice, plunking three cubes into my cup.

Trapped for days, years, centuries maybe. Dead, but not allowed to die. Alive, but as good as dead. So alone that anyone, anything no matter how loathsome would be welcome.

The anguish I always feel when she's in pain wells up in my chest and threatens to register on my face.

My mother just wanted me to forget it. So, of course, every word was immediately, irrevocably branded into my brain.

That it's no good loving me because I'm never going to get married anyway and he'd just end up hating me later instead of sooner.

Agreed," I say. "It's going to be a long hour." "Maybe not that long," says Peeta." what was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me ... no competition ... best thing that ever happened to you ... " " I don't remember that last part," I say, hoping it's too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush. " Oh, that's right. That's what I was thinking," he says " Scoot over, I'm freezing.

District 12: Where you can starve to death in safety.