The more you can distract yourself, the better.

You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me.

I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath, and then you can hear a pin drop, and I'm feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it's not me, that it's not me, that it's not me. Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smoothes the slip of paper, and reads out the name in a clear voice. And it's not me. It's Primrose Everdeen.

Yes, it's your fault I'm alive.

And she's my fiancee. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.

Something small and quiet, like a match being struck, lights up the gloom inside of me.