Peeta crouches down on the other side of her and strokes her hair. When he begins to speak in a soft voice, it seems almost nonsensical, but the words aren’t for me. “With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby’s skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water.

They'll be granted immunity!" I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full of resonant. "You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you'll find yourself another Mockingjay!

They erase my face with a layer of pale makeup and draw my features back out.

Well, I don't have much competition here." "You don't have much competition anywhere.

Well you are a piece of work aren't you?

As long as you can find yourself, you’ll never starve.

How about you, Mockingjay? You feel totally safe?” “Oh, yeah. Right up until I got shot,” I say.