I take Peeta's face in my hands. "Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight.

They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love.

But between the images, we are privy to the real-life action being played out on the set. Peeta's attempt to continue speaking. The camera knocked down to record the white tiled floor. The scuffle of boots. The impact of the blow that's inseparable from Peeta's cry of pain. And his blood as it splatters the tiles.

My sleep wasn't peaceful, though. I have the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I traveled alone.

deep in the meadow , under the willow , a bed of grass , a soft green pillow

I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle me as he whispers. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me any time you like it.

"If I could grow wings, I could fly. Only people can't grow wings," he say's. "Real or not real?" "Real," I say. "But people don't need wings to survive." "Mockingjays do."