Of course you are. The tributes were necessary to the Games, too. Until they weren't," I say. "And then we were very disposable - right, Plutarch?

Roses. Wolf mutts. Tributes. Frosted Dolphins. Friends. Mockingjays. Stylists. Me. Everything screams in my dreams tonight.

But in my head I can hear Haymitch's smug, if slightly exasperated, words: "Yes, that's what I'm looking for, sweetheart.

I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could, my money would be on you.

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

Just one more thing. I kill Snow.

Sometimes when things are particularly bad, my brain will give me a happy dream.