My guess is that fearful events are the hardest to root out. They're the ones we naturally remember the best, after all.

And here I am, strapped into a tree, a stone's throw from the biggest idiot in the games.

Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don't want to miss any of them.

It's there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snows greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again.

I think....you still have no idea. The effect you can have.

Yes. I killed him. And buried her in flowers," I say. "And I sang her to sleep.

It's your own fault for being so camera-ready," I tell Gale. If looks could kill.