It starts at midnight.

Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out.

I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it’s soothing. A cool kiss

My mockingjay pin now lives with Cinna's outfit, but there's the gold locket and the silver parachute with the spile and Peeta's pearl. I knot the pearl into the corner of the parachute, bury it deep in the recesses of the bag, as if it's Peeta's life and no one can take it away as long as I guard it.

The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again.

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

Anyway, even if she's sugarcoating my good points, I appreciate it. Frankly, I could use a little sugarcoating.