"Chin up, eyes bright," she tells me, green eyes popping against her magenta cat-eye, "this is a live broadcast, just like the first time. Caesar will guide you through it, you just need to be your usual charming self."

        Tessie Denair has been District 4's escort for an odd five years sum now, having landed the job with family connections. There was a widespread notion that District 4 tributes weren't helpless, at least not like some of the other districts, because of how young our children begin learning the trade. This came to a head especially after Finnick won his Games, having trapped the other tributes in handwoven nets and killing them with a sponsor-gifted trident. His skills had been acquired from working the docks. Since Finnick's win, however, District 4 failed to replicate that same success for four years in a row. Xander was our first tribute in years to show any real promise, scoring well in training relative to the other Career-district tributes. I had been mostly overlooked, expected to die brutally and quickly in the Bloodbath, but Xander taking me in as his ally kept me alive longer than anyone could have expected. At least, until he couldn't anymore. Until I let him die.

        After the events that transpired by the stream, with me killing both District 2 tributes in cold blood, I couldn't necessarily be overlooked anymore. And when I killed the girl from 1 after she tried attacking me down by that same stream-- that's when people really started to care. The girl who killed more than half of the Career pack. I'd have stayed by that stream for the rest of the Games, sitting by the place Xander's body had been taken away; where they had collected Brennan and Katia's as well. I would have killed the rest, too, if they had come to me. Anger and remorse coursed through my veins. But then the dam near the Cornucopia broke and flooded the arena. I was only one of two tributes left that could swim, and so I kept my head above the water and scaled a tree until the cannons stopped sounding and I stopped crying and I knew I was one of two people left. One person stood between me and getting home. District 1's male, Lux, found me shortly after, and we fought a long, drawn out battle to the Capitol's joy. In the end, my ease in the water outmatched his speed with a machete, and they pulled me from the Arena, shaking with shock and my body torn, but a winner of sorts.

        Tessie is happy. Though I'm not the Victor she'd originally hoped for, I was still her Victor. It was better than having two more dead kids on her conscience for another dud year. District 4 would be shrouded in prizes of food and financial support for the full year, even if we didn't need it, and district pride would be at its highest since Finnick's win. I was their Victor, and Tessie did her job well. After an extensive stay in a Capitol medical facility, I was forced to meet my prep team and stylist for one more twirl onstage before I could return home. I felt like a doll, being painted and dressed. It's like they all forget that they'd watched me kill people. Or maybe that's the appeal of it all... Seeing the two sides of bitter survival.

        "You hear what she said?" Finnick's voice is distant in my mind, but my gaze finally snaps away from the light panels that cast a cool pink glow over us to the people standing ahead of me.

        "No," I say truthfully, and that makes Tessie deflate and my stylist roll her eyes. Finnick is the only one who doesn't seem annoyed with me, forcing my attention to his sea-green eyes and holding it.

        "Hey, where are we?" He asks me, deep and gentle, and I blink as I think about his question. The answer should be fairly obvious, shouldn't it? I can tell that it is, because worry starts to knit his brows the longer I stall. Lights, a dress, the crowd cheering in the distance...

        "Interview, with Caesar." I manage, and it seems good enough of an answer for him. Mags had already left to sit in the audience, too tired to wait around backstage with me, my stylist Misty Pagan, Tessie, and Finnick.

         "You think you can handle it?" He continues, and when I don't answer immediately, he's speaking again. "I can stall them for a bit, if you need a minute."

        "I'm fine," I reply, but the lie is heavy on my tongue. "Thank you."

          Finnick stares at me for a moment longer, not entirely believing, but he breaks our gaze to look at Tessie. "Mind repeating what you said now, darling?" He says to her, and she melts for a second before she returns to me, speaking at a much slower pace. I catch every piece of advice that she spews, retaining it as Misty adjusts my beautiful blue dress and its accompanying accessories. I try not to think about the last time they had done this, when there were twenty-three other souls just through the door and I wasn't anyone special.

        Finnick stands with me at the draw of the curtains, out of the Capitol audience's view, and we wait for Caesar to call on me. He's giving an 'entertaining' recap of my Hunger Games, as if anyone could forget it when it was burned so freshly into our memories. Finnick doesn't speak, only glancing periodically at me to check if I've zoned out again. I remain focused.

         "And now, to draw close the moment you've all been so desperately waiting for. Let me re-introduce to you District 4's very own Victor of the 70th Hunger Games: Reverie Bloom!" The music is loud and startling, and the screams and applause coming from the spectators is even louder. I stumble back under the pressure, eyes trained on Caesar's beckoning grin as he waves me forward, and Finnick grabs my hand and forces my attention to him.

         "Hey, focus on me for a second. I'll walk you out there," he says over the loud music, "but I need you to smile and wave at them. Pretend you're happy, just for this one thing, Reverie. Deal? Rev, come on." I finally manage a nod, somewhat in a trance, but he doesn't waste another second. His face morphs into a wide grin as he pulls me along with him onto the stage, holding me at arms-length to show me off to the crowd. The screams seem to increase tenfold. With the addition of Finnick and the attention not entirely on me, I somehow manage to get my head on straight in time to smile and wave, just as he instructed. Caesar hugs me, chattering loudly to me and Finnick about how good we look, and they exchange only a few more words before Finnick hands me over completely to him. I watch him jog down the steps to join Mags where she sits, wishing he could stay and lead me through this whole event. I blink rapidly, letting reality funnel in completely as Caesar has me twirl, once, and settle into the chair across from his. It is no longer the Tribute chair.

         "Every year, I have a Victor sit in this very chair and tell me that they've wanted this— the fame, the glory— their whole life; that they're proud to have made good on that dream inside the Arena. You, however, Miss Reverie Bloom, are something of an underdog, aren't you?" Caesar smiles widely at me, teeth shaped unnaturally straight in rows of pure white. It's disarming as much as it is pristine.

         I force myself to seem something likeable, if only to spare myself the lecture later from my team. "An underdog," I hum. "I always thought I'd be a fisherman, if I'm being honest." That surprisingly earns an enormous rupture of laughter from the Capitol audience, my words not having even been that funny. I mentally pat myself on the back.

         "A comedian might be better suited," Caesar says cheerily. "Look into that, will you?"

        "Oh, I'm sure you've got that job market cornered," I say smoothly, and that seems to please him infinitely.

         "Youuuu— charming, isn't she?" His answer rests in the cheering of the crowd.

        "Well, you bring out the best in me, Caesar." I reply.

         "You do that all by yourself, Miss Bloom. You told me your dream, back home, was to work with children, yes?" Caesar tilts his head with an easy smile, beckoning me to elaborate. I think back to the interviews, ones that couldn't have been more than a week— maybe two?— ago. Caesar had asked my interests and I recalled working with children. I used to volunteer at a childcare centre before the Reaping. The government had virtually handed in my two-week notice when they picked me for the Games.

        I smile, looking down at my fidgeting hands in my lap. I never got the chance to really think about a future after getting out of the Arena. It's always been gogogo from that point. Go through the motions. Recover. The shock of being the one to survive is still setting in. Who knows if any of this is actually real, when this could realistically just be my neurons rapidly misfiring in my last moments? "I kind of always saw myself working in childcare, I guess. Like, teaching little kids— the new generation— is such an important and incredible and powerful role, and one that should be treated with care and love. I don't know. My mother thinks I'm good with kids."

         Caesar smiles, large and wide and somehow genuine. "You must keep us updated on how this venture goes."

        "I will," I respond. "I doubt you'd let me live peacefully without the updates, anyways." That triggers a loud uproar of laughter, and Caesar claps his hands together as if I'd said something mind blowingly clever. The Capitol is strange in what they find amusing.

         He twists in his seat, and only when the noise of the audience calms does he start to speak again. His tone is much more subdued this time. "Now, we all have many questions for you about the Games, so we'll start from the very beginning, shall we?" I nod, and I wish I hadn't, because behind us, the light panels flicker and change to daunting, pixelated hues of greens, blues, and browns. I press a hand to my mouth as a replay of the start of the Games, the Victor's Cut, is cued up and ready to go. "For those of you that might have gotten lost in all of the excitement and commotion, there was a particular moment at the beginning of the Games where the female tribute from District 8 dropped her token and set off her landmines. Reverie, you directly witnessed this, yes?" Caesar's hand is on mine, and I force myself to tear my eyes from the screen as the replay starts.

        "Mhm," I clear my throat, blinking rapidly as I shift in my seat. "I, uh... I was on the podium beside hers. The blast..." I picture her family back home, watching as their daughter was reduced to a talking point on national television. I lift my head and look down into the audience, scanning frantically for Finnick's face. He's leaning forward in his chair, eyes trained on me carefully. He nods his head, the move almost imperceptible, but it's enough to keep me from breaking down on stage.

        "What was going through your mind at that moment?" Caesar asks, as if the screen isn't showing me stumble off of my bloodied pedestal and vomit forcefully as people— children, all dead now— began to kill each other.

        I don't know if he expects me to make light of it, but I decide that I can't. "I was scared. I couldn't really think about anything. I told myself that I shouldn't, because the second I did, I couldn't hold myself together. I don't like remembering that moment, truthfully."

         Caesar wears a face of sympathy, but it's ingenuine. He has a job to do and he wants the juicy answers. "And this is when your district partner, Xander, came, yes?" He knows the answer, but he must see something in my eyes— the shock, maybe. He exploits it.

            "Yeah, he—um... He grabbed me... gave me a bag and a knife." I pause to think about it for a second. "I always think about that. I think about if he hadn't. If he hadn't come back for me, where would I be? I probably wouldn't have survived without him, I think. He picked me up and forced me to keep living when I thought I couldn't." The audience awhs in a pitying sort of way, and a number of people here must have been fans of him because I hear a sniffle or two. Xander, with his pouty lips and beautiful doe eyes. He deserved so much. "I'm very grateful to him."

         "I'm sure you are," Caesar nods, somber. The screen changes, but I learn to not look at it this time. I don't need to see replays of what I'd had to live through. "Had you known each other before the Reaping? I think I'm not alone when I say that there seemed to be something going on between you two. We were all crushed to see your partnership end." Tessie was right— Caesar carries the entire conversation in an entrancing sort of way, jumping from topic to topic seamlessly.

        And now he wants to know if we were in love. I pause, wondering that myself. "No. We'd only met that day, when we were Reaped. I don't know if what I feel... if what I'd felt was love, but it was something close, I think." I remember sitting by the stream, the same spot where he'd died, and figure it must have been real, whatever it was. "He was a piece of District 4, of home, so we were allies. He, um... He had a very distinct personality. I wish we had more time— to be friends, truthfully, but I tell myself it's okay because I know he's resting. He's at peace right now, and I hope that he's still watching over me... "

         "Everyone across Panem felt his loss," Caesar says, mostly to console me, and I nod my head. "I'm sure that he's proud of how hard you've worked to get here today." His words leave a nasty taste in my mouth, like vomit coming up without warning. "Now, to move onto a different topic— I don't want you to ruin that beautiful eye makeup your prep team has worked so hard on—" I laugh then, pretending what he said was amusing, and he smiles an award-winning grin. "You accomplished something incredible in that arena. You single-handedly took on both tributes from District 1 and 2, who'd each received training scores upward 8. From what I recall, you'd only received a 6. How about that for hidden skills?" The crowd screams in appreciation— the underdog from District 4. I don't know if I'm expected to smile about having the skills to murder four kids.

        "I don't really understand how any of it happened." I say. "It's kind of a blur. I'm just grateful to be here." That was a massive lie, but Caesar would never know it. It's what he wants to hear, so he'll accept it without much thought.

         Caesar smiles. "We're all glad you're here."

         He continues to talk, bouncing questions off of me that I answer to the best of my ability. When it's all over, and I take a bow to the screaming crowd, I think that I've won them all over. Tessie confirms as much in the car on the way back to our hotel.

         "You did a wonderful job," Tessie titters from the passenger's seat, joyous. I sit in the back behind her, Finnick's broad shoulder pressing against my own as he borders Mags on the left. I stare out the window, contemplating how I will end my own life. "The people can't get enough of you. Your victory tour in six months time will be a spectacle. There's a lavish party at the Presidential Palace—"

        I close my eyes, inhaling slowly. Would I stay alive that long? The bumps in the road force Finnick's shoulder into me again, but I allow the pressure to ground me. While Tessie talks about a tour in six months time, I think about whether I could last that long without ending it all myself. His elbow digs into my waist this time, and that knocks the thought straight out of my mind. Aiden would be waiting at home, excited, and my mom would be so relieved. I decide that I can make it for them, if not to fulfill Xander's last request.

         I didn't realize how wrong I was at the time. In hindsight, I fantasize about having given into the urge right then and there. There was nothing but misery waiting for me at home. There was no little brother. There was no happiness. A lifeless existence of painful reminders was all that waited for me.