Crying Is Not An Option.

The Sensation Inside Me Grows Warmer And Spreads Out From My Chest Down Through My Body Out Along My Arms And Legs To The Tips Of My Being. Instead Of Satisfying Me The Kisses Have The Opposite Effect Of Making My Need Greater.

It’s The Final Word In Camouflage. Forget Chucking Weights Around. Peeta Should Have Gone Into His Private Session With The Gamemakers And Painted Himself Into A Tree. Or A Boulder. Or A Muddy Bank Full Of Weeds.

Then I Get It, What It Means. At Least, For Me. District 12 Only Has Three Existing Victors To Choose From. Two Male. One Female... I Am Going Back Into The Arena.

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.

It Is A Perfect Weapon