Warmblood Now A Bloodborne Death, Will Rob

Finnick!" Something Between A Shriek And A Cry Of Joy. A Lovely If Somewhat Bedraggled Young Woman--dark Tangled Hair, Sea Green Eyes--runs Toward Us In Nothing But A Sheet. "finnick!" And Suddenly, It's As If There's No One In The World But These Two, Crashing Through Space To Reach Each Other. They Collide, Enfold, Lose Their Balance, And Slam Against A Wall, Where They Stay. Clinging Into One Being. Indivisible. A Pang Of Jealousy Hits Me. Not For Either Finnick Or Annie But For Their Certainty. No One Seeing Them Could Doubt Their Love.

As We Curve Around Into The Loop Of The City Circle, I Can See That A Couple Of Other Stylists Have Tried To Steal Cinna And Portia's Idea Of Illuminating Their Tributes. The Electric-light-studded Outfits From District 3, Where They Make Electronics, At Least Make Sense. But What Are The Livestock Keepers From Distric 10, Who Are Dressed As Cows, Doing With Flaming Belts? Broiling Themselves? Pathetic.

Gale Is Mine. I Am His. Anything Else Is Unthinkable.

I Really Can't Think About Kissing When I've Got A Rebellion To Incite.

Time And Tragedy Have Forced Her To Grow Too Quickly, At Least For My Taste, Into A Young Woman Who Stitches Bleeding Wounds And Knows Our Mother Can Hear Only So Much.