Even If Times Got Bad, He Would

Swathed In Silk, I Feel Like A Caterpillar In A Cocoon Awaiting Metamorphosis. I Always Supposed That To Be A Peaceful Condition. At First It Is. But As I Journey Into The Night, I Feel More And More Trapped, Suffocated By The Slippery Bindings, Unable To Emerge Until I Have Transformed Into Something Of Beauty. I Squirm, Trying To Shed My Ruined Body And Unlock The Secret To Growing Flawless Wings. Despite Enormous Effort, I Remain A Hideous Creature, Fired Into My Current Form By The Blast From The Bombs.

Katniss?" Peeta Says. I Meet His Eyes, Knowing My Face Must Be Some Shade Of Green. He Mouths The Words. "how About That Kiss?

No One Really Needs Me," He Says, And There Is No Self-pity In His Voice. It's True His Family Doesn't Need Him. They Will Mourn Him, As Will A Handful Of Friends. But They Will Get On. Even Haymitch, With The Help Of A Lot Of White Liquor, Will Get On. I Realize Only One Person Will Be Damaged Beyond Repair If Peeta Dies. Me. "i Do," I Say. "i Need You.

But Just Before They Cut Back To The Main Newscaster, I See The Unmistakable Flash Of That Same Mockingjay's Wing. The Reporter Has Simply Been Incorporated Into The Old Footage. She's Not In District 13 At All. Which Begs The Question, What Is?

Making Knots. Making Knots. No Word. Making Knots. Tick-tock. This Is A Clock. Do Not Think Of Gale. Do Not Think Of Peeta. Making Knots.