Come On And Eat With Him. I

I Don't Want To Lose The Boy With The Bread.

When You're In The Arena...you Just Remember Who The Enemy Is" - Haymitch

It's There. The White Rose Among The Dried Flowers In The Vase. Shriveled And Fragile, But Holding On To That Unnatural Perfection Cultivated In Snows Greenhouse. I Grab The Vase, Stumble Down To The Kitchen, And Throw Its Contents Into The Embers. As The Flowers Flare Up, A Burst Of Blue Flame Envelops The Rose And Devours It. Fire Beats Roses Again.

My Mother Says Healers Are Born, Not Made.

I Clench His Hands To The Point Of Pain. "stay With Me." His Pupils Contract To Pinpoints, Dialate Again Rapidly, And Then Return To Something Resembling Normalcy. "always," He Murmurs.