MAKARA never understood the point of the Hunger Games. She believed that something that happened decades ago should not engage in other people's lives. It was unfair. People died for entertainment, others died for war. There is a difference in those two plots.

Wells Jones died for entertainment. She was there.

Makara despised the Capital. She hoped that one day they will have something very horrible coming for them, and she wished to be the one to cause these disruptions.

Her heart cried for freedom of the Capital. Day, after day, she was reminded of the people she killed and the people who died to survive these games. But, the only person she found comfort in to escape this was her father.

"Dad?" Makara's voice echoed throughout the house, the sound of groceries hitting the wall as well. "In here!" She smiled at the voice, rushing to the kitchen.

But, her eyes furrowed at the sight of a familiar women. "Hi, my dear." It was her mentor, Beatrice Deni. She hadn't seen her in a year since her games.

Her eyes teared up at the sight of the pretty women, rushing to hug her. "I thought the Capital," she shook her head, squeezing her tight. "No. No, I just needed some time." Beatrice knew. She knew what was coming.

"Oh, you've gotten so big." Beatrice smiled, pulling away from her. "Well, I was just turning fourteen when you last saw me." Makara shrugged. "Of course." Beatrice smiled, her thick British accent flowed through her words.

"Why um— why are you here?" Makara questioned.

"Well, I came to get you ready. The Capital is hosting a party and they requested you to be there." She furrowed her eyebrows in a confused gaze, "I am not going." Beatrice giggled, "This is the Capital. You don't have a choice, dear."

She looked at her dad pleadingly but he simply shrugged, "Fine. Where's my stylist?"

        MAKARA hated parties. They reminded her of the interviews she was forced to take before and after her games. The cheering and laughter coming from the crowd were all she heard at every party.

"So, Makara," Caeser began, "How old are you?"

"I am thirteen," she deadpanned, a smile on her face, "Well, by the looks of it your a doll! Can you fight?" The crowd laughed loudly at his question, making her look at her fidgeting fingers, "My dad taught me when I was very young. I can do a lot but, that's for the tributes to see." She joked.

"I love it!" Caeser cheered, "I think that you don't wanna be here. That's what you spoke about during the reaping?" Her breath hitched at his words, "Does anybody wanna be here?"

Caeser lowered his head at her words, "Right."

"That's Makara Lee, everybody!" The loud screaming made her jump slightly as he basically ripped her out of the seat by her wrist, lifting it up. "Whoo!"

"Whoo!" Beatrice cheered, "You look dashing!"

Her dress was a royal blue dress with a trail behind her with white roses attached to it along with gems glued to her waist piece. Beatrice combed a hand through her long brown hair, smiling at her sweetly.

"Thank you, Beatrice. Louie went all out for the Capital." Makara pointed out, grabbing a glass of champagne off the tray, mumbling a thank you. "She just wants you to be presented well ts'all."Makara shrugged, before walking to the front.

Peeta Mellark stood on the steps, walking up until her heard even more cheers. He wanted to see what— who the fuss was about. But, then he saw her.

The youngest Victor to ever win the games, Makara Lee. She was very well known in District 12 for slaughtering Jonathan Olam and Nadia Javes to save her best friend. Her games were before his but from the sound of it she was ruthless and cruel. But, at 13 that sounded very hard to believe.

"Peeta, come." Katniss said, reaching her arm out. He took another look at the pretty girl, watching as she smiled at everybody who waved as her Mentor guided her out. "You okay, love?" Beatrice fixed her hair, "Oh yeah! Fine, definitely fine." She sarcastically shrugged, pushing her hand off.

"Rude!" Beatrice groaned, following after her.

She walked through the crowds of people, sending thoughtful smiles to people she didn't care about nor know. All she could think about was how badly she wished she could talk to people who didn't tell her congratulations every two seconds.

Somebody who knew what it was like.

Peeta Mellark danced with Katniss, his eyes trailing around the room as he looked around. Who really was that and when can I talk to her? He thought, looking around the room for the brunette as he talked to his Fiancé.

"Katniss! This is Plutarch HeavensBee, head game maker! Successor to Seneca Crane." Effie stated, introducing the man next to her, "That's a fact to follow."

"Peeta!" Eddie scolded at the comment, "May I?" Plutarch asked, referring to dancing with Katniss, "Please."

As he walked off, there she was.

Makara downed the champagne glasses like they were water. He stared at her, watching her in confusion as she quickly went about the drinks.

When she noticed, he quickly turned his head the other way, before turning back. Makara raised her eyebrows, wiping the alcohol from her chin with a giggle as she looked at his expression.

Peeta giggled, waltzing over to her, "How's the champagne?" He asked. "Very pleasing, actually." Makara lightly laughed, staring at the dirty blonde. She titled her head before pointing at him, "Peeta Mellark. I watched your games."

"Makara Lee, I watched half of your games." Peeta stated, "Why half?" She tilted her head. "I couldn't watch it after um, you killed Jonathan."

He was referring to the boy who tried to slit her throat, despite her screaming and begging. She didn't wanna hurt him. But, her mind took over and she stabbed him 8 times with his own knife.

"Yeah. I'm way more than that." Peeta tilted his head at her words, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm way more than some little girl who killed for survival. I mean, I was 13 surrounded by people who thought I was gonna be the easy kill," she stated while pouring a drink, "You were just a kid."

"So were you." Makara realized at this moment she was tipsy. She let out a giggle making Peeta grin, "Im sorry. I've drunk to much." He shook his head, "Don't apologize. Drunk words are sober thoughts." Peeta shrugged, making Makara look up from her hands.

"Tell me about you Baker boy," Makara said, sipping her drink. "What do you wanna know?" He smiled.

"Well, how'd you learn how to paint? That little stunt in the concrete surprised me." She smiled, referring to when he camouflaged himself into the ground. "I learned because of cakes mostly. Plus, It's something I love to do."

Makara smiled, giving him a look before pulling out a notebook, "If I paid you to paint something for me would you do if?"

"I would do it for free," he was quick to correct her, stealing her glass as he poured himself a drink. "Here." She laughed at his speed, handing him an open notebook.

It was a drawing of the mountains that were surrounded by snow and two people placed onto it. It was a girl with two pigtails and a taller boy with a book bag.

"Did you draw this?" He asked. "Yeah. It's just a hobby I picked up when I was a kid." Makara shrugged, "Who is this?"

"Me and Wells." She swallowed. "Who's Wells?"

"He was my best friend. He got me through the games and them died in my arms." She could barely get the sentence out before she was downing another glass. "I'm sorry."

"Please." She shook her head, before reaching for her notebook again. Peeta looked at her serious face before breaking a smile, beginning to flip through her notebook. "Let's look at these things here."

Makara's eyes widened at his words, reaching for her notebook as she went to him, "Mellark!"

"Is this a pig?" Makara broke out into a laugh, loosing balance in her feet, making Peeta immediately react as he grabbed her arm. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry." He jumped at the feeling of her cold hands being placed on his face as she giggled.

"Let's get you some water," he blushed, grabbing onto her arm and notebook as he helped her up the stairs. "Peeta, have you ever thought of were you might be if you didn't join the games?"

Peeta looked at his feet, shaking his head as he held her tighter due to her wobbly state, "No. Have you?"

"All the time. It's kinda stupid to think about sometimes." Makara shrugged. Peeta stared at her face, taking in all her features as his eyes stared into her brown eyes, "It's not stupid at all."

Makara smiled widely. She caught herself staring at him before she grabbed onto his shoulder, "You take care of yourself for me." She said, before getting off of him. "Where are you going?"

"Baker boy, I'm practically a grown women. I don't need a babysitter." She said, right before stumbling over her dress, "Stupid," Peeta chuckled as he watched her walk away. "When am
I gonna see you again?" He shouted after her.

"Well, guess we will have to wait to find out then?" Makara smiled as she looked back. As Peeta stared at her, he was confused. He barely knew the girl but somehow he felt safer than he felt in awhile staring into her eyes.

Makara smiled, taking another quick look back before continuing to walk away. "There you are!" Beatrice smiled, grabbing her wrist.

"I leave you along for ten minutes and I see you and Peeta Mellark chatting it up!" She whisper shouted before rushing to their ride. "Hey! If he wouldn't have found me, I would've went through more drinks then I went through okay?"

"You do realize you can't like him? He has a commitment." Beatrice said. "What type of women do you take me as? I don't like him he's spoken for."

"But for some reason he feels.. different."