A year has passed since Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark survived the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. In that time, President Coriolanus Snow has relinquished his power to his only daughter, the beautiful and young Tiziana Snow. Most suspect that this was for health reasons. Soon after the transfer of power, he passed away. With her strong power instinct, cunning and cruelty, she is in no way inferior to her father.

I just come back from the forest, step through the door, take off my jacket and am greeted by my sister: “Did you have a nice walk?”

“Walk?”

She knows I’ve been in the woods half the night. Then I see the woman standing behind her in the kitchen doorway. One look at her tailored outfit and surgically perfected features and I know she’s from the Capitol. Something is wrong.

“Someone’s here to see you,” says my sister. Her face is too pale, and I can hear the anxiety she’s trying to hide.

“This way, please, Miss Everdeen,” says the woman. She gestures down the hallway. It’s weird to be ushered around your own home, but I know better than to comment on it.

Wordlessly I follow her instruction, step into the living room and stand frozen. President Tiziana Snow stands behind the table, looks at me and greets me:

"Good afternoon, Katniss. You don't mind if I call you Katniss, do you?"

"N.. No, not at all..." I stammer. Thoughts race through my head.

If she’s made the journey all the way from her city, it can only mean one thing. I’m in serious trouble. A shiver goes through me when I think of my proximity to this girl who despises me. Will always despise me. Because I outsmarted the sadistic Hunger Games, made the Capitol look foolish, and consequently undermined the governments control. Her control.

All I was doing was trying to keep Peeta and myself alive. Any act of rebellion was purely coincidental. But when the Capitol decrees that only one tribute can live and you have the audacity to challenge it, I guess that’s a rebellion in itself. My only defense was pretending that I was driven insane by a passionate love for Peeta. So we were both allowed to live. To be crowned victors. To go home and celebrate and wave good-bye to the cameras and be left alone. Until now.

Perhaps it is the newness of the house or the shock of seeing her or the mutual understanding that she could have me killed in a second that makes me feel like the intruder. As if this is her home and I’m the uninvited party. So I don’t welcome her or offer her a chair. I don’t say anything. In fact, I treat her as if she’s a real snake, the venomous kind. I stand motionless, my eyes locked on her, considering plans of retreat.

“I think we’ll make this whole situation a lot simpler by agreeing not to lie to each other,” she says. “What do you think?”

I think my tongue has frozen and speech will be impossible, so I surprise myself by answering back in a steady voice, “Yes, I think that would save time.”

“My advisors were concerned you would be difficult, but you’re not planning on being difficult, are you?” she asks.

“No,” I answer.

“That’s what I told them. I said any girl who goes to such lengths to preserve her life isn’t going to be interested in throwing it away with both hands.

“Let’s sit.”

President Snow takes a seat at the large desk of polished wood where Prim does her homework and my mother her budgets. Like our home, this is a place that she has no right, but ultimately every right, to occupy. I sit in front of the desk on one of the carved, straight-backed chairs. It’s made for someone taller than I am, so only my toes rest on the ground.

“I have a problem, Katniss,” says President Snow. “A problem that began the moment you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena.”

That was the moment when I guessed that if the Gamemakers had to choose between watching Peeta and me commit suicide — which would mean having no victor — and letting us both live, they would take the latter.

“If the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, had had any brains, he’d have blown you to dust right then. But he had an unfortunate sentimental streak. So here you are. Can you guess where he is?” she asks.

I nod because, by the way she says it, it’s clear that Seneca Crane has been executed.

“After that, there was nothing to do but let you play out your little scenario. And you were pretty good, too, with the love-crazed schoolgirl bit. The people in the Capitol were quite convinced. Unfortunately, not everyone in the districts fell for your act,” she says.

My face must register at least a flicker of bewilderment, because she addresses it.

“This, of course, you don’t know. You have no access to information about the mood in other districts. In several of them, however, people viewed your little trick with the berries as an act of defiance, not an act of love. And if a girl from District Twelve of all places can defy the Capitol and walk away unharmed, what is to stop them from doing the same?” she says.

“What is to prevent, say, an uprising?”

It takes a moment for his last sentence to sink in. Then the full weight of it hits me.

“There have been uprisings?”

I ask, both chilled and somewhat elated by the possibility.

“Not yet. But they’ll follow if the course of things doesn’t change. And uprisings have been known to lead to revolution.”

“Do you have any idea what that would mean? How many people would die? What conditions those left would have to face? Whatever problems anyone may have with the Capitol, believe me when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a short time, the entire system would collapse.”

I’m taken aback by the directness and even the sincerity of this speech. As if her primary concern is the welfare of the citizens of Panem when nothing could be further from the truth. I don’t know how I dare to say the next words, but I do.

“It must be very fragile, if a handful of berries can bring it down.”

There’s a long pause while she examines me. Then she simply says, “It is fragile, but not in the way that you suppose.”

“I didn’t mean to start any uprisings,” I tell her.

“I believe you. It doesn’t matter. Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, you have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow to an inferno that destroys Panem,” she says.

“Why don’t you just kill me now?” I blurt out.

"My advisors advise against it. They think it would only add fuel to the fire. However, I disagree. So I figured that to celebrate the 75th Games, a Quarter Quell, the districts would be spared the reaping and you would be publicly executed in a ceremony. Everyone is happy with that. The districts because they will be spared this year, your friends because they are rid of you and you won't put them in danger anymore, and lastly me because you can't do any more harm with no head."

She smiles.

I am frozen in place. The president has traveled all over the country to visit me, to sit before me, and to announce my death sentence. Before I can say anything, two of her guards come in and handcuff my hands behind my back. Only now does my tongue loosen.

"No, please president, please, there must be another solution! I didn't mean for all this to happen, I can make up for it, I..."

Suddenly everything is black. A hood has been put over my head. They drag me out of the room and putme  into a car. Then sleepiness overcomes me. Have they drugged me...?

I feel soft pillows. I am lying in a bed. Headache. Night.

Looking around I find myself in a very nicely furnished bedroom. Stylish wooden wardrobes, a beautiful side table with a lamp next to me. I strip off the covers and realize I'm naked.

I stand up and feel the cool parquet floor under my bare feet. Then I step through the large door in the room and enter a larger hall. It is a library, with densely packed bookshelves lining the walls. In the center of the room, facing me, stands a young woman in her mid-twenties. She is wearing a white blouse, a black miniskirt, and high heels.

"I'm Mara," she says as she surveys my naked body. "You are in the Training Center in the Capitol. Come, I'll give you something to wear and then you can eat."

She gives me the usual clothes that the tributes wear in the Training Center. Then she sits me down at a table where dinner is served. I try to eat.

Mara sits across from me and speaks, "To begin with, I want to tell you that any attempt to escape is impossible. The compound is guarded around the clock, your position is constantly tracked and cameras always have you in view. President Tiziana announced about an hour ago in a speech to the nation that this year's anniversary consists solely of your execution. The solemn event is scheduled to take place in two days in the Capitol's Piazza."

I can't eat anymore. Now that the president has made her intention public, she can't back out. The anniversary will be all about me. And my death.

"The response both in the Capitol and in the districts has been very positive" Mara talks on. "Already they are all speculating on how you will be executed. After all, it is a Quarter Quell. The usual procedure, death by point-blank shooting, would be far too trivial for this purpose."

My heart grows heavy as lead. In two days I am to die. I am afraid to ask, but ask anyway:

"Do you know how it will happen?"

"Yes. The president wants you to be guillotined. This has never happened in Panem before."

"They're going to behead me?" I gasp.

My throat tightens. I have a sour taste in my mouth. I rush into my room to the sink and throw up.

Then I drop to the floor and lean against the bed.

I sit there until late at night, thoughts racing through my head. I grab my neck. My pulse is pounding in my veins.

I know when. I know where. I know how...

The thought of being beheaded with this diabolical machine strikes terrible fear in me.

Will I feel it when the blade goes through my neck?

Will I see my own head fall?

Will my head still be alive down there in the basket?

And they will all be watching. The whole country. They'll live their everyday lives, leave their day's work for a moment, and come to the piazza or look at the TV to watch my head roll. They will enjoy it. And then they will go on with their daily business as if nothing had happened. For them, it's just a brief diversion. An entertaining diversion. For me, it means death. Certain death.

When I came here a year ago to compete in their sadistic Hunger Games, I was almost certain of my death. But there was always that small hope, that tiny chance to survive. And everyone had that hope, until the last moment. Every single one.

But this is different. I am not condemned to fight. I am condemned to die. There is no escape here. I am doomed. Left alive only to have my head chopped off at the right time.

Should I kill myself to escape that? I can't throw myself out of the window. The glass is too thick. If I had a rope, I could hang myself. But I don't have one. Anyway, they are watching me. They would know immediately if I wanted to commit suicide and stop me. They won't let me ruin the big show.

The thoughts torment me all night long.

When I step out of the bedroom the next morning, the president is sitting at the dining table.

"Please sit down, I've been waiting for you."

I sit down across from her, and she begins to eat.

"Do you hate me for all this, Katniss?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

“The wolf eats the lamb, simply because it is in his nature. He does it sine ira et studio. And it's the same with you. While I readily admit that I will enjoy watching you lose your head, I basically don't care about you. If it were up to me, you could live forever as long as it served me. But as fate would have it, you benefit me most by being executed. Publicly."

"How else...?" I murmur more to myself than to her, not expecting an answer.

But she keeps talking, "Well, it would be easy to put something in your food so you would fall asleep peacefully, have a dream of your choice, and then never wake up. That's how we commit suicide here in the Capitol when life no longer brings us joy.

Or we could get rid of you like the usual criminals and undesirables. You disappear from public view overnight and get shot at point blank range in a basement without expecting it. Then we erase all evidence that you ever existed, no one talks about you anymore, and you're gone.

But not you. The whole country will be watching as your head rolls. On the one hand, of course, to make an example, to show what happens to all those who rebel against the Capitol. On the other hand, for public entertainment. The people want blood - and blood they shall have. You have to die exactly the way I want you to. And you will look wonderful dying. Since you volunteered for the Hunger Games, your life has become a matter of the public. And so has your death."

A servant enters and turns to the president, "Honored President, the stylists are here."

"Ah yes, send them in."

Two pretty young women enter, bow briefly to the President, and then turn to me. They introduce themselves as Valeria and Taisha.

Tiziana looks at me again and says, "These two ladies will make sure you look beautiful when you go to the scaffold."

The two get right to work and tell me to undress. In a short time I am standing naked before them. All present examine my bare body from head to toe with their eyes. Then they put on me a tight sports bra and a short miniskirt. Both black. Valeria then goes down on her knees in front of me and puts flat sandals, made of brown leather, on my feet. I look at myself in the mirror.

"Simple. Athletic. And your fine muscles show off beautifully. Like an ancient heroine" says Valeria.

"Her hair will stay tied in that braid. It can then hang down next to her without interfering with the guillotine. Tomorrow morning we'll freshen her up, but it'll all be done in a jiffy."

Tiziana is pleased with my wardrobe and takes her leave.

Valeria and Taisha undress me again and hang my outfit in a closet. Then they also leave me and I put my clothes back on.

Mara approaches me and says, "I hope you like your costume. Now I have to measure your neck circumference. Hold still!"

She takes out a tape measure, puts it around my neck, and notes the number.

"We need this to adjust the lunette properly. We want it to be firm, but we also don't want it to be too tight."

The irony of worrying about me being uncomfortable during my execution doesn't pass me by.

Then Mara tells me I now have a few hours to myself and I should use them to write my will and some final letters. She also tells me, almost confidentially, to keep in mind that in any case the letters will be read by censors from the Capitol and I should be careful what I write.

I sit in my room and write until late in the evening. Then I step into the library. Mara is sitting in an armchair reading a book. When she sees me sit down on a sofa across from her, she closes it and puts it on the table.

"How are you?" she asks me.

"Inside me, the fear of tomorrow alternates with the comfort that it will soon be over. I've been thinking a lot. I don't fear death so much as execution. If that makes sense..."

"It will be quick."

"Do you have anything to help with the fear?"

"Indeed, we have remedies for it here. However, Tiziana has forbidden you to be given sedatives before your execution. She attaches great importance to everyone seeing the fear in your eyes when you are beheaded. What I can offer you, however, is this."

She pulls out a small pill.

"This won't take away your fear but will make sure you fall asleep right away and have pleasant dreams. I advise you to take it. It's no use for you to go on torturing yourself. You have written all the letters, now all you can do is wait. Count the minutes and drive yourself crazy. This will allow you to skip the time. You don't have to feel bad about sleeping away your last hours in this world. They hold only suffering for you."

I accept it gratefully, retreat to my room, and swallow it before I change my mind. Indeed, sleep comes quickly.

I am woken up early. My last day in this world begins with me being bathed by Valeria and Taisha. Then they file my nails, braid my hair into the braid that has become my trademark, apply makeup, and finally put me in front of the mirror. I watch as they put on my outfit.

Finally, the two of them look at their work with satisfaction. Valeria says: "Wonderful. No one will be able to take their eyes off you. Until you die, you will enchant all of Panem."

"It's time" says Mara

Valeria and Taisha say goodbye.

Then two women in green military uniforms and high heels enter the room.

One of them hands me a small white pill and a glass of water.

"Swallow this!"

I do as they say. I doubt they want to poison me so close to the big show.

They then handcuff my hands behind my back and lead me away. I follow them without resistance. Mara accompanies us. We take an elevator down to the first floor of the Training Center. There they place me in front of a large, closed portal. Behind it is the piazza. And I suspect, the guillotine. Tens of thousands of people are waiting behind this door and will follow my last steps. It will also all be shown live on the giant screens I remember from last year.

I am sweating. I also feel my heart start to race.

Mara is standing next to me. I turn to her. "What was that pill?"

"It was a blood thinner. That means a real fountain is about to shoot out of your throat."

I can literally feel myself turning white. Before I can say anything, I hear the national anthem booming from outside. Then the voice of the president is heard. She gives the usual speech in which she recaps the defeat of the Rebellion 75 years ago, emphasizes the peace since then and promises prosperity for the future.

Finally, she says, "To show that endangering the peace will be severely punished, and to conclude the festivities of the Quarter Quell, Katniss Everdeen will now be executed."

Thunderous cheers come in. The moment she speaks my name, a wave of nervousness goes through my whole body.

At that moment, the heavy gates open in front of me, the cheers of thousands flood in. Warm sunlight blinds me. Before I can think, I notice how the two uniformed guards each grab me firmly by the arm and lead me out onto the giant square. A few seconds later, my eyes have adjusted to the brightness and I see the crowds of onlookers who are here solely to gawk at my death. And there she stands. A good 20 meters ahead of me. The guillotine. It's all white, except for the silver blade. The sun is reflected in it. The bench stands vertically at the end, the four shackles open, ready for me.

For me...

My legs give way and they drag me towards the guillotine.

We reach the guillotine. In an instant they take off my handcuffs, press me against the bench and immediately have the shackles closed around my wrists. Shortly after, I feel the closed shackles around my ankles. The crowd has gone dead silent. Everyone is looking at me, either directly or through the huge screens behind me, on the facade of the Training Center. With the utmost certainty, countless cameras are at this moment capturing my execution in all angles and perspectives. There behind me, on a balcony, the President is also watching.

I stand straight tied to the bench and cannot take my eyes off the blade. Panic overcomes me again. They will surely behead me as soon as the lunette is closed. I feel my cool sweat trickle down my neck. Then I notice my soles leaving the floor. They lower the bascule. I lie on my stomach.

"Please don't! Please!"

The open lunette comes closer. They push me through, letting my braid hang down to my left, and close the lunette. It fits tightly around my neck. To my right, the uniformed executioner stands with one hand on the lever. I stare down into the basket.

Now they are going to do it.

This is my last moment.

I bow my head, bite my lower lip, close my eyes...

Nothing happens.

I open them again and hear the voice of the president.

"People of Panem, before you lies Katniss Everdeen, who by her rebellious behaviour has caused unrest in the districts and done the greatest harm. She will now be held accountable for her offenses. Execute the sentence!

A short cheer goes through the crowd, then I hear the roll of drums. It gets louder and louder, approaching the climax. In a few moments they let my head roll. I can't move a millimeter. The drums reach their crescendo.

Suddenly, everything is silent.

The drum roll ended abruptly and at the same moment the executioner released the blade. It fell straight down, slid through Katniss's young neck without the slightest resistance and stopped under the lunette.

The girl was beheaded instantly. Her head fell down into the basket as jolt went through her decapitated body. Her young heart let a blood-red jet shoot out from her neck. The white guillotine was splattered in places.

She died immediately. Katniss' head rested in the basket with her mouth and eyes slightly open.

No cheers broke out. All the people were stunned by the spectacle. This beautiful girl, whose heart had beaten so wildly and vibrantly a moment before, had been killed in less than a second. The cold blade cut through her warm neck. It was so sudden. Her head came down all at once and that was the end of it. Almost as if she breathed out her spirit with the last stream of blood from her neck.

The message to the people was clear. The state is the coldest of cold monsters...