Kelly's(changing her age to thirteen and her height to 4'9) POV:
My stylist was a tall, slender young man with pale skin, dusted silver eyes, and pale grey hair. His whole outfit was just as flashy as his hair, and I was relieved when they finished. They must have been a little surprised at my appearance; I was just as fair as my mother, a rarity in District Eleven. My hair was brushed to the side, and braided with greens and blues and worst of all, pinks. I swear my stylist is trying to get me killed. The dress was dark green, and came to my knees; there was a belt of sorts around my waist, but it was far daintier than any belt I had worn. It was light and covered in flowers of pinks and blue.
I. Am. Going. To. Die.
They led me out, and I walked to the chariot, despairing of how small I was compared to the other Tributes. My shoes were silent on the floor, they were soft leather and a single yellow daisy graced the tip of my toes. It was far more delicate than anything that I had ever worn, and my brother hardly seemed to recognize me.
As we were paraded through the Capitol and to our death, I realized I wasn't afraid. I was determind.
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did you know... that...
doing the best you can,
and that I'm proud of you?
I'm doing quite well, thank you, my friend.