The morphling’s breathing is slowing into shallow catch-breaths. Her free hand dabbles in the blood on her chest, making the tiny swirling motions she so loved to paint with.“I haven’t figured out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never haveenough time to capture them. Just a bit of blue here or purple there. And then they fade awayagain. Back into the air,” says Peeta.The morphling seems mesmerized by Peeta’s words. Entranced. x