This is it. This is the end.

Thank you all so very much for your patience and kindness and support.

Panem quickly forgot about the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Although the story was touching, there is little appeal to a victor that won lying down.

Clove was picked up by the hovercraft, patched up and put in front of the audience of the Capitol. Her apathy was passed off as sorrow, a side effect of returning home without Cato. But it was never just Cato.

They say that no one wins the Hunger Games. Clove certainly didn't feel like she did. Every night as her eyelids fell, she was pack in that arena, lying in searing pain atop blisteringly chilly metal, watching helplessly as her own blood mingled and combined with that of the other tributes. With Cato's. With Fox's.

The only friends she ever had were dead. They had left her behind to rot in this miserable world. No amount of the Capitol's artificial luster could hide her from her memories. Nothing could conceal the truth. She was alive, yes, but alone. A monster. A fraud.

At least her pathetic method of winning ensured that the Capitol steered clear of her, for the most part. They couldn't exactly kill her- viewers of the Games were a little disgruntled at the anticlimactic conclusion, and betting folk everywhere had their heads in their hands as soon as the victory was announced, but Clove became little more than a laughing stock. She was left alone to live out her life in the Victor's Village.

She mostly stayed in her room. A knock on her door would sometimes yield a vicious "piss off", but mostly it yielded silence. Not even little Sage could get through to her big sister. Sweet, innocent little Sage, who had already been carted off to basic training, who was already throwing knives at dummies and learning the most efficient way to snap a human spine.

When the Victory Tour rolled around, it was all Clove could do to prevent herself from spitting at every last one of the Capitol's advances. Even her mentor, escort and stylist were barely able to lay a hand on her. People quickly learned to keep Clove away from anything sharp.

First 12, then 11. 10, 9 8. Seven, Six….. Five. She barely survived her visit to Five. It was exactly as Fox had described it- all towers and concrete, smokestacks and sewers. When the sun set, it punctured the smoke, causing it to billow the colour of blood.

Worst of all was the Victory speech. She read from the cards that were given to her, never looking anyone in the face. When she had to glance up, she glanced to the skyline, before realizing that the crimson twilight was just as bad as any eye to meet, and lowering her gaze again.

By the end of the speech, Clove was desperate for reprieve. Enobaria stood closely behind her, making sure she didn't have a panic attack while in front of people- it was embarrassing enough in private company, let alone a crowd of strangers. In Enobaria's eyes, Clove had devolved from a noble Victor to an apathetic puppy. She was useless now, but Enobaria needed to see her through, at least until the next Games. She jabbed gently into Clove's ribs with her razor nails.

"At least look at the families, y'know. Try to show a bit of empathy. Makes 'em forget all the farce for a little while."

Clove unwillingly looked up. She saw a familiar set of amber eyes boring into her own.

Those are Fox's eyes.

Or rather, they were the eyes of the fallen tribute's younger sister. The resemblance was uncanny, too poignant for Clove to even think of continuing.

Enobaria sensed her struggle and seized the microphone from the mayor.

"Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever. Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen, have a nice day." She threw the microphone back at the stunned mayor before seizing a near catatonic Clove by the arm and pulling her out of sight of the masses.

Enobaria was never one for empathy, but seeing Clove like this caused a twinge in her gut every time it happened. Never had she seen those eyes so blank, yet so full of panic. Without another word, Enobaria ushered Clove into the train and softly closed her compartment door. She needed a drink.

The months passed, and the winter snow melted away as the tension grew in District 2. Reaping Day was fast approaching, and there was frequent debate about who would volunteer. It was a Quarter Quell, too, and those were always wildly unpredictable. The announcement of the 75th anniversary twist was mandatory viewing all around Panem. When that day came, Clove hauled herself out of her room and joined her family in the living room, along with Enobaria, Brutus and some of the other victors. Sage sat herself down beside Clove and pulled her knees up to her chest, leaning over onto Clove's shoulder.

"It's good to see you, sis."

For the first time in month, Clove allowed herself to smile.

The Capitol anthem started blaring from the television, and Caesar Flickerman charismatically strode his way into view. He was undeniably exciting to watch, turning an impossibly morbid topic into something passionately thrilling.

After Caesar's jokes and intro material, President Snow was introduced in all his terrifying glory. In his gloved hand he delicately held a golden envelope, emblazoned with the number 75. When the roar of the crowd had finally died, he slid open the seal and pulled out the card with an elegant flourish.

"As a reminder to the districts of the consequences of striking out alone against the Capitol, there will be no volunteering for this year's Hunger Games. Additionally, no sponsorship will be available during the Games."

The entire room groaned. District 2 depended on their strongest volunteering, as well as external sponsorship.

The chatter burst out immediately. Brutus and Enobaria were already bickering about their prize picks for volunteers being chosen. Clove, on the other hand, was silent.

She would have to mentor one of these kids. She would have to teach them to do what she did- or rather, didn't do. She would have to watch it all happen again, to be a part of the monstrous charade again, and again, and again.

She wasn't sure she could retain what scraps of her sanity were left to her.

When Reaping Day came, Clove wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to board the train again, to see the Capitol's too-bright lights and wear their too-convoluted clothing. She could barely even stand the rich food, preferring to snack on bread alone in her compartment rather than eat with her team.

When the ceremony started, she was ushered on stage with the other former victors. Seeing the faces of those children, ranging from the confident smirk of the older ones to the downcast, still gazes of the younger… it was enough to make Clove's stomach turn.

Her old escort came strutting out in an angular silver frock, the eagerness in her eyes sickeningly obvious. After the obligatory Capitol video, she sauntered over to the enormous glass bowl filled with the names of the District 2 girls. She plunged her hand into the bowl, shuffling about for a painstakingly long period of time, before pulling out a lone slip of paper. The escort carefully unfolded the slip, her excitement unmistakable as she registered the name printed upon it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your female tribute for the Third Quarter Quell…..

"…Sage Peridot!"

It was Sage who found Clove hanging lifeless from the ceiling of her compartment by her bed sheet. It was Sage who screamed desperately down the train for someone, anyone to help.

It was Sage who placed the pebbles on her sister's makeshift headstone in the abandoned lot on the edge of District 2, just out of the Capitol's grasp.

From that moment, Sage, who only a few years ago had wept furiously at the death of an innocent man in the square of District 2, knew the Capitol had it out of her.

But Sage knew better than to submit to that. She had to know better- for her sister, for Cato, for that girl from District 5….

Little Sage was not going down without a fight.