If three words had to be used to sum up Effie Trinket, she'd like to think that one of those words would be 'positive'. She doesn't like negativity, avoids it at all costs wherever possible, and she tries her very best to approach things with a 'glass half full' mentality. Which is why, when she returns home at 2pm on a Friday afternoon, she's not too concerned to walk into a cold house with no electricity.

She's had a particularly long week at work, late nights spent at her desk putting together figures for the yearly audit, and her boss had surprised her this afternoon with a bottle of wine and an early finish by way of thanks. She'd left the office in an exceedingly good mood, a spring in her step and a smile on her face as she'd made her way home.

The sky outside is overcast and grey, her hands feel like icicles in her gloves, and she's pretty sure she's lost all of the feeling in her toes, but Effie doesn't let her good mood falter. Instead, she toes off her heels, slips her feet into a pair of fluffy slippers, and grabs a thick blanket to wrap around herself.

Settling down on the sofa, she reaches for her laptop, intent on getting a head start on the new set of figures she needs to get completed next week, before she realises that the lack of power isn't going to allow her to get anything done.

Oh well. No matter. Maybe this is a sign from above that she should give herself a break tonight. Reaching for the magazine resting on top of the coffee table, Effie starts to do what she does best; she plans.

She'll get lost in the latest fashions for the next hour or so, and then when the power's back on she'll run a nice warm bath full of bubbles and soak away the tension that she's allowed to build up for the last week. She'll take her time blow drying her hair and then she'll paint her nails AND her toenails with the new shade of Christmas red she picked up at the mall last week.

When it reaches a respectable hour, 6pm or so, she'll pour herself a glass of merlot, turn on the lights on the Christmas tree, and relax with a movie.

Yes, Effie thinks as she wraps the blanket around herself as tight as she can manage, and flips open the cover of the glossy magazine. That sounds like a plan.

.

By the time 5pm rolls around, the sky outside is almost black and Effie is already on her second glass of wine. Her hair is un-styled, her nails are bare and unpainted, and she is absolutely freezing, shivering pathetically as she she burrows further into the cocoon of blankets she's created. She's fetched two more from the airing cupboard in the last hour, and yet they're no match for the chill that's settled over the room.

The wind is howling through the trees, and the rain is battering against the windows, and Effie can barely see her hand in front of her face. The last vestiges of her good mood have all but disappeared, she can feel the first stirrings of panic in her chest, and she's really starting to wish she hadn't thrown out those candles just because they didn't match her new colour scheme.

Effie hates the dark.

She can't put her finger on when exactly it stopped being just a childish worry and turned into a full blown fear, but she has a fair idea of why, and she thinks that it's probably got a little something to do with her Mother.

Her Mother, who had no time at all for such foolish things as nightlights or leaving the landing light on, no matter how much her youngest daughter had begged and pleaded with her.

Her Mother isn't a bad person as such; she's just always lacked patience and understanding, especially when it comes to children. Effie's grown to accept that it's just the way her Mother is. She loves her in her own way, and Effie has learnt to make it feel like it's enough.

But the fear of the dark has remained with her, and even now, in her thirties, Effie still can't sleep without a light on. She's tried; God knows she's tried. She'd bought a timer once, set it up before she'd drifted off to sleep. She'd thrown it away the very next morning after she'd woken up in the middle of the night, surrounded by darkness. She'd screamed so loudly that her upstairs neighbour had banged on the floor with such an intensity, she'd half expected a crack to appear in her ceiling.

The memory pulls Effie from her reverie, and forces her to confront head on what she knows is rapidly becoming her only option. She's been trying to ignore the obvious for the last hour or so, convincing herself the power is going to come back on, but it's about 10 minutes away from being completely dark outside and if she ends up stuck in here without any light, she knows she'll have a panic attack. Her hands are already wringing together nervously, her leg is bouncing up and down jerkily, and she can feel her breaths becoming shorter.

So Effie does what she knows she has to do.

She picks up her glass, gets to her feet, and throws the blankets off her shoulders, cringing inwardly at the bitterly cold chill in the air. Glass still in hand, she makes her way over to the table that's situated near her front door, removing her feet from her comfy slippers, and slipping them back into her black heels. She removes her coat from the hook, ties it around her waist, and drains the rest of the wine from the glass before slamming it down hard.

She figures she'll need some dutch courage for what she's about to do.

Taking a deep breath, she opens the door and braces herself for what's coming. The storm that's currently raging outside is the least of her worries.

She's going to see her neighbour.

She's going to see Haymitch.