A/N- In this story, Blight is early- to mid-20s, just as the casting call sheet for Catching Fire says. I never really considered him to be an older guy anyway.

(Also, does anyone else hate this new layout?)

Prologue

Contrary to popular belief, I loved my family.

I still love them, really, even if they aren't with me anymore.

I wasn't always cold-hearted. Before the Games, I was… young. I was naïve and full of dangerous ambitions—ambitions that would have gotten me killed long ago had the Capitol known of them. I was happy, even though I lived in squalor. District 7 was always one of the poorer districts, despite being the only one that produced lumber, an export in high demand of the Capitol.

Why we did not receive special treatment from them, I will never know. Many of our citizens (the mayor included) were loyal to them and to them only, and had their best interests at heart. It led to… unfortunate difficulties for the rest of us.

But I was happy. I had my family. I had the forest, where I would climb high into the trees and listen to the mockingjays sing throughout the day and watch the workers cut down the trees for the mill. I had my axes. I had safety in the form of a small house that my mother's father had built for us. I had my home.

President Snow took them all away from me.

I remember every detail of my Reaping Day.

The three Reaping Days that came before, I have forgotten. I cannot even remember the first time I stood in the crowd, listening as two tributes were chosen and taken away forever. I am not sure if they were my friends, or if I had ever seen them before. Maybe it was the nerves that made me forget their faces, their cries, maybe it was my brain blocking out the horrors I was sure they'd endure, and therefore erasing them from my life so I would not suffer with them; I will never know.

But I remember the day they called my name.

The Peacekeepers were in full force that day. There were hundreds of them buzzing around, their expressions blank behind their protective masks. I had always wondered before if they were unbearably hot in their stark white outfits thick with padding (in case a crazed district citizen decided to attack, I'm sure), but now, I find I wish they would suffocate inside them.

There were others, non-Peacekeepers; Capitol workers. They set up the cameras around the square situated in front of the Justice Building. The stage in front of the massive concrete building was cleaned and decorated with a banner of the Panem seal, as well as chairs for the mayor, the district escort, and the previous winners of the Games for our district.

I had gone to the forest one last time to listen to the mockingjays. I watched them flit around in the trees, hopping from branch to branch, whistling to each other. I whistled to them myself once when I was younger, but I was too afraid to do so that day. There were too many Peacekeepers around and I did not want one to see me committing a traitorous act. My family had enough to worry about and me being arrested—and possibly killed—was not something I would have put them through. But seeing the mockingjays soothed my nerves somehow. Seeing the creatures that were never meant to exist was... invigorating. They had defied the Capitol. They were free, something I had always hoped to be one day.

I would be free. I would never stop fighting to be free.

My mother helped me dress for the Reaping, as she had always done with me and my siblings. My elder brother and sister had both passed eighteen, and were ineligible for the Reaping. I am not sure how they felt that day, watching me ready myself for the ceremony. I remember being terrified when I was younger and there was a possibility of them being chosen. I wonder if they were frightened for me.

My father kissed my cheek as he had done every morning since I could remember, and whispered, "I love you dearly, Johanna."

I had no time to respond before the bell rang in the square, signaling us to join the other citizens for the ceremony to begin.

My family took their places with the elder citizens of the district, and I pushed my way through the crowd to stand with the children of my age group. My finger was still bleeding from the needle the Capitol worker had pressed into it. Why did they need to take our blood? What did they do with it?

My thoughts were clouded by the time the Reaping had begun. I examined the stage as the huge screen lit up with the required Capitol video, explaining the reason behind the Games. There still wasn't reason enough, my father had said once when I was but seven years old. My mother had shushed him them, passing it off as a joke. I believed him though. I still do.

On the stage, I could see the district escort, a woman dressed in all blue with a sickly powdered face. I will never understand why someone would want to look so pale. It makes them seem ill.

My eyes moved across and I spotted the mayor and the two previous winners: Cinder Malus, an older man whose hair had grayed and face had wrinkled since the year he had won. I am almost positive he was insane, but I was never completely sure. The other winner—Blight Pome—was a recent winner, only a few years older than myself. He had been graced with good looks from birth, I am sure, and his days of living in wealth had only increased them.

My attention was grabbed by the woman in blue speaking again. She was about to announce the tributes for the year's Games.

As her hand reached for the glass orb that contained the names of all the females in our district ages twelve to eighteen, my heart began to pound. My stomach knotted. A strange feeling washed over me, something I had never felt before.

Dread.

My palms became sweaty when she pulled out a folded piece of paper, flipped it open, and twittered, "Johanna Mason!"

No.

I heard someone begin wailing behind me.

My legs had begun moving on their own. No one met my gaze as I made my way to the stage, alone, terrified. I did not turn back to look at the crowd. I did not want to face them. Why had no one volunteered for me? Did no one care? Did they believe I was old enough to fend for myself?

I am only a child.

The male tribute, Citron Blackmon, was my age. He and I attended school together. He was strong, brave, powerful. I had seen him use an ax before, and he helped carry trees to the mill. He was no weakling. But when he joined me on the stage, I could feel him trembling as we shook hands.

"May the odds be ever in your favor."

The Peacekeepers led us to separate rooms. I was left alone for a few minutes, and then my family was shoved into the room, a gruff voice saying, "You have three minutes."

Three minutes. That isn't enough. That isn't enough time to say everything I have ever needed to say. There will never be enough time.

My mother held me, sobbing. It was her that I had heard wailing before. "Johanna," she gasped, "please be strong for us."

"I will."

My father, teary-eyed, kissed the top of my head and squeezed me tightly. "I know you can win this. You are strong. Citron will protect you, I'm sure of it."

He won't.

My brother and sister both told me how much they loved me. I was surprised to see any emotion at all. They had always been distant of me. Looking back, it was probably because they did not want to be close in case one of us was taken in the Reaping. They did not want to feel pain if they saw me die. They wanted to pass it off as another poor district child killed in the Games, something they could not control. Even so, Marilee, my sister, was in the midst of her goodbye when the Peacekeepers took them away.

No one else came to see me.

As soon as Citron and I were on the train bound for the Capitol, Blight began briefing us on what was to come. I quickly became distracted by all of the food in front of me, and Blight had to snap his fingers to turn my attention back to him as I shoved a piece of bread into my mouth.

Cinder laughed at Blight. "Let them eat, Blight. We can strategize later."

I smirked as Blight huffed like a petulant child. Citron was busy stuffing his face with every sort of food he could get his hands on. The district escort—Accalia Rivet—was absolutely horrified at our manners, I am sure, but she never said a word of it. She merely smiled politely at us and went over our schedule when we finished eating.

I do not remember most of what she said, as my mind became overwhelmed with the thought of going into the arena, of going to the Capitol. Where would we be fighting? Would it be a desert, like the year before? Or would it be the ruins of a city? I began hoping that it would be a forest, somewhere I could hide and forage and survive.

I started to regret eating first. We needed to strategize. Food could come later, when we were in the Capitol. I needed to know everything about the arena, of how to fight and how to kill people. I needed to listen to Cinder and Blight's stories of survival.

But before I was able to say anything, Cinder turned in for the night. Accalia excused herself a few minutes later, and before I knew it Citron was gone too.

Blight and I stared at each other.

"Do you think you can win?"

His question startled me. I found myself stumbling over my words, barely squeaking out, "What?" I regretted speaking. I sounded weak, vulnerable, something I was not.

But he seemed to pay my fumble no mind and repeated, "Do you think you can win?" He paused, adding, "Do you think that you will be able to kill people, to put on a show? That's all they really want."

He waited for my response, green eyes searching my face for any sort of emotion.

My face remained blank and I could only think of one reply, "I am only here for my family's well-being, not for the Capitol's entertainment."

Blight leaned back in his chair, looking out of the window at the passing blur of trees. "Then I'm afraid you won't be able to last long here, Johanna."

A/N- New story. I just really needed to start this one (and I might forget about it soon but I'll try not to). I know some of my old reviewers are probably thinking "WHAT ABOUT YOUR OTHER FANDOMS' STORIES?" but I have just lost interest in them and I'm sorry.

So go ahead, review and tell me what you think.

(Title taken from a lyric in the song 'Healing Incantation' from the movie Tangled.)