Annie Cresta was not insane. There was a difference between insanity and trepidation; they all just hadn't noticed it yet.
Forcibly, she continued to walk the streets of District Four, limbs trembling, eyes wide, because only feet away was the ocean. Nearly everyday did it lap up onto the shore, threatening to wrap the contents of its abyss along her ankles.
In the arena, there was a body of water identical to the one Annie would had once considered home. Her first step back onto the landscape of her District was met by a bloodcurdling scream. It wasn't right; to hate the very essence you were born and raised to feel comfort with. But nothing was right. This was Panem.
With every glance at the churning water so close to Victor's Village, Annie began to remember her time in that sickening, abysmal place. She would scan the area wildly as the memories, decapitated skulls, flaming legs, grimy piles of bones danced across her eyes. Hot breath tickling her skin, grotesque and distorted bodies lying around in heaps. Annie sunk to the ground, screaming in agony at the fabrications, thrashing along the gravel.
It was only when Finnick spotted her, scooping her frail body into his chest that the visions began to disappear. But only for a matter of miraculous, serene minutes. Bringing her into his own mansion, he lay her down onto the soft, plush couch, wrapping his bronze arms around her waist. Finnick whispered soothing words into her ear until her stiffened frame would relax, eyes closing slightly. He still knew that her anguish had not disappeared.
Tracing his lips across her neck, his voice rose.
"I don't understand." his eyes met hers, both glazed with pain.
There was so much that wasn't understood. Why, at so young their hearts were so heavy. Why their lives were scarred so deeply. Why Annie could never love him the way he loved her. Why tears, shrieks, and shudders were the only way she could speak to him.
But Annie could never answer. Because she didn't understand, either.