The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
Rumi

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First, I get a glimpse of the blond braid down her back. Then, as she yanks off her coat to cover a wailing child, I notice the ducktail formed by her shirt. My body reacts of its own accord; my instincts are pushing me forward, powering over bodies, limbs, and rubble. I am five feet away from her when I finally find my voice, reaching out and screaming: "Prim!"

My little sister whips around, shock and relief registering on her face. In spite of the chaos that surrounds us, the utter destruction, Prim manages a smile and she crosses the few feet remaining to me. "Katniss," she cries and collapses into my arms.

A moment later, fifty yards from us, another parachute explodes. We are blown backwards, off our feet. I hear a second detonation, then a third and I think: This is where I die. I tighten my arms around Prim and close my eyes, holding fast to my sister.

But I do not die.

Something heavy lands on top of me and Prim; it's a body, warm and protective, covering us from harm. Around our little human pile, everything shatters.

I can't say how long the explosions last but, finally, the ground stops shaking. My ears are ringing and I open my eyes to see that I have retained all my fingers. I feel Prim next to me, breathing. Alive.

I push my hands into the torn ground and press up, feeling the body on top of us shift and fall to the ground, lifeless. I blink the soot out of my eyes; my hands reach out and grasp Prim's shoulders. She opens her eyes and for a beat, we stare at each other. I watch Prim's mouth move and realize I cannot catch a thing she is saying – the explosions have ruined my hearing.

It is then that I notice the body lying next to us. He is facedown, but I can tell immediately that he is near death. His back is a ruin, all bleeding gashes and imbedded debris. He has taken the brunt of the bombs' impact, likely saving my life or Prim's or both. My eyes don't need to flick upward to know who it is, don't need to see the ashy blonde hair to confirm what I already know, what I, in truth, have known since I felt someone risk his life to save me.

It is Peeta.

It is Peeta, and he is not breathing.

I lose all sense then; in my madness, I am just another half-crazed mutt. I flip Peeta over and straddle him, attempting the resuscitation I saw Finnick use to save his life during the Quarter Quell. Peeta coughs blood in to my mouth, shudders, and lies still.

Delicate, firm hands push me off of Peeta's body. I rise to protest but find myself looking into Prim's serious, urgent eyes. "Katniss," she screams. "You have to go!"

Her words are fuzzy and indistinct, but I can hear them all the same.

"Katniss! You have to go! Don't you see? Peeta saved you so that you could end it."

I must have lost my mind, because I have no idea what she is talking about. I am concerned only with Peeta. My hands are running up and down his body, unable to stop the bleeding of the numerous wounds; my lips are murmuring his name over and over again.

Prim grabs my chin and jerks my head up, forcing me to look at her. "Katniss! Peeta saved you so you could end this war! You need to go! You need to kill Snow!"

I hear those last words clear as day and am finally shaken from my stupor. I look around, past Peeta, past Prim. The area in front of the President's Mansion is littered with bodies, some dead, some dying. Rebels and Peacekeepers alike are running about and exchanging fire.

It is chaos.

You couldn't ask for a better distraction.

The enormity of Peeta's actions hits me then. He saved me for a purpose. He saved me so that I could kill Snow: the man that has tortured him, the man that has hijacked his brain. Peeta saved me so that I could end the war. Peeta saved me, when, by all accounts, he should have been trying to kill me.

I grab my bow, finger my arrows and start off at a run towards the mansion. "Save Peeta," I throw to Prim over my shoulder, my voice breaking, but she doesn't need to be told. She is already busy at work, little fingers flying over his unconscious form. Something in my body sinks; conventional wisdom tells me it must be my heart.

My feet stumble, but only for a second. I tear my eyes away from Peeta and Prim and focus instead on my mission, on what may be the final culmination to the thought that has consumed me for years.

I kill Snow.

The chaos of the numerous explosions has created the perfect diversion and, even though I am the Mockingjay, even though every face in Panem has been looking for me, looking at me, for months, I am able to get to the steps of the Mansion unnoticed. I climb the majestic stairs and reach the front door; I'm ready to barge in, but I hesitate. It's been too easy. I whirl around, bow armed, sure I will find an army of Peacekeepers at my back.

But I am alone.

I have been thinking that I am still part of a battle, that there is still a fight going on. But, as my eyes take in the scene of the President's lawn, I realize that I am no longer part of a battle.

I am part of a massacre.

Everywhere there are children screaming; body parts litter the square and there is so much blood that the ground is stained red. I am overwhelmed by the enormity of the death around me; it has permeated the ground, the air, the buildings. Somewhere, out there, Peacekeepers hold Gale. Prim, my baby sister, risks her life to save Peeta, who is basically dead. Finnick, Boggs, all the rest, already dead.

I sway on my feet and my stomach churns. The smell of blood in the air reminds me of roses and I lose what little is left in my stomach. The remembrance sickens me, but it grounds me just the same.

There is only one way to end this.

I kill Snow.

I wipe off my mouth with the back of my hair, notch an arrow, and open the door.

.

The Mansion is empty. Empty, and silent.

My hearing is still off from the bombs, so I am certain to tread extra lightly. I blend in with the walls, moving quickly from doorway to doorway, but I encounter no one.

It smells of blood, even inside, and, driven by instinct, I follow the scent to its source, down a hall laden with heavy tapestries and thick carpets. It is silent here, still and untouched by the chaos reigning outside. My heart pounds in my chest; my footsteps creep, unheard, toward a pair of glass doors.

I know what lies behind them, even before I push through. The stench of blood is positively overwhelming now and bile rises in my throat. With effort, I swallow it down, aim my bow, and kick the doors open with my foot.

Row upon row of roses greets me. The air in here is humid and warm, artificial sunlight streaming from lamps in the ceiling. There are roses in every hue, from the most vibrant red to the palest, most delicate gold. The garden is alive with energy, blooming with life.

There is no sign of another human, but I am certain that I will find Snow here.

I pad down row after row, my bow taut and ready. My heart has found its way back from my throat; it pounds in my ears now. My eyes dart this way and that and I breathe in and out, ever so quietly.

I find him at the end of the very last row, bent over a particularly beautiful plant, scissors poised to snip a perfectly bloomed white rose from its branches.

I aim my arrow, ready to loose it, when he speaks. "Miss Everdeen," he says mildly. "I wondered when you would come."

Surprise stills my hand and my throat. I cannot say anything, cannot move. His voice has frozen me.

President Snow snips the rose and turns to me, tucking the flower into his left breast pocket. Right above his heart. He pulls his puffy lips back in what would be a smile. "It is bad out there," he continues, a statement, not a question. "I am just preparing to surrender."

My mind races; I hold my bow higher. "What do you mean, surrender?" I ask. I try to sound intimidating, in control, but in truth, his words disarm me.

"I am prepared to declare that the war is lost," Snow continues, looking at me levelly. "The Capitol's supplies have dwindled, its people are terrified. Our armed forces are decimated."

He pauses and I watch him. I am not breathing.

"And, of course, how can we continue, since the Rebels have bombed our children." At that he falls silent, his gaze on me expectant, smiling. Little flecks of blood decorate his lips.

"What do you mean?" I demand. "The Rebels did not kill those children. You did. The bombs came from a Capitol hovercraft."

Snow laughs lightly. "Oh, dear girl, think. If I had a working hovercraft, I would be very far from this place. No, no, those bombs were a very clear, very calculated, very clever attempt to turn the last of my loyal citizens against me. Bombing the Capitol's own children; it is particularly deplorable. Alma Coin has never shied away from the deplorable, though. And now she has such great minds at her disposal, minds that are capable of creating such ingenious… snares."

I feel sick. My hands on my bow and arrow weaken, ever so slightly. "You're lying," I whisper, because I know what he's insinuating: that it was Alma Coin who planned to kill these children, the leader of the District we have all put our trust in. That it was her and her team, her team that includes my best friend in the entire world. He's insinuating that Gale designed these bombs, killed these children.

"My dear Miss Everdeen, we agreed never to lie to each other," Snow says and he's laughing then, full spasms that shake his body and bring tears to his eyes, which never leave my face.

He's laughing even as I loose my arrow, spearing that last white rose right through his chest, directly onto his heart.

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Notes: I have always been perplexed by the question of what would happen if Prim survived the war, of just how far Coin would get in promoting a Capitol-like agenda if she been able. Who would Katniss choose, if her sister lived? Anyways, this story is my way of answering those questions. It will eventually be Katniss/Peeta… but it may take awhile to get there ;) The story is rated M for later chapters. I am aiming to update at least once a week.

The first two sentences of this story are borrowed from Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins, as are the characters and settings.

As always, I appreciate and look forward to every review.