Hey Guys, Maddie here! I'm sooooo excited for this! This is my first chapter of my new multi-chapter story, "Nothing Stronger than Hope"! Ahhh I'm ecstatic to write but all your comments and encouragement motivate me heaps so I would be extremely grateful if you could leave a review – the more reviews the quicker I will post more chapters :)

In regards to the story, it's based just as Katniss blows up the arena in the Quarter Quell and continues from that point forward but with a twist (mwahaha). By the way, Katniss and Peeta are both married (and in love) with Katniss being actually pregnant with Peeta's child. So just keep that in context whilst reading this.

Also a massive shout out to Jesusfollower97 for the inspiration they gave me for this story – go check out their stories too (won't be disappointed!).

By the way, this is going to be strictly T rated (nothing less, nothing more).

DISCLAIMER: As much as I wish the THG trilogy were mine, sadly it isn't – all rights go to Suzanne Collins :)

I rise, turning to the force field, fully revealing myself but no longer caring. Only caring about where I should direct my tip, where Beetee would have driven the knife if he'd been able to choose. My bow tilts up at the wavering square, the flaw, the...what did he call it that day? The chink in the armor. I let the arrow fly, see it hit its mark and vanish, pulling the thread of gold behind it.

My hair stands on end and the lightning strikes the tree. A flash of white runs up the wire, and for just a moment, the dome bursts into a dazzling blue light. I'm thrown backwards to the ground, body useless, paralyzed, eyes frozen wide, as feathery bits of matter rain down on me. I can't reach Peeta. I can't even reach my ring. My eyes strain to capture one last image of beauty to take with me.

Right before the explosions begin, I find a star.

How am I still alive? I don't even know myself. The arena erupts into mouthfuls of unforgiving fire, shattering the works of the Gamemakers, and destroying surely the last Quarter Quell to occur. President Snow won't overlook this: if I'm not dead now, I will be soon.

All for nothing: the marriage, toasting, even the baby that I can't protect. And I curse myself for falling into Snow's trap. I shouldn't have fallen for Peeta, shouldn't have got married, done a toasting, conceived the baby, giving it a suicidal future.

But I can't. Can't bring myself to convincing that I should have left Peeta. Forgotten him (it would have been easier at least: for the both of us) but this past year with him, despite all the fear and destruction throughout Panem, has been the best in my life. And Peeta made it the best. Taught me to love, to live through pain, to take risks based on the knowing hope of thriving. And I can't convince myself to forget him, to throw away the fragile life I built with Peeta.

My ears ring and my vision blurs, all my senses feel unsynchronized, non-calibrated, and I'm useless. Can't even stand on my own two feet as the blood seeps from my body and my head pounds, dizziness and fatigue taking over. And as this world seems to crash down around me, I remember: the bread with Peeta, the dandelion in the Spring, Lady and Buttercup, the woods and my father, hunting with Gale, the Reaping and Prim's over-sized untucked blouse that formed a duck's tail - then the games, the Bloodbath, the fire, the tracker-jackers that brought only nightmares and Rue: her fatal death that sparked the Revolution. These thoughts bring tears to my eyes, which I blink over as they spill down my cheeks. Finding Peeta by the river, the cave where our love blossomed, the Feast and the mutts.

Fear grips my body, taking a hold of my emotions that I can't control. Straining, I force myself to remember the moments that really mattered: the wedding, the rings, and nights on the train where I felt only comfort beside Peeta; hope, the toasting, Prim's smile that could light a room and my trust for my mother that was slowly healing; moving in with Peeta and the discovery of our child; his comfort for me, for us and our soon-to-be family…then the Quell.

Every wracked sob that leaves my lungs sends pain spiraling to my skull, where I can just faintly hear my name being repeated over and over through the ringing in my ears.

"Katniss! Katniss, where are you?!"

I know that it's getting to me, all the pain and emotions that I've felt in this crucial minute have created a torturous voice that is painstakingly Peeta's in my head. And I choose to ignore it.

"Katniss! KATNISS!"

I can't trust myself to trust the voice. Can't trust myself to plunge into another depth that will only result in pain. And I've had enough. Maybe it's for the better; to die right here, right now and save my child from the horrors of the world. That's what I try to believe at least – but my name continues to become a desperate plea, a holler into the abyss where the only answer is destruction and screams. I can't even answer, lift a finger to alert my presence, tell Peeta that I'm here, still hanging on for him and his promise of hope and thriving.

Is it me or does it seem that the voice drifts closer, confusing my senses, pulling me back into the world of destruction and fear? Then what little of my vision I have left is cut out by a darkness looming overhead. And I can't make it out. All the light ebbs, blocked by the massive object that materializes further. Somewhere underneath the floating object, a light reveals itself, illuminating my vision once again. In the depths of the light that I can't make out, descends a silhouette of a claw (or at least that's what I assume it is).

I panic, exhausted of being held captive and not wanting to spend any longer as one, but I am unable to move, to run from an unwanted future. Stranded, I lay vulnerably on the ground that erupts around me, surrounding my body in heat, as the claw draws closer to my being.

"NO!"

Just as the claw reaches what has to be under a one-meter distance from my body, I feel my right arm lurch to the side, dragging my paralyzed body with it. Pain highlights and spreads from that point and I feel the metal talons from the claw scrape my left arm as I'm dragged out of reach of it. That simple scratch burns my nerves like fire, as if every ounce of pain has been increased by a hundred percent. My body trembles in relief to be out of reach of the now-unmistakable hovercraft that impends above me but also fear sparks my body as the person dragging me across the tree-rooted ground has the ability to end my life here and now. But maybe that's not such a bad thing.

I feel my suspicions confirmed as I'm lifted off the ground, surely to be thrown back down and I know that the Games are not over yet. However, with complete surprise – unless my eyes are deceiving me – Peeta's face swarms my vision. He's fear-stricken and instead of throwing me to the ground, the top half of my body is draped over his shoulder as he breaks into a sprint away from the hovercraft, stumbling a few times as his prosthetic catches on roots running to nowhere – just away from here.

"Hold on," Peeta's voice breaks through my hearing in a whisper, and if I could move at all I would be clutching his muscular frame for dear life.

The broken and torn apart landscape blurs into colors of red, orange and yellow – the colors of fire – as Peeta tears past, running as if our lives depend on it, because they do. Matter rains down around us, Peeta doing his best to dodge any larger pieces of metal that fall from the arena's dome. His heavy pants combined with the perspiration pouring down his face alerts me that he's been running for a long time, for a long distance: all for me.

And if this world weren't crashing down around us, I would be smiling, owing myself to this boy as I have a million times before.

"You could live a thousand lifetimes, and never deserve that boy"

Peeta continues to run with me draped over his shoulder, his heavy treads pounding across the jungle floor. Until, a deafening creak sounds from above, increasing the throbbing in my ears and head. I let out a stifled, animalistic groan as the noise becomes too much for my pounding headache. Peeta lifts his hand to my hair, soothingly stroking it before the creaking noise turns into a booming crack. Peeta skids to a halt and lifts his eyes to above us. His face takes on a panicked expression, indication that whatever is happening isn't good. We take off in – if even possible – a faster sprint, trying to outrun whatever is following our treads. Peeta continues to glance up at the sky that is falling in chunks.

Chunks…

That's when Peeta dives towards the ground as far ahead of us as possible as the huge piece of the fallen sky collides with the ground, echoing a huge crash as it explodes into bits of matter raining down on our bodies. I just hear Peeta groan quietly through gritted teeth when his grip on my body loosens, and I go flying out of his reach and into a waiting tree, knocking the wind out of me. A spurt of blood sprays my face as a fresh wound is opened and a pained cry escapes my paralyzed lips. Minutes seem to pass in slow motion until I feel Peeta's quavering but yet steady arms wrap again tightly around my frame. Whimpering from my screaming muscles as I'm lifted off the ground, Peeta clutches me close to his chest, tighter then before, the determination set in his grip on me.

It's all chaos. Fire breaks out from every corner, every crevice, igniting already scorched trees and singeing all matter within each square meter. It's like I'm back in the fires during my first games, where I'm all but surrounded in the sweltering blaze, and yet again, my reputation of the Girl on Fire is put to shame. Although this time, the fires aren't artificial.

Peeta, slower this time round and with a more noticeable limp, continues to run, weaving through trees and walls of fire, hastily looking to the damaged sky for any falling chunks of matter that threaten to crush us under pounds of metal. The throbbing in my head is stronger than ever and I'm still gasping for breath from my harsh bashing I took from the tree. But despite my paralyzing, I don't think I got worse off.

Now as I lift my eyes to Peeta's face, I see the long, jagged gash that oozes blood, pouring down his face in a thick river of red. His golden-blonde curls are plastered to his forehead, a result from his sweat but his eyes; they gleam an even more brighter blue, accenting the fierceness in his being, the anger for the Capitol and for the fear that has been stricken and placed in our lives: because we don't deserve it. Don't deserve to suffer in pain as does our child, or and other Victors, neither the Districts, rich or not. Maybe that's why Peeta's always complimenting my eyes. I don't see anything in them except pools of boring Seam grey, but Peeta insists that they are beautiful, more so than his own which I immediately disagree to and begin to list the reasons as to why not - similar to the essays we used to write during school before the Games.

Nevertheless, I begin to contemplate why - why Peeta loves my eyes so much, turning such a dull color into a work of art. As ludicrous as it seems in the turmoil of events, momentarily I consider the reasons. I still don't understand how he finds them so stunningly mesmerizing. Possibly it's because I don't see myself: that I'm blindly oblivious to all beauty in this world, because I can't bring myself to find it. But if there were exquisiteness in them, what would it be? I rack my brain for an answer, possibly something Peeta may have mentioned but haven't managed to remember. I silently recall the time I moved into Peeta's house, as he mentioned what he saw of Haymitch earlier that day.

"As drunk as a clown. Literally, saw him stumbling back from Town with his pants on his head and this belt done up around his ankles. I would have been slightly concerned if I didn't know him as well as we do, but then considered that he'd be fine, probably just pass out somewhere in a puddle of vomit in his house. Don't worry, I won't make you clean it up."

I remember the laugh that erupted from my lungs after that moment, recalling the time when Peeta cleaned up Haymitch's vomit on the train to our first Games. That's when Peeta just smiled at me, gazing intently into my eyes. He mentioned something about the shades of grey in my eyes and stories. That in certain moments the grey of my eyes turn a lighter or darker shade depending on my mood; lighter in the joyful ones and darker in the disconsolate moments. That they tell a story: the story of the ups and downs in my life, the challenges and fears I had to overcome and the joy that gave way to them in result despite the pain and suffering. That's why Peeta loves my eyes: they tell a story. And I finally begin to understand him after so long.

Peeta being knocked to his feet, dragging me down with him interrupts my train of thought suddenly. Unexpectedly, a chained net is thrown over our bodies, appearing from nowhere above, weighting us down into the dirt leaving Peeta scrambling for an escape route out but only answered by the metal tightening around us, quelling our movements. All we can do is watch, watch as the hovercraft descends towards us, ready to bring us to our fate, and I can only hope in this moment that Peeta and I both die before we meet the faces I don't want to see.

In a last ditch of effort, Peeta grabs my hand holding it tight, and I strain my motionless muscles to interlock my fingers with his. Whatever awaits us, we will go into it together, as we always have, as a team. The one word engraved on the insides of our rings, hope, will be what bonds our promises and us – that we will soon be able to flourish and thrive, live the life we have always dreamed to have together, with our child. And as impossible as it seems right now, hope is all we have, and it's going to be enough for us to cling to.

"Don't let go, Katniss. Hold still, I'm not letting you go." Peeta's raspy voice reassures through gritted teeth. As much as I want to calm myself, my nerves are rocketing through the roof and my breathing is coming out in strained gasps. If even possible with my paralyzed muscles, my grip on Peeta's hand tightens. Although, the paralyzing must be wearing off, because I can suddenly begin to painfully move my legs and body. Grunting through my teeth, I lurch out trying to break the chains that capture Peeta and I, but all we acquire is the metal tightening even more so around our frames. I continue to struggle though, panicking. I can't be kept captive, nor Peeta or our child. We've got to get out…

Peeta catches on and soon we are both lunging our bodies towards the sides and upwards, in a fight to free ourselves from the ever-tightening chains before the hovercraft are on us. However, no matter to what extent we thrash, these chains aren't giving way.

Eventually, the realism dawns on me and I stop, laying still allowing the sobs to take over my body. Peeta turns his head towards me and his face softens, hindering his flaying. Under the weight of the chains, he reaches over with his arms, wrapping them around my trembling form. Painfully, I bury my face in the crook of his neck, allowing myself to revel in Peeta's constant warmth and steadiness and comfort he brings to everything. Yet I feel so weak, vulnerable to the Capitol and their schemes.

We lay there frozen, awaiting our fates and what is to come from the hovercraft that lingers above, creeping towards our vulnerable figures. Then, everything stops abruptly. I lift my head to see a light open up from the underside of the hovercraft, and a similar claw as the one I saw in the first hovercraft (although I can't be sure if this is the same one) retracts from the heart of the ship. My eyes widen in distress, my body reacting involuntarily after being so used to the feeling that spreads through my veins: Fear.

I want to run, to hide, and go somewhere where Peeta, our child and I will be safe: away from Snow, away from any destruction and rebellion throughout the Districts. No one deserves the life Peeta and I received, or any poor Seam or Townsfolk in District 12 nor even the richest Capitol citizen – but that doesn't cue my hate and utter distaste for anyone and anything Capitol. The pain and suffering that the Capitol has inflicted on us has been too much to bear and I can almost guarantee that it is to get even worse.

I don't understand – all I wanted was to keep Prim safe and to keep Peeta alive; and now my unborn child as well. And now I'm singing.

My lips open before I can protest and song bursts from my aching lungs, filling the surrounding destruction with raspy notes and a simple melodic tune. A song I remember singing with my father as he taught me perfect notes, to stop the bird's own singing to learn from our own. And then passing it on, singing to Prim after her nightmares when she couldn't sleep, to drift her back into her slumber. Then Rue, the last song she ever heard, as it was sung on her death-bed

"Deep in the meadow, under the willow."

Peeta turns his head to me and I can feel his intent gaze of awe and empathy directed to me.

"A bed of grass, a soft, green pillow."

Peeta's gentle, calloused hand caused from the burns he received and labor he performed during working at his family's bakery, comes to rest on my abdomen, rubbing soothing circles over where the baby lays beneath my skin and flesh; hopefully alive - but only if it survived the electricity that coursed through my veins. It seems that today I am basing my trust on a lot of hope, but when you feel that this may be your last day, or what ahead is nothing but pain and suffering, hope becomes your last lifeline – the one thing you cling to in order to survive and thrive. The only reason I know is because of the boy lying beside me who was my hope in the first place: the dandelion in the spring, the loaf of bread that fed my family and ignited the flame inside me to live.

"Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes."

Singing feels such a weak attempt - tears stream down my face in rivers, leaving clean, streak marks of olive skin where dried blood and dirt was in its place. Relaxing my body as much as possible, I close my eyes, dreaming of the place filled with so much hope that seems so far away.

"And when again they open, the sun will rise."

I allow myself to believe just for a second that it can get better, that life can get better and Peeta and I will be able to be free from the Capitol and can raise our child and be a family, a normal one after so long of being a misplaced broken one.

That's when I feel the claw close in around Peeta and my bodies, sinking its talons into the dirt and under our backs, lifting us up into the air. My breathing rate increases and now, both Peeta's arms are looped around my slight frame protectively. No matter what feelings pulse in my blood – fear, anxiety, and desperation – I force myself to continue the song, to keep the fragile string of hope alive, and open my eyes, as a last act of defiance.

"Here it's safe, here it's warm. Here the daisies guard you from every harm."

We're lifted further into the air, closer to the hovercraft that we so desperately tried to run from but failed. And I failed so much: to protect my sister, keep Peeta alive (because I'm sure that we're both going to end up dead.), fulfill President Snow's demands, because maybe if I did, we wouldn't be here. Maybe if I had just eaten the stupid berries in my first games and died everyone would be safe. But then Gale and his words come to mind. "You haven't hurt people - you've given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it." But I find it so hard to believe and only see death, yet still know that Gale's right.

"Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true."

The hovercraft lingers only roughly ten meters away. The Capitol's hurt too many people, too many have suffered, and running away would just prove their victory - and Snow's won too much already.

"Here is the place where I love you."

I finish the song, the last line. That place - that place of hope can only be achieved by the fall of the Capitol and that can only happen with a revolution.

Now, Peeta and I, whether in the Capitol or not, need to help, to flare the spark that has been left alone for so long, to bring the blaze of the rebellion alight and that's how we will achieve the ending we both long for.

Faces appear inside the hovercraft, faces I don't want to see, but with my fire burning bright once again, the set of determination on my face won't be wiped off. The claw gradually withdraws back into the hovercraft. The doors close smoothly, sealing us in and my anger towards the Capitol magnifies, growing until I can only feel the fire inside, burning the edges of my being, dying to get out.

The claw's talons open, dropping our useless bodies on the cold, metal floor. I let out a yelp of surprise and discomfort as I land roughly on top of Peeta, knocking the wind out of him as he stifles a groan. As soon as we are dropped, two masked men dressed in pristine white clothing release the chained net from us, lifting a weight from our sore bodies. My half-paralysed body flops off of Peeta, which causes him to breathe out in respite. The relief does not last long however, because as soon as we are free, two more masked men grab my arms, yanking them behind my back and securing my wrists with handcuffs.

My cry of pain snaps Peeta out of his stupor and he lunges for me, to bring me back to his arms that I long for in this moment, but another two masked men grab Peeta from behind, shoving him roughly back onto the ground, where he lands face-first. Even though it's muffled, I still catch his unmistakable moan. I knew I wasn't expecting a welcoming or congratulations – after all, this is the Capitol – but I can't contain my surprise and utter shock at the extreme brutality of our treatment. Surely at least we would be handled with some care, but Peeta has just been offhandedly propelled onto the unforgiving floor, face-first, causing a gushing nosebleed as he lifts his head to look at me from the chilling ground.

My eyes must be the size of golf balls at the sight of Peeta, in this wrecked, helpless state; and my anger flares like wildfire. I thrash out with my legs, effectively kicking one of our captors in the groin, sending him tumbling to the ground in a heap, whilst throwing up whatever food he ate that day – and I have no sympathy.

This sudden turn of events sends the other captors into shock, giving me enough time to take my cuffed hands from behind my back, pull them under my legs so they are now in front of my body, and scramble to my feet. All my muscles scream in protest as I'm forcing myself out of its paralyzed state.

The masked men shake themselves from their trance and plunge their arms towards my body. Having no idea where my impulsive fury and merciless nature has suddenly come from, I lash out at the arms, knocking many of them away from me, but not before I'm harshly grabbed from behind. By this point I realize that Peeta's also clambered to his feet, momentarily forgetting his gushing nosebleed, and effectively knocking the imprisoner that holds me in a vice grip unconscious with a single strike of his fist to the man's temple; hard. Peeta grabs my manacled hands and breaks into a sprint away from the opposing Capitol torturers I now call them. I stumble several times, still not quite out of the paralyzed state, and fall to the cold ground. Peeta comes to my side, scooping me up and continuing our suicidal run.

We've both got no clue where we are headed – we are in the air, enclosed in a hovercraft surrounded by armed Capitol captors with no place to go. I watch Peeta's feet as they thunder across the metal flooring. Shouts of warning erupt from behind us, causing Peeta to turn his head to assess who's on our trails, before taking a gulping inhale and propelling us forward even harder,

More and more faces continue to appear in different hallways of the hovercraft, but Peeta always swiftly changes our direction, scouring for a place to hide out in until the ship lands so we can then make a break for it. But every door we try is sealed shut – not even one janitor closet similar to the one in the District 12 school. Peeta suddenly takes a wrong turn, right into the hands of Capitol guards armed with solid, deadly guns that could end our lives in seconds, not that I wish they didn't.

Peeta makes an effort to spin us around to continue back the way we came, but another group of captors surround us, successfully blocking our exit. I grab Peeta's arm, abruptly stopping his movements. His blue eyes turn towards me in utter fear, but they are darker than ever, and my heart lurches out for him.

"Stop," I whisper quietly in his ear, "you'll only make it worse than it already is. We've already created enough havoc." I can tell Peeta doesn't believe me full-heartedly, as the tremors in my voice have created an uneasy atmosphere, but eventually after some considering, he gives in. I breathe out a sigh of somewhat is relief but isn't at the same time. The guards, sensing the show is over as we give into defeat, close in on us, grabbing me roughly on all parts of my body, restraining me from any movement, and yanking me from Peeta's arms and forcing me to my feet. Peeta's eyes widen in sheer concern and alarm but I glare at him, telling him with my stormy greys to not move a single muscle. He begins to open his mouth in protest, but then closes it, finally relenting and accepting what is to come.

More captors grab Peeta, putting him in an arm-lock, ensuring that he can't fight back. He's gritting his teeth and I can tell that he's fuming from anger but Peeta doesn't resist. I don't take my eyes off of him once as guards continue to move around us, confirming our capture, before roughly shoving me forward. I'm so unprepared for it that I trip over my own feet and fall in a heap on the ground, luckily my hip taking the worst of it although I can tell I'm going to bruise there. Clenching my jaw, I do my best to regain my composure, proving to both Peeta and our captors that I'm not going to give in. As soon as I look back over to Peeta I wish I didn't. His eyes are full of growing unease but I give him a shaky smile to calm his nerves. His brows just furrow – that's when I turn away.

We're both led through the hallways of the hovercraft (it really is bigger than any other hovercraft I've been in) and finally come to what appears to look like a vault. One of the guards enters a pass code into the hologram that emerges from thin air, activating the lock and swinging the metal door open. First, Peeta is propelled in - stumbling a bit, but regaining his feet. I don't fare as well however, and am thrown carelessly inside with my hands still cuffed, hitting the solid ground beneath me, hard, and then the door shuts, enclosing us in the small prison room.

I let out a moan causing Peeta to be by my side in seconds. As gently as possible, I'm lifted onto his lap where he cradles me in his arms. Gingerly, Peeta lifts my chin to examine my face, but I already know it's not pretty; the blood drips down my cheek and chin from the deep cut up the side of my face. I can already feel Peeta's heaving breath as he struggles and strains to contain his emotions.

"Peeta-", I croak.

"No, Katniss, you're not okay! We're not okay, alright?!" I'm startled at his sudden outburst and my eyes must mirror my alarm because Peeta tries to backtrack his words.

"No, I didn't mean-" I clap my tender hand over his trembling mouth, silencing his ongoing rant.

"No, you're right, Peeta, we're not okay, but…I just…" I can't translate my emotions into words and Peeta's catching on by the way his eyes lighten and soften.

"I feel useless," I whisper, bowing my head in embarrassment and shame but it's the complete and utter truth: I'm pathetic and terrified. Terrified of what's going to happen to us, of the Capitol, of Snow, petrified for Peeta and our child - I just want to keep everyone safe. And I can't do that in a small, grey-walled cell.

"I know…I do too…but-but we're going to be okay, we'll survive and so will the baby and I promise I'll get us out of here alive. I promise-" I put a finger to Peeta's lips, pausing his words once again. He can't make promises he can't keep because who knows if what he says is true? We can't guarantee our safety – never will as long as we live and all the realism pulls me down. I hate it.

So instead of explaining, I just bury my face in Peeta's torn and ragged jumpsuit, sharing his body heat that leaks through the fabric. No matter what happens, at least I'll have him - he won't leave me. But right now, that feels ironic regarding where we are.

I'm shaken from my slumber as hands grab my arms hauling me to my feet. Momentarily disorientated as I try to remember the past events that led up to the possessive hands hurling me towards a metal door. In natural instinct, I thrash out continuously panic gripping my fatigued muscles. My head whips from side to side, searching for Peeta, Prim, Gale, anyone I vaguely recognize.

"Peeta!" My sheer anxiety causes me to scream out for him, alert him of my whereabouts. I can't concentrate, can't straighten my thinking – all my thoughts jumble together and it scares me to death, to feel so bewildered about the whole situation I'm in as I'm dragged down corridors. That's when I decide to start with the simple things and work my way to the more complicated:

My name is Katniss Mellark. I am 17 years old. I live in District 12-

But why am I not in District 12? Where am I even? "PEETA!"

"Shut up!" one of the masked men that holds me whispers harshly in my ear, jabbing the but of his gun to my lower back. The jolt of pain doesn't faze me, however my hysteria of disorientation climbs my body and my breathing comes out in gasps and spurts.

Think, Katniss…I was in the Hunger Games. I survived. I was forced to get married to Peeta. I fell in love with him. I moved into his house in the Victors Village. We had a secret toasting. I am now pregnant with his child. We both were in the Quarter Quell. The Capitol captured us-

Understanding hits me and I stumble over my feet, my mouth agape in shock and realization.

I'm dragged around one last corner until a blinding light obscures my vision. It takes at least five seconds to gather my bearings until I can finally see my surroundings. I stagger down the ramp running from the hovercraft's main door to the black pavement below. Looking to my left, a runway of grey extends for a few hundred yards until stopping suddenly to an artificial, garish green sheet of fake grass. Surrounding the runway tower glass blocks that form the foundations of Capitol buildings, each identical in size and shape except for the one to my right, which has the seal of Panem painted on royal red flags that stand either side of the entry doors. The white sun looms directly overhead, alerting me that it's Midday, but still looks just as synthetic as the one in the arena – everything Capitol is synthetic.

One of the Capitol guards yanks on my cuffed wrists (that somehow have been secured behind my back again) sending shocks of pain through my nerves as the cold metal rubs against my raw skin. Gritting my teeth, I'm guided to the building with the flags with two peacekeepers guarding the doors. The peacekeeper on the left gives a subtle nod to one of my captors, allowing access to the building.

Inside, everything is stark white and black, polished until I can clearly see my reflection - I catch it as I walk past a glossy white wall – and I'm shocked. I make myself look like an angel after my first games. Now, after my second games, I can't see anyone I recognize. I appear as an imitation of a Capitol mutt, my own dried blood plastered to my face and neck, some still freshly oozing from gashes. My hair sticks out from my scalp like a bird's nest, ratty and with the texture of thin straw. I can't even see my own skin complexion properly as a thick layer of grease and dirt masks it.

Led through another series of twisting hallways, a blindfold is suddenly tied over my eyes and for a second I freak out. I twist my arms and body as best as I can to pull myself from the grip of my captors but their hands only tighten.

"Stop moving or we'll be forced to take more extreme measures," I gulp down my anxiety, struggling to retain a confident composure, miserably failing. I sag my shoulders in defeat and allow the group of Capitol torturers to escort me through the pitch-black world. I long for Effie, or even Haymitch for all I care, to be the one escorting me and I have to choke back as sob as I realize that I might have just signed their death warrants.

I'm roughly shoved into what I can assume is a car, as the door behind me slams shut. I do my best to get comfortable on the leather seats as the engine whirs to life and we carry on forward.

My thoughts drift back to Peeta, where he is right now and what's happening to him. I can only wonder if he's asking the same questions to himself, only regarding me instead.

The car continues to halt for a few seconds then drive again for a few minutes as we weave through the streets. I feel like I'm back in my first games, when I blew up the Career's food and my hearing became nothing but a ring in my ears. I had to rely on only my sight and the disorientation I felt with missing just one of my senses overwhelms me now. However, now I'm relying on my ears, not my eyes.

I struggle to get my hands into a comfortable position whilst cuffed behind my back, using my legs and midriff to move around. I'm suddenly reminded of the life living inside of me as I move my abdomen to release some tension on my hands. Are Peeta and my child even alive anymore? I'm almost hoping not but hate myself for thinking that way. Although it seems like a much better option than having to constantly worry about the pain my child would have to go through in this world. Didn't I say I never wanted children anyway? But Peeta changed that. The hope he gave me replenished my wanting of a child and I always knew that Peeta would make a perfect father but my ability to be a mother has been questioned on my part too many times. And now I'm terrified to give birth to this child.

The tremors begin in my fingertips and rapidly spread to my toes. My breath releases in staggered gasps and I don't even have the willpower to calm myself.

My car halts again but this time the engine cuts out. Before I can process anything, I'm hauled from the leather seats and shoved forward out of the car. I stagger a few steps, struggling to keep my balance, and fall hard to the cement. With my hands clasped behind my back, there's nothing to cushion my fall except my hip. Unable to stifle a groan, I let out one similar to that of an animal. Yet again, I'm lugged to my feet and directed through more twists and turns.

I hear a door handle creak slightly before I'm led inside what I assume is another room and I feel as if I've been gassed as soon as I take one step inside.

Blood and roses.

I choke on the stench that invades my nostrils and feel as if I've just inhaled poison. Because that's exactly what it is.

I'm shoved unceremoniously onto a wood-back chair where my hands are then released from the cuffs, only to be secured again once my wrists are looped behind the back of the chair. I let out a hiss as the metal, now warm from my body heat, makes contact with my raw skin again.

The guards then step away from me, leaving the anticipation lingering in the air.

"No, release their cuffs," My whole body freezes as the voice that invades my nightmares ever frequently leaves my ears buzzing. My mouth feels suddenly dry and my breathing increases for what feels like the hundredth time today. Then my wrists are free of the metal.

"I'm sure Mr and Mrs…Mellark and I…have a lot to discuss."

That's when my blindfold is lifted.

So that was the first chapter guys! I hope you liked it and please remember to review - as cliche as it sounds, the more reviews, the quicker I post :) Thanks again guys -

Maddie :)