And here we are, come to the end at last. After twenty chapters of reminiscences and the numbers that marked Wiress' life, we've reached the end. I feel almost guilty calling in the services of another narrator when she's guided us through the whole story, but I like the way it worked out anyway. Besides, after thirty-eight years of narration through good times and bad, I think Wiress has earned some peace from us. Let's let someone else take up the task for a while.

As always, my heartfelt thanks goes out to my most recent reviewers, Last-Catastrophe, vapiddreamscape, Maraudercat and KTstoriesandstuff. And of course, thank you to those who reviewed other chapters and who followed the story along the way. Your encouragement inspired every new update!

And so, thanks for sticking with me and this story from start to finish, and enjoy the epilogue!

Epilogue: Infinity

Infinity. It's the word we use to describe something without limit. Something that continues forever.

How many times have I heard children, at play back in our district, trying to top each other's claims with "Yes, times infinity!"—which, in any exchange between children, is the trump card that always wins. My nieces and nephews do it all the time. They think that infinity is an actual number, but it really isn't; at least not in the normal, finite sense that six and thirty-seven and 3.14 are. Because infinity is boundless.

The symbol looks so deceptively simple. Around and back, and around again and back again.

I think I come to understand infinity more every day.

Infinite is my guilt at having betrayed her. I made a promise to Wiress as she'd cried on my shoulder following the Quarter Quell announcement. I'd promised first that I'd never leave her side, then later still I brazenly added that not only would I protect her; I'd bring her home safe, because Plutarch Heavensbee's daring plan gave me just the tools I needed to ensure the one thing I wanted most in the world would happen—that she'd be safe. It's all very nice for the rebels and District 13 that the Mockingjay is alive and safe and working for them, but what really drove me to play my part in the rebellion was my desperate need to honor the promise I'd made Wiress, because a promise made to someone you love is sacred. Just like how I'd promised her all those years ago, when she came home from her Games, broken and scared, that I'd never let the Capitol hurt her again. Just like how I'd vowed on our wedding day that I'd always take care of her. I'm ashamed to say that I broke those promises, and now I've broken another. No wonder she was so hesitant about marrying me, about promising herself to me. I'll never forgive myself for betraying her trust.

I'm eager to do whatever I can to help the rebels, and I throw myself headfirst into the rebellion because there's nothing else left for me. Now that they've taken her from me, I have nothing more to lose, and this thought makes me want to do something reckless and daring. I'm no fool; I know I'm not cut out for combat, like Katniss and Gale and the others, but I can use what skills I have to infiltrate even deeper into the Capitol than even they can. By tapping into their television network, I can break into every living room in Panem. Into President Snow's own bedroom, even, which feels both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. What soldier can say they've broken so far into enemy territory? It's not like I'm completely out of danger here in Special Defense. Who's to say that, once combat begins, the Capitol won't send a unit of Peacekeepers over here to slaughter those in Thirteen who remain behind? Who's to say they won't drag me from my workstation and ship me off to the Capitol so Snow can personally witness the execution of the one who'd really destroyed the Quarter Quell arena and spread subversive propaganda all over the country by overriding the Capitol's own broadcasts? And yet, when this dark thought crosses my mind, the only thought I can follow it up with is that this fate—ignominy, torture and death—would only bring me one step closer to Wiress, save the thousand or so times she visits me in my dreams and I cry out her name in my sleep.

I don't know why I dream of her. Everything I've ever learned tells me that death is the end; that when that cannon sounded, Wiress simply ceased to exist. This fills me with a profound sadness I can't even begin to describe, because a world with no Wiress is like a world with no color. And yet, I still can't quite wrap my mind around it. While my head tells me very matter-of-factly that she's gone, my heart inexplicably tells me that she's waiting for me somewhere, and I cling to this like a drowning man because hope is the one thing that can keep me moving forward. I have to keep moving forward, because staying put is too painful and looking backward, to a time when she was still here beside me, is unbearable. There is still work to be done, and giving in to despair is not work. It's force without motion. Wiress once told me that.

Perhaps, then, she's a part of infinity now—without bounds. Maybe that's why I see her every night, because even now that she's been set free of everything that had held her back and pushed her down in life, she is still fulfilling her promise not to abandon me. She's honoring the vows it took me years to persuade her to make. This fills me with shame—I couldn't keep my promise, but she refuses to let even death stop her from keeping hers. She's an infinitely better person than I am.

Maybe, having become part of the infinite, now she understands what I could never really get across sufficiently in words—that I need her every bit as much as she needed me, and that although everyone thought she was the fragile one, I wonder whether she could possibly feel any more bereft than I do now that she's gone. When I was hurt in the arena, she refused to give up and say goodbye. She's that strong. I didn't get to say a real goodbye to her, either, but if I'd had the chance, I don't know if I would have been strong enough to face it.

How do you say goodbye to the love of your life? Do I thank her for all she's done to make me happy for all the years we've been together, whether she knew it at the time or not? Do I tell her how much I'll miss her? Do I break down and beg her not to leave me so soon, that I'm not ready to face life without her? Should I apologize for not being able to save her in the end, like I'd always said I would? She'd probably shake her head and say that I'd already saved her, long ago; that every day I saved her a little more, because she said things like that every now and then. But if I were to talk to her one last time, I'm sure I'd want to come clean and beg her forgiveness for my failure anyway, even if it did nothing to bring her back or to alleviate my guilt and pain. At least I'd get it off my chest and the world would know how I'd let her down.

Maybe I wouldn't say anything at all. For some moments, words do not suffice. Words are finite. Words and phrases and sentences—they are all punctuated with a clear-cut ending. They would not be enough to express my love for her, which has no ending. Maybe then, if I could have said goodbye, all I'd do is hold her hand and stroke her beautiful dark hair—she always liked it when I'd do that—and simply be there, in her presence, by her side for one last time. I can't think of anything else that would be enough, because logic tells me that you can't use the finite to express that which is infinite.

Infinity. It's how long I'll love her.

Aaaand...fin! Well, I just want to dry my tears and thank you all one last time for following this story from beginning to end, and ask you one last time to review and let me know your final thoughts on the grand finale and on the story overall. I'd said at the beginning that I'd wanted to write a happy story, but I didn't entirely accomplish that, as many parts are pretty sad. But I feel like I've written the story that was asking to be told...does that make sense? Sometimes stories take on a life of their own. I feel like this particular story took on not just a life of its own, but a bit of my life as well, because a good part of it draws from personal experiences. No, I've never fought in the Hunger Games, but bits of the characters and their experiences are drawn in part from not only my own life, but those of people I've known. And of course, some little trifles (like Wiress' measurements) are just little similarities. Art imitates life; life imitates art.

Anyway, thanks again for reading and I hoped you enjoyed it. For the last time on this story, at least, I must ask you again—review! I know I didn't get a chance to reply to last chapter's reviewers like I'd wanted to, but I was eager to get you your last update. So please give me your thoughts on this last chapter and I promise I'll get back to each of you ASAP.

Until next time, then,

Delilah