Author's Note: At last, here is the epilogue! Sorry it's taken me longer than normal to get it out; things have been CRAZY busy. But before I give you the last bit of this, my thirtieth story on fanfiction, I must warn you: this will contain very minor Mockingjay spoilers. If you don't know who Katniss ends up with and you don't want to, then wait to read this until you have found out. Otherwise, read on! I hope you like the ending.

. . .

Katniss found herself in the same position she seemed to be in every day. She was curled up on a small couch in the room set aside for Peeta's work, watching her husband paint. His skills never ceased to amaze her, and in the short months they had been married, she had found that his paintings had acquired a brighter feeling. But there was still sadness there, scars left on their hearts and in their work that the Games had inflicted.

"What are you going to paint?" she ventured to ask when Peeta moved to a new canvas.

Peeta shrugged. "You tell me what to make."

Katniss thought about it, but she didn't really have any good ideas. She stood up and stepped towards her husband, taking his colorful hands in her own without noticing that they had paint smeared on them. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.

"Paint the woods in spring," she finally decided.

Peeta nodded and went to work. Katniss now saw that her own hands were dirty, but before washing them off, she saw something strange. Peeta's hand pressed in her own had created an odd looking indent on her palm, but the picture caused a memory to flicker to life. She absentmindedly put her finger in a glop of paint and drew a sign on her hand, the same one that Amaranth had left on her several years ago.

"What are you doing, Katniss?" Peeta asked when he looked away from his canvas to switch brushes. The mark appeared very much like a lowercase "t", and Peeta gave his wife a grin. "Working on the alphabet? Don't worry; if you keep practicing, I am sure you'll get it eventually."

Katniss gently elbowed Peeta, but she didn't respond. She had no idea what this sign was supposed to mean, and since Haymitch hadn't known about it the only time she'd brought it up, she had forgotten to learn more. Now she was quite curious, and she wondered how she would be able to find out any information about it.

"Amaranth drew this on my palm when we were in the Cornucopia," Katniss said, meeting Peeta's eyes as emotions threatened to take hold of her. "Do you think it means anything?"

"I don't know," Peeta answered, looking intently at the mark. "I have never seen it before as a sign, but if she deliberately drew it, there must be a reason."

Katniss nodded, still deep in thought. "You know how she said 'find my hope'? I wonder if she literally meant that she had a specific hope." Katniss felt that perhaps she was on to something, and her mind continued its train of thought eagerly. "Since her gesture about the mark was given pretty furtively, maybe it was a part of the riddle. Maybe she couldn't openly disclose information about the source of her hope, so she left a clue."

Peeta put down his brush and focused his whole attention on Katniss' theory. "It's certainly possible. That wasn't the first time signs were used in the Arena, and it wasn't the last, either. Maybe we should see the mayor; he probably has access to a database or something. You want to go after lunch?"

Katniss creased her brow as curiosity ate away at her thoughts. "Let's go now."

. . .

"What sort of sign is it?" asked the man to whom Katniss and Peeta had been directed. He was seated across from his two guests, fingers poised to type into his machine, waiting for an answer. Apparently he could instantly search thousands of archives through his computer, and mayor had given Katniss his full assurance that if what she wanted to know was documented, this man could find it.

"It's like a little 't'," Peeta explained, drawing it on the table top with his pointer finger. "But we're fairly certain it's not just a letter."

"Hold on for a few seconds," the man said, typing onto his keyboard and scanning through various lists. Katniss held her hands together, clenching them in anticipation. What had Amaranth been trying to tell her? What could possibly create hope or such strength?

"This is the top result," the man said, turning the screen toward Katniss and Peeta.

On the display was several pictures of the same sign, but in different forms, none of which Katniss had never seen in her day to day experience before. Many had the sign made into a detailed design that was to be hung on a necklace, a few were decorations for shelves, and one was even atop a tall spire on a building.

"What is it supposed to be?" Katniss inquired.

The man turned the screen back around and clicked a few buttons. "It is a cross, an ancient instrument of an especially torturous death. It is the sign of a group that calls itself the Church."

"The Church?" Peeta asked. "What is it, exactly?"

More clicks and buttons. "It is a following of the teachings of a man named Jesus who lived thousands of years ago. Apparently they have a holy book, the Bible, which they profess was divinely inspired by God."

"God?" Katniss wondered aloud. She didn't know anyone believed that sort of thing, and the only reason she knew about it was that in her school, they had taught about the foolish mystics who followed God. Crushed by the Capitol, of course.

"According to this account, the Church somehow survived the Dark Days, and its members met in secret small groups until the Capitol was overthrown. In the past couple years of freedom, they have been able to openly declare themselves and establish formal church buildings, such as the one pictured here." The man showed them the picture of the cross on the spire. "In fact…" Click, click, click. "…there is one such church only a few miles from here. They meet every Sunday morning with admittance being open to all; they could probably answer your questions much better than the computer can."

"The address, please," Peeta said, reading Katniss' mind and giving her a wink.

The man wrote it down and handed them the slip of paper. "Anything else?"

"No; thank you for your time," Peeta replied, standing up and offering Katniss his arm, which she took. Together they walked out of the city hall and back to their house in Victor's Village, hand in hand, each thinking about what they had heard.

"Why would an archaic form of death be a symbol of hope?" Katniss murmured when they stepped in the front door. "None of this seems to make any sense."

"I guess we'll find out on Sunday," Peeta sighed.

But the thought didn't leave Katniss' mind. She recalled how calm and even joyful Amaranth had been during her last minutes of life. There had been something different about her since the beginning, and everyone had noticed. But in those final moments, Katniss knew that the something different was not just a character trait or odd angle. It was something more, and deep down, Katniss wanted to know it. She wanted true healing of her internal wounds, she wanted the security of peace, and she wanted eternal, joyful, steadfast hope.

"Maybe so," was she said, but in her heart, she knew that she had more certainty than that. Amaranth's hope had to be legitimate. Because as her life proved, the odds don't determine everything, and somehow, there is always hope.

. . .

I would really appreciate a review from everyone since the story is now complete! I hope this tale has been a blessing to you!