The night was jet-black, and Finnick was sure it never would end. The stars twinkled in the distance with the sheen that can only be achieved with real starlight. The sky is real.

Finnick is a boy who spends quite amount of time staring at the stars in the evenings, and this evening is not spectacular, but the sky is real. The arena sky should never be real, he knows.

The trident fell that night, glossy gold and silver, easily a hundred sponsors' worth of money.

He buries his knife in the sand and sets onwards, trident in hand.

For Onyx/Amanda, a snowball. Hope you like weird Finnickiness.