My feet crunch against the cold gravel, my heals digging into my tight shoes.

The air's bitter as it bites my cheeks, the wind making the trees dance. The train pulled in as the sun disappeared, the lights already fading behind the Meadow's extremity. There's practically nothing left in the charred fields, the colors drained of its sweet health leaving the dirt to cultivate the decomposing bodies.

Already workers bear down on the emaciated earth, extracting the propriety of so many souls that only remain memories now and laboring the soils until they become motile.

I trudge along the road, keeping my eyes leveled so that I can avoid witnessing the gruesome ground without colliding on something unforgettable. Or someone.

My direction is undefined but I discover my path leads to Victor Village.

I've scaled the marble steps of my former home, the structure still perfectly intact and the stones consumed with impeccable elegance when I hesitate. My temple rests against the smooth, oak door, my fingers laced into the handle but I cannot bear to press it open.

I take a deep breath, pushing Prim away, biting my lips when they begin to tremble. I know she'll be there; every memory I've avoided for the past month will swarm my existence. The wind picks up and slams into my coat, snaking down my back. I dig my nails into my palm and shove the door open on its hinges that barely make a sound.

I'm leaning against the door as if I were preventing anything to enter. For a while, I remain there, positioned in the entry feeling numb while I listen to my heartbeats race. Staring at the stool where Prim would giggle. Watching the lifeless hearth angled towards the rocking chairs where Haymitch and Peeta would concentrate a game of chess. Fixed on the kitchen where my mother would create concoctions and remedies, a few in which rehabilitated Gale.

It seems everywhere I go, I discover gems that were once mine. Now they've turned to coal, scorched and blackened then gone.

I can't stay here.

I crawl to my feet and start darting around the still house, rummaging though the rooms until I have retrieved and collected what little I have left of them. Thirteen was gracious enough to neatly stack my few belongings on my bed. I quickly shrug on my father's hunting jacket and soak in his scent that has long gone and vanished. My fingers caress the wooden frame that holds him, something my mother would repeatedly do. Then, soundlessly I drop the rest of my things in my hunting bag. It's then do I notice something small that escapes my grasp and tumbles onto the hardwood floor. I fall to my knees, my hands fumbling against the dust crowded floorboards until they settle on it.

His pearl.

I sit, curled up, my lips pressed against what little I have left of Peeta. I don't know how long I've remained there until I startle into reality at a hard rasp at the door.

Fear consumes me, my thoughts racing with possibilities but I manage to drown them out and reach the door. If this is the Peacekeepers prepared to drag me away than I shall go willingly. Perhaps they'll do me the pleasure to end my life quickly and send me into oblivion. But something nags me. You've done nothing wrong, Katniss, I think. They let you go free; they pardoned your assassination with your mental instability.

You would have to be crazy for something like this. Had I slipped my sanity?

Before I can react, the door creaks open and Greasy Sae slips in. Her presence stuns me, yet she manages to lead me to the couch and coax some tea into me while she prepares my dinner.

I have so many questions rattling in my brain but when she gently sets the stew in front of me, my queries vanish.

"You haven't eaten in days," Greasy Sae remarks as I stare longingly at the plate. The angry rumbles in my stomach confirms her theory and she pushes the bowl closer to my fingers. "Eat," she commands.

I don't objet.

When I have scrapped the last drop of the lamp stew, the aroma drained from the air, I allow myself to peek out the window. The lights have faded into dullness, leaving but the wind to rustle the trees now and then. Had it really been two days since I've arrived?

My eyes are drawn back to Greasy Sae, as she scrubs the dishes with luxurious tap water. I notice how she frequently shuts the tap, on and off as if to contain the resource of water though we have an abundance. Such little flaws that distinctly reveal our true identity. We shall always be from the Seam, people like her and I. We have grown too accustom to our procedures to ever let them subside.

The water flow abruptly halts, the dishes neatly stacked on the counter. Greasy Sae meets my gaze and a weak smile pulls at her lips. "You look better," she remarks, dabbing her hands dry with my mother's dishtowel.

I don't answer.

She draws the curtains closed and quietly installs herself besides me, pulling out thin knitting needles and a tattered ball of yarn. The color has drained, the ends frayed and hanging limp. Wordlessly I crawl to my feet and search my mother's belongings until I find a basket. Silently I place it at Greasy Sae's feet and assume my curled up position.

She doesn't say anything. She just delicately handles the yarn until finally I speak. "Take them," I insist. "I don't even knit."

Her eyes come up moist, an emotion I had never seen displayed in the old woman. "Your kindness will never cease to amaze me. You've done so much yet you don't understand."

I shake my head, tired of hearing the same stories in which I am a hero. I killed innocence. Blood stains my hands, a kind that will never vanish.

"My son died," she whispers. "He was always so brave, so kind. But I couldn't have asked for anything more. He died a hero; he fought for what he believed in."

I stare at her astonished. I had always envisioned Greasy Sae motherless, just a lone woman supporting herself. Someone who'd I become.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, gazing blankly at my hands. Another soul appeared on my palms.

"He didn't fight for you," she argued. I look up astonished. "He fought with you. You see you both anticipated a brighter future in which your loved ones would be safe. You didn't spark the rebellion Katniss. You kindled the fire that was already ignited. You made Panem see what was worth fighting for."