Hi everyone! Thanks for coming back. I'm glad you were intrigued enough by the preview to continue. I don't think there's enough Katniss-Cato fanfiction out there, so I decided to write my own. THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed! It really does mean a lot to me that you're enjoying this as much as I am.

I've never been an emotional person. I don't know if I am the way I am because of my circumstances or if I was just born this way. I don't think that an infant

could be born cold, but my mother told me that I never cried, not even at my birth. She told me that I didn't cry when I was 6 and my father came home with

streaks down his coal-blackened cheeks, cradling his dead brother's mining helmet in his hands. I don't remember ever crying—not at skinned knees or nightmares

or the hunger pangs that tugged persistently at my belly. Prim never cried either, but it was obvious that she felt. She instinctively knew how to show her love and

sadness and fear. There was always a little voice in the back of my head reminding me of our differences. District 12 is perpetually cold and crowded with soot-grey

buildings, giving the appearance of a crooked smile. Whenever I crossed through the fence into the surrounding forest, I was reminded that Prim was the forest:

vibrant, thriving, full of life—but next to her, I was only District 12. When she was born and I looked into her already-clever blue eyes for the first time, I knew that

I was born to protect her.

From the moment I volunteered to take my sister's place as tribute, I felt nothing. When I heard Effie Trinket call her name, I felt a rush of terror, of panic, of

overwhelming despair. My world stopped spinning and, for me, those few seconds stretched to hours. My body stood rigid while my mind took flight faster than a

mockingjay. A flurry of images flitted before my eyes: my mother braiding Prim's hair, Prim sitting on our bed with her feet tucked neatly underneath her and

Buttercup curled up purring on her lap, Lady running excitedly beside the house to meet Prim, Prim reading and silently mouthing the words, Prim sleeping nestled

up next to me, Prim, Prim, Prim.

The decision to take Prim's place was the easiest choice I've ever made. I knew only a few things for certain. Prim could not be the District 12 tribute. I knew she

could take care of our mother in a way that I never could. She hated hunting, but she was nearly as good as I was, and she knew where I hid my bow. Buttercup

would surely run away without her, and our house would become overrun with the rodents that infested every other wall and cranny in District 12. Prim could

provide for our mother just as well as I could, if not better, but she couldn't survive losing Prim. When our father died, our mother retreated into herself, becoming

a sad husk of her former self. She couldn't bring herself to cook or clean or look after Prim—let alone herself—and I spent years trying to coax her from an ember

back to a blaze. She only began improving when Prim began thriving. Just being around Prim brought shine back to her eyes. She started getting out of bed on her

own and taking care of us again, and the week before the Reaping, I heard her humming for the first time since his death. I knew that my mother loved me, but

she was reminded of my father whenever she looked into my eyes that mirrored his own. Without Prim, she would lose any remaining desire to live. Without Prim,

she would retreat further into herself than she had before, and she would likely wither away and die within a month of the Games. Without Prim, I wouldn't have a

mother. Without Prim, I myself wouldn't have a reason to go on.

When I stepped forward to volunteer, I was afraid the words wouldn't come out. I thought my mouth would echo the state of my mind, and that a wordless roar

of anguish would escape my mouth instead. However, when I opened my mouth, I spoke more clearly and more surely than I've ever done before. Although the

town square of District 12 is small by the Capitol's standards, the silence of those around us seemed to amplify my words, bouncing them off of the dusty coal-grey

walls towering around us on all sides.

I volunteer.

I don't remember much of what came after that. I didn't feel anything anymore. Once I knew that Prim would be safe, I felt a wave of relief, and then nothing. I

remember my fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark, walking up the stairs on trembling legs to join me on stage. I remember grasping Prim's hands as tears poured down

her ghostly pale cheeks and promising her that I would return. After that, not much. I have vague memories of berating Haymitch and eating liberal amounts of

elaborate dishes that I'd never even heard of. I spent most of my time watching the lush forest around District 12 blur into the hills and prairies of the other

districts. I spoke to Peeta several times, but I didn't much care what he had to say. The boy with the bread may have saved my life once, but the well-being of Prim

and my mother took precedence over his. I didn't want to kill him in the arena, but I had no intentions of sacrificing my chances to take care of him.

Those few days on the train faded into one anther. I was too focused on winning to take in my surroundings, let alone the people around me. When we first

arrived in the Capitol, it wasn't much different. Peeta stood by the windows, waving like an idiot at the Capitol citizens as we went by. Even Haymitch, who had

seen the Capitol's colossal cityscape every year since he was selected in the Reaping, and Effie, who spent most of her days roaming its streets as she pleased, were

both awestruck as our train wove through the busy streets. Although I had vowed to keep everything but Prim out of my mind, I couldn't help but press my face

close to see if the tops of the buildings truly scraped the clouds. One block of the Capitol held more vibrancy and color than everything I'd seen in my 18 years put

together. The cheers of its citizens were nearly deafening, and I struggled to understand their excitement. As we traveled through the crowd and further into the

Capitol, I hated them more and more, and seeing their faces made me feel overwhelmingly nauseous. I was relieved when we finally passed a blockade and entered

what I would later learn was the Tribute Training Complex.

Our train came to a slow, silent stop in an open square. I tried to be reserved, but I couldn't hold back my desire to stretch my legs, and I nearly flew out of the

train door. The sun had almost set, and it was hanging so low in the sky that I could barely see its crown peeking over the top of the lowest building in the complex.

In spite of the growing darkness slipping in tendrils through the skyline, the glow of the streetlights filled the square and overflowed to the roofs and adjoining

streets, so that from where I stood, it was bright enough to pass for full day.

I'd barely had a few moments to take in my surroundings before the quiet whine of approaching trains urged me to come to my senses. I stepped off of the

tracks and assumed what I hoped was a confident, threatening stance. Someone nudged my shoulder, and I was surprised to see Peeta, Haymitch, and Effie

standing beside me. In my eagerness to disembark from the train, I'd forgotten them and what I was there to do. Peeta gave me a small smile, which I didn't

return. I shrugged silently and returned my attention to the two trains that were almost upon us. They stopped just in front of us, one pulled slightly ahead of the

other, both letting off billowing clouds of steam.

From the first train emerged two tributes, side-by-side. The girl was small and olive-skinned, with pitch-black hair that was piled on top of her head in a pattern of

elaborate braids and knots. Her companion was almost identical: his hair and skin were the same color as hers, he had the same freckles scattered across the same

small nose, and he even wore the same sleek, black full-body jumpsuit. Without once looking in our direction, they floated down the steps of their train and,

without direction, proceeded to a door on the opposite end of the square. Peeta nudged me again and whispered too loudly in my ear: "Careers?" Without turning

my eyes from the other train, I nodded, hoping that the other two tributes would disembark soon and that he would leave me to assess my competition in peace.

As if on cue, the door to the other train slammed open. In the doorway stood the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. Her long blonde hair framed her delicate face

and flowed freely down to her waist—paired with skin that was so pale that it almost seemed to glow, she looked like an angel. Her ice-blue gaze came to rest on

Peeta, and she smiled down at him. He beamed back at her, and his own eyes seemed to glaze over, not noticing that her smile lacked any emotion and seemed to

be more of a snarl than a show of friendliness. He watched her as she stepped out of the train and glided slowly in the direction of the door, but I remained focused

on the train and my fifth opponent.

When he moved to exit the train, his body filled the entire doorway. His height was impressive on its own, but his thin jacket did little to hide his rippling muscles,

and I knew instantly that I didn't have a chance against him. He crouched slightly as he exited the train, and I almost wanted to flee, but I stood my ground as he

surveyed his surroundings. After what seemed like hours, his eyes locked on mine, and though I wanted to rip my gaze away away from his, I couldn't bear to. His

eyes were the clearest blue I'd ever seen. I feared him, but looking into his eyes made me feel like I was once again looking up at the familiar sky over District 12.

His eyes bored into mine, and though my body felt frozen to the fingertips, my heart broke free and hammered against my chest like a rabbit trapped in a cage. It

beat so hard that I could almost feel the frost that had locked my emotions into place ever since I heard Prim's name at the Reaping begin to crack.

And I started to feel again.

Thank you again for coming back! Please review, I'd love to know what you think (constructive criticism is definitely welcome—ps, yes there is a lot of repetition. It's on purpose! Connotative syntax is my specialty).

If you have any lines or small ideas you'd like to see me work into future chapters, send them to me and I'll see what I can do!

I've obviously taken a lot of artistic liberty, so just bear with me :-)

I don't know when the next update will be posted. I'm very busy with college right now, but I'll be writing whenever I get a spare minute.

Thanks!

Love, heavenface

FKA Lollypoxx