I have no words to atone for my actions. I am incredibly sorry to keep you still waiting, those of you who have been loyal to Catoniss and this story to this day. I thank you from the bottom of my heart if you have never lost faith in this story. I have more to say at the bottom, but as for now please enjoy what I have kept in the vaults for over a year.

By the way, I'm not letting this story end without giving you guys a final conclusion. I'm not putting it on hiatus, or ending it right here. I don't want to do that to you.

Third Person - Night Before Reaping (Still in Katniss's 1st month of pregnancy)

It wasn't exactly a secret or anything, but not many outsiders knew that the castle of 2 was surrounded by a moat. The castle itself was infamous and usually the first sight one saw when one ventured into the valley between the mountains where District 2 lay. It was a tall structure of ruthless stone and breathtaking sight - amid its gray stone walls (carved to perfection, for 2's specialty was masonry), looming towers, and endless courtyards, it had a mysterious thing about them that drew the attention of the eyes.

The weather was an entirely different world from the rest of the kingdom of 2. Of course, they had those days where the clouds came rolling in, angry and gray and ready for action. But they also had those other days, those days when the sun seemed to smile at them from the blue of the skies. It all depended on the time of the year, and naturally, the time of day.

It was around the time for summer to open its sweet blossom. The normally grey skies looming over District 2 was lightening up to pastel shades of periwinkle - sometimes even a nicer shade of blue. To some unsuspecting foreigners it may have been surprising, but when the flora in the gardens of the castle were blooming, the sight could actually be considered quite pleasing to the eyes.

Depending on the eyes and the soul looking at the world through them, of course.

In the north tower that had stairs out in the open height, the atmosphere was much different. It hung, gray and gloomy like thick smoke curling from redbrick chimneys. It seemed to always be hovering over Katniss's head. And that was only physically.

No matter how bright the outside world may be, there were always dim clouds gathering inside Katniss's tower. Sometimes, there was thunder. Sometimes lightning flashed, and a storm brewed. But no matter what it was, it was always different, always an outcast. It would never measure up to the light outside of it, so it had no choice, no chance.

And nights in 2 were usually cold. Very cold. It didn't matter temperature, time, or season they were in; fireplaces were lit whenever the sun went down. But in some strange occurrence of chance, it was a very warm night before the day of the reaping. Perhaps it was the hand of fate, meddling into otherwise neutral affairs once again.

Katniss laid awake in the dark, not asleep but not exactly awake either. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness some time ago, and most of her blankets had been kicked to the point of dangling (the king knew how cold it got in 2).

To say she was drained was an understatement, but she wasn't physically tired either. It was one of those things where two battles clashed in the middle, like the moment when light battles darkness for dominance in the world of shadow and twilight and it was the turning point.

Katniss couldn't see any turning points for the better. A lump had formed in her throat, and there it was staying with her for perhaps the rest of tonight. Tomorrow was reaping day. Tomorrow would determine not only the fate of 24 kids, but their family and friends and all those who mattered to them. Tomorrow was the turning point for the bad. Tomorrow was reaping day.

Katniss worried over Prim. She worried for Prim. She worried over the moon and back for dear, dear Prim. She had protected Prim to the best of her abilities so far, and so far Little Duck was still alive. She wasn't sure for how long, though. She shook her head as if she were a wild animal in rampage. Imagining this was beyond painful for her, yet she refused to sugarcoat her thoughts at this point. It only made the truth she had to face in the future more painful than ever.

So embedded was Katniss in her thoughts that she did not hear the door opening and the arrival of the king. She wasn't in a position to see him, with her back turned towards the door and her laying on her side.

She startled when she suddenly felt something large and warm caress her belly. "Lying on your side isn't good for the baby."

He drew his hand away as if he'd just touched a blacksmith oven. Still she tensed, glancing up to scowl at him who was the entire reason behind her growing belly. "What do you want?" she instinctively snapped (she was exhausted, strained, and hormonal).

For once, he seemed uncertain of his answer. "I... " he cleared his throat. "I called off the engagement to Clove."

His announcement made two things happen. One: Katniss tensed even more, if possible. Two: Katniss did a double take. It was the last thing she was expecting him to say, and now that he said it she just had to glance back up at him, stare at him. Look into his eyes. Look for answers.

She couldn't find an answer in them. It wasn't that she performed an extremely thorough search. Rather she found almost nothing at all, and she didn't want to look any further. "She won't be queen?"

"I won't be marrying her. Figure out the rest yourself, Firegirl."

She couldn't. She couldn't imagine any reason for him to dump Clove. For a second she considered the possibility of Lavinia (and her tongue), but she decided against it. Cato was angry, but he wouldn't give up something of his own for someone else, would he? Was he really selfless (or provoked) enough that he could give up a possible object of his desire to appease a servant girl?

Most likely not, but he could have been angry enough to do something rash. That Katniss believed him to be perfectly capable. There. She provided a sound explanation. She turned away from him, saying no more. She was in wonder at the sound of her heart beating away in her eardrums. What was this?

Inwardly, the king sighed. Some days it was impossible to get a reaction out of this girl. How deep were her thoughts if she was this secluded from the outside world? How deep could a Seam girl's mind be?

He decided to try again. "Remember when you thought I had poisoned you?"

Katniss's sharp mind remembered, and her scowl enlarged. It wasn't one of her better memories. In fact, just thinking about what happened (and before) gave her the shudders.

She nodded for the sake of nodding. If it meant he would leave sooner...

"I actually slipped a tonic in there. It protects women from getting pregnant."

And just like that, a volcano erupted inside her. Anger spurted forth. How dare he.

How dare he, the very definition of insolence, wickedness, bastard, this evil creature put on earth to torment her, how dare he speak of such things as if they were mere objects of everyday ordinance. How dare he speak of pregnancy as a vile evil that plagued women. How dare he, how dare he speak of protecting women. How dare he! And how dare he let her get pregnant, even though the he had in his hands the tonic all this time!

He licked his chapped lips. They were very dry indeed. "It ran out." Strange, he could've sworn they were moisturized a couple minutes ago.

She let that information sink into her ears, let it embed within her head. Ran out. Ran out. The tonic ran out.

What a foolhardy and pitiful excuse. She still loathed everything. She was so angry, she was shaking.

The small room was silent again. She was seething. He was deep in thought.

He wondered what he was doing. Why he'd bother coming all the way out here to tell her a couple things that wouldn't affect him at all if she wasn't informed. Why he was tolerating her standing up to him. Anyone else a couple months ago, and he'd have their head cleanly chopped off their neck before they could scowl twice.

What kind of effect did she have on him? And why does she have it?

Sometimes, he longed to grab her and choke the fuck out of her. To fuck the fuck out of her, to show her who held the power. Other times, he wanted her to know that things would turn out alright. That whatever they had between them wasn't just a guilty pleasure of his (no matter how much he'd like to think it was). That there was real hope in their future.

No. He did not just think that. He could not think like that. That was intolerable. Absurd, even laughable to be considered. What kind of future do they have? What kind of future would they have, together?

They couldn't. It wouldn't be right. Just to name a few reasons, he was from District 2, someone born of high esteem and regal. She was a common wench from District 12, of all places. They are supposed to be enemies. Their kingdoms are each disgusted by the other. And he was royalty, a king. The youngest king in a century, he'd been told. And she was a commoner, and kings and commoners aren't supposed to mix. She's supposed to be a prisoner, for God's sake.

He wanted to say something. It wasn't that the silence was awkward. Rather, it was cold, colder than the dead of the nights here in 2. He didn't need the room to be as cold as the outside.

"Lavinia is like a sister to me," he said. It was very strange hearing his voice interrupt the ring of silence. Not just hearing it, but really listening to it.

That captured Katniss's attention. She looked at him weirdly, as if she had seen him before but had never by any means really looked at him, and now was deciding whether he was worthy of her attention or not.

She wondered if he had any siblings at all, real siblings. Where was his family? He's a monster. He probably "got rid" of them all...just like he will with me...and then Lavinia...no, he just said Lavinia is like a sister to him.

But it's pointless, she hastily decided. He didn't love Lavinia the same way she loved Prim. He probably didn't even know what love was. He didn't love anybody or anything (Did he?). But strangely enough she found that the irrational parts of her anger had all faded away, just like that.

Even stranger, she still couldn't find a boiling cauldron of hate bubbling inside her when she looked at him. So instead the tables turned and the draughts were aimed at herself.

Cato decided not to take Katniss's silence to heart. He reeled back, unsure what to make of himself. He shouldn't care so much about her reaction. It didn't matter a bit to him. For some odd reason though, he wanted her to stop scowling. He rather liked her smiling. And he'd seen her smile before, very rarely, but she did once or twice.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He needed to get out of there.

He was halfway out the door when Katniss abruptly sat up and whispered his name.

"Cato."

His hand stopped before it touched the knob. He turned around, incredulity shrouding his every feature.

"Prim. Will she - the reaping tomorrow - is she - ? - " Katniss was furious at herself. She wasn't on planning being at a loss for words when he turned around. Hell, she thought she had a speech in mind.

He crossed the room in several large, silent steps, and then seated himself on the bed. She made room for him out of habit, but to her surprise he made no movements to come any closer to her.

She scrunched her face into one of the fine down pillows, feeling smaller than ever. Still he made no move to lunge at her. One of his large hands was on her face, stroking her cheek, tucking a strand of dark behind her ear. She watched him warily, wondering what sinister motive was brewing in that large head of his.

"Your sister is safe from the reaping."

There was no explanation, no back up to his straightforward statement. She looked at him with wide eyes, skeptical on the words to fall from his lips. She had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth.

"You have my word."

This gave her quite the surprise. In Panem, not just Districts 2 or 12, it was a common tradition that when kings declared you have their word, you usually did.

Katniss felt an unusual large breath of relief sink into her chest. He hadn't lie to her about Prim before. She dared not hope for too much, but since he hadn't let her down about Prim before when he so clearly could have and he commanded a great portion of power... That was what she needed to hear as of this moment. That was all she needed for now.

He had gotten up again, prepared for the long walk back to his chambers when he felt a small hand on his wrist. Startled, he whipped around to glance at her.

And then she does the last thing he thought she would ever do. "You have to protect them," she murmured, gesturing at her stomach. It was the most vulnerable and helpless voice he had ever heard in his life. He almost lost himself right then and there after hearing the world of emotions in his voice. Almost.

His nod was solemn as he looked into her eyes. So much had changed in them. "You're carrying a part of my family now," he said in a very low, barely there whisper, his irises crystal and striking in the dark, "Of course I will."

Third Person- Morning of the Reaping

All through the castle, things were abuzz.

In the kitchen, Peeta was kneading dough. There would be a mini feast after the reaping, in honor of it. But Peeta didn't find anything to be honored about. In fact, he was quite disgusted, both by it and by the people he was currently serving. Capitol geezers, traitors, and tyrants! He would never, ever bake for them in a million years.

But she was the exception. She had been the exception, and she always will be the exception. She was the reason for breads often being burnt and for breads rising twice in size. She was the reason for (failed) experiments of cheese and orange and hunter's meat bread. It wasn't as if she'd eat them, but he had been happy to make them for her while thinking of her.

He wouldn't deny her anything, would do anything for her. Even bake for tyrants and traitors. Right now he was probably on his twelfth dozen tray of muffins. But he wasn't keeping track. He was thinking of her. He didn't know how or why, but somehow he'd convinced himself she was still alive. That she'd end up his someday, and they'd have two children together in their home by a lush green meadow, where no evils roamed and light always prevailed over darkness. He knew these to be fantasies, and yet that was what made them so alluring. They were impossible, so he hoped against all hope they would come true.

"What are you thinking about, dear?" asked a rather jolly voice. The plump Donna had taken up the little empty space next to his cutting board with one of her own. Grabbing a nearby bowl, she dumped a thick lump of dough onto her board and began kneading it as she would pound a hunk of frozen meat. Her whacks rang out against Peeta's silent kneading.

He smiled, though a slight wrinkle had appeared in the area between his thick brows. "Not much ma'am, just bits and pieces of the future..."

"Ah, but why waste precious moments on things that are going to happen anyhow?" Donna let out a romantic sigh, which didn't precisely fit with the dough lump she had just slapped over so she could work on the other side. "Fate has it all decided, dearie."

Dearie? The wrinkle between Peeta's brows grew. "Maybe some things were meant to be in the first place."

"Oh, that's nice and all, dearie," sang Donna, turning dough over and over and tugging and yanking on bits and pinching it, "But destiny ain't gonna turn itself into bread for you. What's to come will be. Work comes first, and then play. If you don't work, there ain't gonna be bread on the table. It's like I always say - "

Peeta couldn't resist interrupting, "I don't mean to interrupt you, ma'am, but I wasn't talking about work. I was talking about... " he trailed off and blushed, despite himself.

But what he didn't know (or probably he had had other things on his mind when she'd told him) was that Donna was a mom as well as a grandmother. "Oh, you mean that kind of fate. I gotcha," she said, winking at him. She scattered more flour on the bulging dough. "Well Peeta I can tell you one thing. If you like a gal and you've got hands that can knead and that smile on your face, you're all set to go." She winked at him, and Peeta flushed harder.

He was furious at himself when he suddenly couldn't remember why he was making this bread. Five seconds later he remembered, and the conversation he'd just had with Donna vanished from his mind entirely. But Katniss did not.

In the dungeons, anxiety and restlessness shifted through the air. Rumors rang, whispers of the upcoming in voices of dread and excitement and fear. Somehow the news had even reached down here. Somehow everyone knew of the Reaping.

It wasn't as if it was sent and delivered by some messenger girl or boy. Rather, it hung about the air, hovered in it, weighed in it, and snaked throughout the thin atmosphere of the cold and stony room.

The prisoners, huddled together for warmth amongst their blankets and little picnics of food (for the survivors are better off now than when they first were captured, thanks to the words of a very certain someone), all trained their eyes on something directly in front of them. It didn't matter what, or who it was. Their silence spoke for itself, sending chills down the guards' backs.

Sometimes, though, sometimes just one or two would start whispering and then more and more would start whispering, and that'd set off a train reaction. Pretty soon the place would be abuzz, and the guards would look at each other as they tried not to appear as if they were listening in to the conversations.

Though they had been there for a long time, each and every one of the prisoners knew about the Reaping. And what it would be deciding.

Some of them were afraid. But most of them were angry and just plain exhausted - exhausted of the way they were being treated because of their origin, because of their births. A small number of them, quite a few Merchants who couldn't stand living days this way any longer, gave in to the temptation of an easier, better life. They had traded in whatever information they know of, beckoned the guards over so they could whisper in their ears - and get their freedom in return. They swore their loyalty to the king of 2, swore to cut all ties and loyalties with 12 or other districts, and were set free to live amongst the common citizens of 2.

But they hadn't expected to be shunned by most of the villagers. Most of the District 2 citizens seemed to be extremely loyal to their kingdom and often eyed the old 12 citizens with untrusting stares and glares. Some simply upturned their noses at the very sight of them, and more often than not they refused the 12 citizens barters and jobs. To make matters worse, Peacekeepers stormed into the new "citizens" of 2s' homes very often and searched their stuff with uncanny wary.

The old Merchants of 12 were not used to being treated this way, as they were often the ones giving this kind of treatment to the Seam. District 2 citizens didn't prejudice between Merchant and Seam folk, however. They treated both sides with the same contempt, same amount of disgust.

Treachery came with a price.

"Gale, you should eat something," Mrs. Everdeen pleaded for the twenty-fifth time. Prim looked on concernedly, at her mother and at her sister's friend. A small dining table and chairs had been placed into the room, while a fireplace sat adjacent and an old couch had been lugged into the corner. It wasn't much compared to the luxuries of the castle, but Prim had been thrilled when the guards had dragged the furniture in with the most sour looks on their faces.

Gale grunted, still hunchbacked from days spent in the cell. Since his days out, however, he'd gained back a few measly pounds. He wasn't starving from malnutrition. His hair wasn't feeling crawling of things or itchy to the death. Still...

"I won't eat anything that bastard sends my way," he snarled, turning up his nose with arms crossed. Mrs. Everdeen bit her lip. This boy, no, this man, reminded her so much of Katniss sometimes. Speaking of which...

"Katniss would want you to eat it," she whispered tentatively. Suddenly, cold, grey eyes landed upon her. She sniffled, fighting to hold back her tears. It wouldn't do to cry in front of ones whom needed her the most. She had to be strong. Once, she could've been strong for her own daughter.

"Katniss would want the best for you," chimed in Prim. Gale's glare turned upon the sweet, youthful face, flushed with shadows of pink. "Katniss always wanted you to have the best," she continued, determined to keep her eyes away from her mother in this moment, "She cares so much about you. She would never want to see anything or anybody hurt you."

The great beast within the brink of biting seemed to be subdued by Prim's tender words. Silently, Gale picked up his fork and knife - the first of utensils he's had in months - and speared a tender chunk of roast lamb. Then he brought it to his mouth, and another, and another.

Both Mrs. Everdeen and Prim breathed an inner sigh of relief. Gale wouldn't be having another temper tantrum, least not today. How glad they were, not just for themselves but also for him!

Prim was delighted when he suddenly turned his attention to telling her stories of his and Katniss's hunting adventures. She tried to overcome her sad musings for her sister, to turn her full attention span to his stories. It seemed like Gale was having the best time he'd had in months telling the stories (and perhaps he could forget about that creepy Clove girl she'd overheard Gale speaking to Mother about).

To a pair of sharp ears, it would seem that Mrs. Everdeen whispered under her breath, "That's my girl." And Gale did indeed have a lot of stories where Katniss saved the day. They enlightened Prim and warmed Mrs. Everdeen's insides.

Then their peacefulness was interrupted by the banging open of doors, followed by the demand of a Peacekeeper for Gale to go with them "immediately".

In Katniss's tower, she had a visitor. (And this visitor had brought a small basket of morsels, which automatically made them more welcome.) The hearth crackled merrily, far more cheerful than the inhabitant and her visitor of the room. The unusual light of the morning sun streamed in, bathing the room in almost a honeying glow.

"You understand what I have instructed you to do?" he greeted her good morning, ignoring her bleary-eyed glare (and trying to ignore the urge to run his fingers through her messy hair).

She turned to glower fully at him, complete with saggy purple bags underneath the eyes, an open-and-closing mouth of gaping yawns, and her rumpled, shaggy brush.

"Someone didn't sleep well." He said in a rather teasing, sing-songy tone as he dropped off a basket of fresh rolls. She picked up a roll and nearly stuffed one into her mouth, while he looked on in amusement. "Still the hungry Seam urchin, I see."

His words sparked a sharp morning anger into her. "I am not a hungry Seam urchin," she said, bits of roll falling out of her mouth. She hastily stuffed them back in, wiping some drool off the corner of her lips. "I'm hungry and I'm a pregnant human being, you hussy motherfucker."

"What a beautiful mouth," he said, "I've taught you well." The killer looks she sent his way along with her squirrel cheeks proved to be rather amusing.

"Why were you engaged to Clove?" she said thickly, her eyes like two stones standing and looking up to him.

His face hardened. So did his eyes. There was a wisp of something dark and unfathomable in their depths, in the cold, icy orbs. "I cut all ties with her."

But he must have had a reason, Katniss mused.

His eyes narrowed, and he glanced at the world outside. "Eat your meal."

She glanced up from a handful of margarine and bread, spread prettily with rich plum jam. "What?"

"Eat," he repeated, not taking his eyes off the window, "You're pregnant. You need your strength."

But that wasn't the only thing Katniss needed.

Katniss First Person Pov (Still the Morning)

The sun was super bright, as if someone had poured a stream of yellow light into the air and it'd turned into a dense, glowing fog. I howled as the door was thrown open once again and more light poured into my room.

"Tardiness is not tolerated in the world of royalty," came the drawling and indeed rather sarcastic voice of I-knew-who.

I turned over and simply threw my nearest pillow at him, which I knew he would be able to dodge easily. And he did.

"Laziness accounts for inaccurate aim. Perhaps you require some guidance." I knew that tone of his well; it meant he was coming into the room. Immediately, I bolted up and seized the covers over my chest. He stopped halfway and simply stood smirking at me. Insatiable bastard.

"Have you always been so attached to your bed? Or is it because of a mere lingering of presence?" He was drawing open the curtains to the inoperable balcony. As he did so, I found my eyes inadvertently eyeing his back, of which today he covered with a royal red cape. It suits him, I thought, my eyes trailing up to the crown of his neck and then the crown of his hair.

A second later my hand goes to pinch my thigh again, and I bit my lip to avoid the squeal of pain. The king did not notice (fortunately for me) and came over to sit by me on the bed.

I don't know whether it was the late morning sun or whatever, but I stood still, almost curiously as Cato does only want I can describe to be inspecting me. And I allowed it.

For a couple seconds, anyway. Then he blinked and the spell was broken and I raised my eyebrow and snapped, "Anything I can do to help with the inspection?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I clamped them shut. Immediately I regretted my little burst, and I stole a glance out the window. The rare blue sky seemed too nice and the sun too bright for me to squirm and tangle in the bed right now.

I blushed, trying to push what sinful thoughts roamed my mind out. Cato was still here but he wasn't inspecting me anymore, wasn't looking at anything. His eyes seemed to be gazing over me, gazing at the space that is a reality between wall and abstractness. I glanced behind me and see nothing.

"Do you understand what you are to do?"

His voice made me jump; I was briefly lost in my thoughts. I turned back to him and snapped, "Not that I was aware of."

"Last night I gave you the instructions. Were you not listening?"

Imuliant bastard. "I was rather busy last night you know, with my mouth and my hands," I replied nastily, throwing the sheets and blankets off me so that I sat naked in front of him. I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew that I was beyond shame so that any level of it could not get to me.

If I'd been expecting him to pounce on me and tell me to forget everything, I would have been sorely disappointed.

Shame could still come to me, in the form of a gigantic ocean wave. It could splash over me, and I could struggle and drown in its colorless fathom.

He did not look my way, but simply ran his lips over with his tongue. A small lump began to form in my throat, though I had no idea why.

"You are to put on the most modest and plain dress and cloak that has been provided for you," he said, "And you are to join me down in the Dining Hall for a morning meal." Ignoring the drop of my jaw, he continued, "You will look and speak to no one. You are to keep your eyes down, mouth shut, and head bowed."

"I see you have been reading the book How to Teach a Prisoner to Obey with your Natural Charms."

Pretending that he didn't hear my cutting remark, he added,"If, and let me make this very clear to you, if you make an attempt to escape, run, betray, hide, or somehow leave my presence, I will personally hunt you and your family down, and none of you will be able to escape my wrath." His tone had became much softer, but no less deadlier.

My hands immediately flew to my belly. I must cover it. I must protect it. Must...

I was determined to maintain my part of eye contact, to ensure that I would not let him win his little triumph of what he obviously thought to be an intimidating stare down. After a couple of seconds, he walked to the door, still not breaking eye contact. "You will be silent during the reaping."

"The what?!" I exclaimed incredulously, the lumpy feeling having moved into my stomach.

"The reaping." He crossed his arms. "Get dressed."

I wanted to spit in his face again. But I knew that nothing good could out of it.

Katniss First Person Pov Continued

My skin weirdly begun to sizzle when the first ray of bright sunlight hit my skin. It was months since I'd last been exposed to the sun. And my first thought was, if this is what District 2 has been missing, they sure ain't missing much.

My insides were also sizzling - scathing, or so I should say. I am trembling with rage in every step I take. And in every step I take Cato takes a step with me. I could not escape, for our hands were joined in the tightest of grasps (and I didn't miss this opportunity to dig my nails as hard as I could into his skin). Our entwined hands drew the attention of many pairs of eyes, but I kept my mine down as he had instructed me to do so.

I was not doing it for him. I was doing this for me and my family. I did not want to face the consequences of anybody - especially him, especially his wrath. So I kept quiet and shut as he'd instructed me so. The sooner and quieter this was over, the better.

Nobody could see who I was. My head and eyes and face was completely covered by the black cloak I was made to wear - although I cannot harbor any complaints. My identity was safe - there was no personal humiliation, and then the cloak itself felt like a cozy river of flowing velvet. Soft and warm, and being long enough so it hid me without leaving me a trail of fabric to trip behind me. But what I loved most about it was that it could also hide my belly - which I'm afraid had already begun to swell, though I'm afraid I might be insane. Or getting near.

I hadn't thought I would be present during the reaping. Of course we were still in 2, and still inside one of the castle's courtyards, but still never would I have dreamed to be seeing fresh air so soon again. In other words, I was shocked he would let me step foot outside of the tower, much less the castle.

And the sun was bright today, and I might have been getting burnt and I didn't give a crap.

A large platform of wood had been set up in the middle of the courtyard. It was a nice little thing too, with simple chairs surrounding two tall thrones (of course) and the center stage was cleared and in waiting for excitement.

Excitement hung throughout the air, thick as a mist.

Disgust bubbled within me. The people were sending two of their children, they very own, to their untimely deaths and the kingdom had the audacity to be excited about it? Heartless. Just like him. They even had a banner of congratulations and two chairs of 'honor'.

My hand was latched in his - "Unfortunately, it's inevitable", he'd told me - and my other hand was on his arm. We descended the steps of the platform in a slow, important manner, but all I felt at the moment was the sun hot on my skin. Hot like his lips, full of sin and wrath and everything tainted in this world, yet the flowers of fate had not tormented me enough.

As I looked down into the people that were not my own, I am forced to remember that it was I who exchanged my purity, my innocence not for grunts and hot pleasure and a small one growing in my belly, but for the sake of whatever peace I could offer to my sister. She is family, she is number first and foremost.

Yet it seems as if all my efforts have been naught for anything. In the end, the puppeteer masters the whole charade. It is a game not of fairness and fortune, but a game for the sake of sick amusement for sick excuses for human beings.

At the end of the day, it wasn't even about pleasure. It was about power, and power alone.

Third Person Pov

Cato noticed Katniss absentmindedly stroking her belly. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and clasped her hand tighter than it was already held. One glance into the crowd, and he knew his people weren't really his.

The palace was made of stone, solid but not alive, tangible but not flesh and skin and vulnerable and needy. All he had was Katniss, and perhaps a family on the way. And he was king, and he had power, but right now, he felt as if he had something warmer, something a little more secure.

And it unsettled him and frightened him, and it gave him a feeling no other had before.

The Reaping had ended with two tributes chosen. Both prisoners. One was a little girl, not Prim, but still a little girl who very much reminded Katniss of Prim. The other was Rory Hawthorne.

Later that night, Cato took Katniss's hand and brushed his lips along the back of her knuckles. "When...our child is born, he or she shall be sent to another kingdom, for their own good."

Katniss breathed heavily, ready to hurl the world at him. Her eyes as wide as dinner plates, she was so angry and so ferocious and it was so utterly unbelievable and despicable-

SLAP!

"It will be OUR CHILD!"

It echoed throughout the empty throne room, otherwise for the two of them. But the king didn't flinch, didn't even bat an eye. He didn't look at her as he spoke. "This is the way it has to be. Our child will not be safe in this kingdom..." His eyes flitted up, meeting hers dead on the spot.

They were very silver and livid and full of fire; an inferno within an inferno.

"You know I speak the inevitable. Our child deserves...more worthy parents than you and I."

And oh, how the birds without wings have fallen, and the condemned wept of despair.

That was what I had written for this chapter before I stopped working on it. So perhaps it seems unfinished, missing in pieces. At first, I was determined to come back and write the 50 chapter story I originally intended, but I can tell you now it will for sure be a much shorter story than I originally anticipated.

It was a difficult period of transition for me, and looking back on it made me realize how young I was, and how unprepared I was. I decided to write this story at the time because the Hunger Games fandom was blossoming with prosperity, I was infatuated with Catoniss and the fandom alike. Never did I realize how little of us there are left until the movies came out one by one, and Cato just sort of...faded.

But I always have a special place in my heart for Catoniss. It is my one OTP of the Hunger Games fandom as well as my first, and through it I have gotten to meet (over Internet) some very fantastic people who share the same passion for it as myself.

I'm sure it's no secret that this story is beyond dark, and holds some very controversial messages as well. I never meant to offend anyone, ever. This story, besides my love for Catoniss, came to be the product of a much-needed creative outlet for all the negativity and all the dark feelings I had inside my being at the time.

For a person such as myself, it is difficult to express what each and every single feedback meant to me. Every review gave me motivation, kept me going, made me feel on top of the world. For that I will never be able to properly thank you or give you my never-ending gratitude. You deserve so much more, maybe at a least a writer who won't give up on her readers.

And I haven't. All this time, I have never forgotten. Through the messiness that is real life, through growing older and gaining more knowledge I have never once let this slip from the back of my mind. I love this story, it holds a very personal meaning to me and because it was way more well-received than I thought, I will continue with it. It won't be beautiful or articulate or masterpieces or hard work and it might happen so fast, but I will finish the story for you guys. You are now my sole motivation, but in this journey we have come so far, and we shall finish it together. The shores are awaiting, the stars twinkle bright.

It just will be very much shorter than the original idea. If you want to know my original idea, just pm or demand in a review and I shall tell you everything in the next chapter. I'm not going to lie, the next chapter will probably be the second to last one.

It truly would be magical if Cato were to make Katniss queen and love her forever and ever right? Unfortunately, the generations of royalty in 2 prefer that the monarchies marry women who were born in the kingdom and of good social rank as well, higher the better. Katniss is neither, and Cato was taught to be rather traditional (so it would seem like he respects the customs of his kingdom) during his upbringing. Then again, the course of love never did run smooth. I don't know if Katniss is set in the mindset for love as of right now, though. We simply shall have to see.

Like most human beings, I've picked up new interests along this way, and I am excited to announce I will begin writing stories for a couple of new fandoms you guys might be in. Now these will mostly be way shorter, but these are forever and I will finish those without a doubt. About a year ago some of my close friends introduced me to the world of anime, and I have grown to be infatuated with a couple of fandoms. If you are interested, most of these have exquisite, tranquil storylines and some are actually not too different from the Hunger Games in themes. That's why I urge you to give at least one of the shows a chance, the art, action, and music can be fascinating. I have seen Sword Art Online, Karneval, Hetalia, Black Butler, Free! Eternal Summer, Death Note, and of course the unforgettable Attack on Titan.

I will for sure 100% be writing fanfiction for the fandoms of Hetalia and Attack on Titan (my favorites). Free! and Black Butler ideas will be taken into consideration, but I already have so many plans for Hetalia and Attack on Titan (which strangely enough reminds me quite a bit of the Hunger Games). If you are interested, please just pm me and I will let you know my new account name, made specifically for a fresh start.

I look forward to seeing the last installment of the Hunger Games movies, hearing from any of you, and of course updating the next chapter. While of course I don't want to make promises I can't keep, the next installment I would like to be done here before September.

Again, thank you all, so much.