Punishments were never made to be merciful.

The crack of a sturdy whip over the most delicate of flesh, or the bang of a gunshot ringing clear in the air as a bullet pierces through a vital organ, had always elicited fear in her. Seeing someone suffer so harshly at the hands of a monster always made her want to snap from the restraints that was the law and stop the devil from sending the penalized souls to hell. It didn't make anything better to acknowledge that she was living in such a nation where punishment was highly favoured. After all, this was her brutal reality.

Rosella already knew that there was no one left to save her. The rational part within her had finally agreed with her father; the real world was nothing like the stories created from a person's imagination. She thought she could prove her father wrong as she battled her way through this year's Hunger Games, one with such an incredible twist which she promised to lock away forever in her memory. But despite the excitement that this year's Games had brought her, in her heart she had always felt a twinge of fear strum at her core, tug at her heartstrings, paralyzing her if only for a moment. Every twist and turn brought unexpected surprises in the arena, and though some were pleasant, others didn't seem so very nice.

Such was the case as she left the Giver's Annex, escorted by the Giver himself, and stepping foot into what could only be her house.

There was no mistaking the dusty magenta welcome mat at the front door, her boots making light indentations on its familiarly soft plush surface. The brightly lit corridor hinted no trace of grime on its polished wooden floors, the pristine white walls, and the porcelain lamps hanging above her head from the tacky ceiling. A low sigh of wonder escaped Rosella's mouth for a moment, her eyes widening in amazement before they narrowed again in suspicion, as they always had throughout the Games.

This was her house.

But this was not where she had expected to arrive.

"This isn't it."

Rosella forced the words out of her mouth in a whisper, her heart pounding hard against her chest in fury. How could the Gamemakers think about sending her here out of every other realm from the unused books still at their disposal? It only reminded her of how trapped she felt, just like Rapunzel had been for most of her youth, locked up in a tall tower deep in a hidden pocket of the forest. It only gave her a horrible recollection of the place where she had so easily called it her "home" but in reality couldn't think of it more than a prison cell.

With rage surging through her limbs, she flew up the stairs—a set of fourteen creaky wooden steps that would always squeak under her feet—and threw the door of her bedroom open. To her surprise, it was left the same way she remembered it from the day of the reaping. The cream coloured duvet was thrown carelessly over the right side of the bed covered in plain white sheets. A worn out teddy bear made of a soft tan fabric sat innocently atop her pillow, its wide smile stitched with black thread forever oblivious to her current situation. Several stacks of books were placed neatly over the surface of her mahogany desk, the book spines of various hues creating a beautiful rainbow, a wondrous spectacle to any book lover's eye.

A small smile tugged at Rosella's lips, but even that was forced. Amidst all the things that rang with a homely aura, there was no room for her to feel at ease. Being in her room only reminded her of the days she was afraid.

And knowing that the whole nation was watching her only intensified her fear.

What was she supposed to be? She knew she was a tribute, of course, fighting against the other tributes from other districts. But what was she fighting for? The way she saw the Games all her life, the tributes were only the Capitol's pawns, chosen by chance to represent their district, locked up in an arena to fight to the death all for the entertainment that the Capitol needed to provide. Where once it served a purpose to remind the districts of the painful history they had once written, now it was treated like child's play, jovial laughter poking at the districts' pain as they carelessly allowed tributes to fight one another, even murdering one or two themselves if things got slow. And one could easily see that the Capitol was doing it to save their reputation.

There was no denying the hatred that burned in the fires of the districts' cores, especially hers. The Capitol would never listen to anyone's pleas. Instead, they would forcefully smother over their protests with their laughter, forcefully reminding them of the consequences in such an ironic manner it could easily make one cringe. Regardless of what district they came from, no victor would ever be truly free after declaring their hard fought victory, gaining the lifelong reputation for their district. The question of their humanity would forever dangle by a thread over the dark chasm of insanity.

The thought of being victor had once excited her, and at this point all she could think about was returning home, her true home, celebrating with her family and her district. But now that she thought about it, the Capitol wouldn't care if she emerged a victor. Her district might not even care either.

No. Rosella shook her head defiantly. No matter how the rest of the Games would unfold, she would not let the Capitol have the last laugh.

Slowly, she crossed the room and set the empty porcelain bowl, cleared of the ice cream served to her by the Giver, on her desk. She turned towards the teddy bear sitting on her bed, and she reached out to grasp its soft chubby arm, hugging it firmly against her chest. For a moment, she willed herself to let go of her fear, surrender to the depths of comfort.

But just as she was about to take the plunge, somewhere beyond her window there came a sound of whistling gales, the howling slowly growing louder with every passing second.

Rosella backed away instantly, her grip on her teddy bear tightening as she looked out of the window. Instead of seeing the factories from home looming high in the sky, she came face-to-face with a spinning cyclone, a dark twister that fell from the heavens speeding right towards her.

With a wild gasp, she dropped her backpack on the floor and rummaged through it until she found the book that the Giver had given her--a thick brilliant green volume with black letters embossed on the hard cover.

She only had time to glance at the title of the story--The Wizard of Oz--before the house gave a lurch, and she lost her balance, falling face-first onto the hard wooden floor.

"Shit," she cursed again under her breath. With an almighty heave she picked herself up and cupped a hand to her bleeding nose, stumbling uncontrollably across the room as the house rocked violently against the storm, twirling in circles as if doing pirouettes in the sky. As she neared her bed she threw herself onto the mattress and clambered into a sitting position, gazing out the window where she could visibly see the gales whirling about her so fiercely.

The trickle of blood from her nose soon reached her upper lip, and she snatched up her duvet on the bed and pressed it to her nose, trying to staunch its flow. It was the Capitol's fault for all the battle scars running up her arms and gracing her face like warrior paint. They were scars she never had wanted marked on her body. She raised her eyes to the window again, glancing helplessly at the storm swirling about...and that was when she noticed that the winds weren't the only thing flying past the open shutters.

Several volumes of books began to join the fray, their bound pages fluttering helplessly against the gales. Rosella gave a sudden gasp as she ran to the window, releasing her bloodstained duvet, and glanced out of it in desperation as book after book soared straight past her revolving with the storm, the titles undecipherable, the colours muted against the grey of the hurricane. Ballpoint pens and hand drawn pictures also whipped past her at terminal velocity.

Rosella choked back a sob at the sight of everything she once loved being torn apart by the storm's relentless force. It was all the Capitol's doing, she thought, to throw her into this vulnerable position. The wounds visible on her flesh were not enough to prove how capable she was of a fight. She needed mental control, but she felt it to be hopelessly lost in the fear that prevailed her system.

And it became even more so as she saw a vaguely familiar figure glide towards her, his youthful face full of concern.

"Conn!"

At the sight of her district partner she shrieked, thrusting a hand out into the storm to reach him, barely grasping onto his warm solid hand as he neared her. She had never been more relieved by his presence before now, and in that moment he was all she could see.

"Rosella," he murmured sadly, glancing into her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"No. It wasn't your fault," she disagreed, tears brimming in her eyes at the pained look Conn possessed in his dull green eyes, not at all like the bright ones she was accustomed to seeing.

Conn shook his head frantically, and that was when Rosella noticed the scar on his back, the tear in his black t-shirt revealing the thin long line of blood where a weapon must have severed his lifeline. "They got me. They got all of us. But you have to fight. You have to keep going."

"I...I don't understand."

"Rosella, you only made it this far not just because of what you can do. It was the decisions you made that saved your life, and on countless occasions too. I was the foolish one who died at the hands of not only an adversary, but all of Panem. I was the foolish one they killed."

Rosella shook her head in disbelief, placing a hand to her temple as vertigo slowly began to settle into her mind. "Conn, you weren't foolish. You did what you could, and..." She trailed off, her grip on Conn's hand slackening, Conn's grip on her hand tightening in response.

"Rosella. You have to win this," Conn whispered in harsh tones. "You've got so much potential—so much more than the rest of them out there. If a victor was to emerge, I would pay anything to see it come from our district."

"Conn..."

"I'm serious. You've done so much more than I could have in your place. But you can't think about me forever. They've only given me this one chance to talk to you, and I don't have much longer." He reached up and gently tucked a billowing strand of hair behind Rosella's ear. "You have to let me go."

As the words finally reached Rosella, she felt her heart shatter in a million fragments. Conn may not have been close with her, but he was still from home. It was in that moment when she realized how afraid she was to let him go; he had meant so much to her in the most unexpected of ways, and it would be heartless on her part to release it. "I can't."

"You must."

It was already too much for her. So much had been sacrificed while she was in the Capitol, in the arena, and she knew deep inside that there would never be a way to let go of what she once loved. But she knew Conn was right. If she wanted to advance and prevail in the last battle that was yet to come, she would have to let go of everything in her past.

Slowly, she nodded and gave his hand one final squeeze before releasing her grip on him. Her fingers slowly slipped away until she found herself staring after her open palm, her district partner having been blown away into the thicket never to be seen again.

In a crazed frenzy, she dashed to her backpack, whipped out Syne's remaining dagger, and hurled it into the midst of the cyclone, trying to stop the storm in front of her haunting her with all the things she had left behind but to no avail. As the winds continued to howl, so too did the girl from District 3, the cries of fright and fury tearing through her throat scratching it raw. Everything she once was, everything she once had, was long gone, far from her reach.

But as the storm cleared, so did she, her breathing steady as she glared out the window in pure anger. She did not come here to wallow in her past. She may not be willing to fulfill the Capitol's desires, but she had to give the nation the entertainment it needed, all while protecting the things she loved.

I'll paint you wings, and I'll set you free, so you can fly away.