-Prologue-

                                    

                                          
Marissa Guinevere Johnson whimpers out as she is tackled to the floor, snow melting from her limited supply of body heat and freezing water seeping into the material of her thick coat. She supposes the Capitol were generous with the winter coats they had allowed the tributes to wear, but many of them have still lost their lives to the chilling winds and bitter weather. Marissa would have died in the snowstorm she was stuck in if she had not received items to keep her warm from her sponsors, but she is still incredibly weak. 
The tribute from District Two that had tackled her to the floor closes his hands around her neck, and she weakly hits her trembling hands against his stomach. He does not relent, his grip only tightening as her face steadily grows red from the lack of oxygen. Marissa is weak, and the lack of heat and food slowly wearing her down, but she has survived too long to lose now. She has spent too long desperately fighting to be crowned Victor of the Sixty-seventh games to give up now. She has too many people depending on her survival to die now. She stops struggling against the District Two tribute, her icy fingers wrapping around the handle of the dagger concealed within her coat pocket, and plunges it into his chest. His hands loosen, and she rips the blade from his wound and pushes him off of her, rasping for the air she had been deprived of. The male tribute, now over his initial shock, attempts to push himself up off of the snow, but Marissa climbs on top of him, her dagger stabbing repeatedly into his chest as she screams out.
He is not the first person she has killed. To survive the games, Marissa had already killed seven of the tributes, including two of the careers, so this is the eighth life taken by the redhead, but it made no difference. Killing people is something Marissa knows she will never get used to. Tears pour down her cheeks as the boy's blood spills onto the snow. The crimson shines in contrast with the white snow, and the sight of it makes Marissa's stomach turn, but she does not stop. She does not stop when the canon signalling his death and her victory echoes through the arena. She does not even register it. She does not stop as the blood from the tribute's wounds soaks both her and the ground. 
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to present the Victor of the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games, Marissa Johnson! I give you - the tribute of District Four!" 
But Marissa's strikes do not stop. She sobs through the pain in her throat, and her hands shake, not with fear but with anger. Marissa is angry with the Capitol, red-blurring her vision. She is angry because of what they have done to her, what the games have done to her. She is angry because they made her a killer, and she let them. Marissa went into the games with the hopes of hiding away and outliving the rest of the tributes, but when that failed, she was forced to kill other children to save her own life. The Capitol did that to her. 
The hovercraft above her is what stops her. She looks down at the mutilated corpse beneath her, and a horrified gasp leaves her lips. Her dagger falls to the floor, and she scrambles away from the body, dragging her hands through the snow to try and rid them of the blood she had spilt. The blood she spilt for the Capitol. Her despair worsens when a pair of Peacekeepers seize her by the upper arm and drag her to her feet, and she thrashes in their hands. She is screaming again, desperately trying to get free from the grasp of the Capitol, but her movements cease when a syringe is forced into her arm. Her limbs grow heavy, and she falls limp, cries leaving her lips as they drag her into the hovercraft and the last thing she sees before her eyes force themselves shut is the bright red blood splattered on the snow in the arena. 
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Marissa awakens with a strangled cry, her eyes wide as they desperately scan her surroundings. Her throat burns as she rasps, trembling hands clawing at the brace around her neck in a desperate attempt to get it off. Her cries grow louder when strong hands encase her wrists, pulling her hands away from the brace. 
She tries to speak, to shout out, but no coherent sound leaves her lips. 
"Marissa, Mari," the calm voice of her mentor, Finnick Odair, shushes her. "It's okay. You're okay now. You're safe, and I've got you."
He gently lowers her hands into her lap, and when he believes she is not going to try and take off the neck brace again, he lets them go. He gently wipes the tears from her cheeks and pushes back the hair that has fallen into her face. 
"Fi- "Marissa winces at the pain shooting through her neck, and Finnick shushes her once more. 
"The doctors said you won't be able to speak for a while," he sends her a sheepish smile. "They've had to delay your first interview."
Marissa cannot respond, but she does not know what she would say to him anyway. She is still recovering from her initial panic, but as her sleepy haze wears off, it finally sinks in. She has won the Hunger Games. She killed eight innocent children. She is a murderer. 
Finnick is coaxing her into his embrace before the first gut-wrenching sob leaves her lips, and he presses his lips to her head, rocking her in his arms. 
And he knows it will not do much to help her, but he softly whispers over and over, "It's okay. You're safe, and nobody can hurt you here."
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