"Good morning, Mrs. Holmes!" Reyna called to the seamstress as she walked down the street, who gave her a smile in return.

She walked into her sister's favorite bakery, surrounded by the familiar smell of cookies and the jingle of the bell above the door. Mr. Lewis, the baker, greeted her with a smile. "Will it be the usual, for Elizabeth?"

"As always, Mr. Lewis."

He grinned, the edges of his eyes crinkling from decades of laughter. The older man reached under the counter and pulled out a bag of cookies. They had designs of waves, flowers, hearts and starfish on them, perfectly iced.

The baker's son, Thomas, smiled at Reyna shyly. She bit her lip and smiled back before paying the baker and leaving the shop with the cookies for her sister.

She walked down the streets toward her house, glancing up at the sky. It promised inclement weather. Several people greeted her on the way, and she gave one of the sweets to Jenny, the daughter of the Mayor.

The road to the Victor's Village was lined with flowers that bloomed nearly year-around. The smell of their petals always reminded her of her youngest sister, Delilah, who would toddle around with a crown of the flowers on her head.

Reyna strode into her home in the Victor's Village with a bright smile, though maybe it was a bit duller than it had been before she fought in the 66th Hunger Games. "Ellie! I'm ho-" she broke off, staring at the her sister in horror.

The bag of cookies dropped to the floor. A whimper rose in the back of her throat at the sight of the pale blue sundress hanging off Ellie. She looked still and cold, like a porcelain doll. A perfect crimson smile reached from one side of her throat to the next.

"Ellie? Ellie, wake up. Come on, wake up!" Reyna shouted the last words, tears pricking at her eyes. She didn't bother wiping them away, instead letting them roll down her cheeks. They tasted of salt.

She reached with shaking fingers to close her sister's eyes and smooth her hair down gently. Her feet carried her upstairs against her will, knowing full and well what lay beyond the door to her sister's room. The hinges swung noiselessly, the only sound afterward being the soft thud of the doorknob on the wall and the muffled sobs of the Victor. "Abby..."

Her mother and father were dead as well, and their dog, Ranger. So was baby Del. She couldn't stand it any longer. The stench of death, the loss of her entire family. It was too much.

She ran out of the house and into the now-pouring rain, straight across the street and onto his porch. He opened the door to her frantic knocking and she rushed into his arms, sobbing. It took him by surprise, to say the least. "Easy, Reyna. What's wrong?"

Reyna clutched his shirt tightly, only slightly comforted by the smell of the ocean he always carried with him. "My family–the Capitol, they–"

Recognition dawned in his sea green eyes, and with it came anger. Anger at Snow for killing her family, for her even needing to refuse to sell her body, for Snow asking in the first place. For forcing her to kill other people just to live. He had never hated anyone as much as he hated President Snow in that moment.

His arms went around her, warm and safe. "Elizabeth...Abbigail...Delilah...They're all gone..." She slumped against him, burying her face in his chest. "They're all gone..."

He kissed the top of her head softly, and moved his lips to just next to her ear, murmuring lowly, "Snow will pay for this. I promise you that."

She nodded softly with features now of stone, making it look like she was just burying her face in his shirt. Her hands curled into fists. She would have Snow's head on a platter, make no mistake.

"He will, Finnick. He will."

<~~~~~<

(A/N): Hey everybody! Sorry this started out sad :( This is my first ever fic, so I'm all for feedback. Also, feel free to let me know if I make any mistakes.

P.S. Oh! Also, Annie DOES NOT exist in this fic (it wouldn't really make sense or fit well) and one quick reminder:
I DO NOT OWN ANY CONCEPTS OR CHARACTERS IN THE ORIGINAL HUNGER GAMES, I ONLY OWN MY CHARACTERS AND PLOT.