The News || Johanna and Blight
Normally, the sun would've woken him up. Would've pushed against closed eyelids until he couldn't ignore it any longer, and the day would be off to its slow start.
Today was different. Blight could never sleep on the eve of any announcement from the Capitol. Even interviews kept him up half the night--not doing anything productive, just shaving away at one of the logs designated for firewood until it was chips. A light scratching was the only sound in the room, little wood slivers curling away from the edge of a hunting knife, and every once and a while, the soft pat as they fell to the floor.
Yet, though he was up through the night, Blight managed to shake himself awake, still in the chair, still in yesterday's flannels, at dawn. Except to get up for a cup of coffee, he slipped back into the rhythm.
The speed increased, strokes almost blending together, as the announcement drew closer. A Quarter Quell. Different rules. What would it mean for the people of 7? What if someone he knew was reaped? What if he had to mentor someone who didn't even have a chance? A small part of him should have known to save some of those worries for the date of the reaping, but once Blight started worrying, well, it was a slippery slope.
Scrape. Scrape. Sc--
He froze. It couldn't be. It couldn't.
The knife dropped to the ground, forgotten, and Blight felt his hands curl and re-curl around nothing. He had to think, to use his mind, and not let it fog up with panic like it was threatening to do. He wasn't the only victor--he wasn't the only one. There would at least be a chance that another man would be chosen over him. Another. Another man. But...
Blight threw open the door and raced through the Victor's Village. He stopped outside her window, peering in. No movement inside. Still, that didn't mean...He knocked on the door a few times, scattered and frantic. Nothing.
Where?
Looking around the side of the house, he saw the forest. Click. It had to be. Blight took a few hesitant steps closer, before walking through the brush. "Johanna!" He called, following the faint thumps, telltale signs of axe work. "Johanna!"















