For quite some time, all of your memories of her are tinted with orange. The bright, glossy orange, the fluorescent hue that almost always means not real. And the gloss dulls with stories told by Delly and remedies you don't understand. But never as much as they hope, never as much as anyone hopes. You've been broken, they told you, and you can bring yourself to trust them enough to agree.

Always like that. Orange. But no longer the blinding shade that wove through memories of the Games, her lies. It's lighter now, almost pleasant. Softer, friendly. Like the sunset. Like your favorite color. At least, that's what she says your favorite color is, and you find yourself believing her more easily now.

You've always liked the sunset, you think.

Until it fades away, because darkness means night, and night means sleep, and sleep almost always means dreams.

Nightmares. There is no one to tell you real or not real, and you yourself have no way to tell what is true. Every time you close your eyes, they're back.

And sometimes sunlight will wake you, those rare times when terror doesn't, and you'll almost feel safe.

She is rarely there. She usually awakes before you do. Sometimes this is good, after those dreams that are not truly yours, those dreams that have been forced upon you. Dreams in which she is the enemy. Sometimes it is horrifying, after those dreams that you have given to yourself, the nightmares you have allowed to form after years of her being in danger. But when she is there, you cannot quite meet her eyes for several minutes, but her soft, slightly shaky singing of the valley song almost makes you feel safe, and on some impossibly lucky nights, keeps your dreams safe.

And both of you are safe anyway, you know, because you see that you are safe. You know because it is not a memory. It is the present, and it is as clear as anything can be for you.

AN: It's extremely obvious I wrote this while listening to "Safe and Sound." So I won't pretend I didn't. I also won't pretend that this is of decent length, because it isn't. And I certainly won't pretend this isn't my first Hunger Games fic, and I am therefore certain it is not my best work. (And therefore some constructive criticism would be lovely.) And, okay, I didn't bother to check the book itself for facts. I just went by my memory and the wiki. So, sorry about that, but I do hope you enjoyed reading. (: