She hadn't gone away. Not yet, but she was hovering on the edge of that abyss, hands still in the air, a few wrapped around strings, just waiting. Just ready.

The tears, by now, were coursing down her cheeks, falling on to her lap, when she felt Finnick's hands. But she didn't look to him. "I want to play," she whispered, as though she still was. There was something comforting in it. In these feelings that the music brought about. It was warm, welcoming. She knew these feelings so well, that it was so easy to wrap herself in them once more.

Moments like this made her realize how much she missed those dark feelings. That made her hate them, just as much as she clung to them.