( When she wakes up this morning, she knows immediately what day it is... )
[Peeta's not in bed with her. She can hear the shower running. Time for her to get up as well, no matter how much she wants today to be a Lost Day. Wants to hide forever in these sheets and in his arms. Hide from a decision she had made so shortly after a war to condemn more children to the fate she herself had suffered. But she can't run. Can't hide. That's not what the Mockingjay would do.
Because she knows, without a doubt, that today the new government of Panem would find a use for her. The Mockingjay would be the one to let the world know.
So as she waits for her turn in the shower, she takes out a journal and sets it to video. She studies the camera - grey eyes hard with emotion, lips pressed into a thin line. A deep breath is drawn. Then, pushing aside any temptation to mimic Effie's Capitol accent, she says loud, clear, and every bit bitter:]
Happy Hunger Games.
[She stares at the little camera for a moment longer. Almost dares anyone to ask her what these Games are. But the book is closed shortly after that. Answers to come later.
Maybe Peeta and Beetee were right. Maybe the 76th Hunger Games would be a mistake. But she can't spend so much time thinking about that. Can't spend time thinking what Luceti might think of her responses if questions are asked. For now, she lets this reminder be enough.
Opting in the end not to wait for Peeta to finish his shower, she gets dressed and braids her hair back sloppily to the side. Mourning would be easy. Hiding would be easy. Today ought to be hard.
She steps out in the morning light.]
[Peeta's not in bed with her. She can hear the shower running. Time for her to get up as well, no matter how much she wants today to be a Lost Day. Wants to hide forever in these sheets and in his arms. Hide from a decision she had made so shortly after a war to condemn more children to the fate she herself had suffered. But she can't run. Can't hide. That's not what the Mockingjay would do.
Because she knows, without a doubt, that today the new government of Panem would find a use for her. The Mockingjay would be the one to let the world know.
So as she waits for her turn in the shower, she takes out a journal and sets it to video. She studies the camera - grey eyes hard with emotion, lips pressed into a thin line. A deep breath is drawn. Then, pushing aside any temptation to mimic Effie's Capitol accent, she says loud, clear, and every bit bitter:]
Happy Hunger Games.
[She stares at the little camera for a moment longer. Almost dares anyone to ask her what these Games are. But the book is closed shortly after that. Answers to come later.
Maybe Peeta and Beetee were right. Maybe the 76th Hunger Games would be a mistake. But she can't spend so much time thinking about that. Can't spend time thinking what Luceti might think of her responses if questions are asked. For now, she lets this reminder be enough.
Opting in the end not to wait for Peeta to finish his shower, she gets dressed and braids her hair back sloppily to the side. Mourning would be easy. Hiding would be easy. Today ought to be hard.
She steps out in the morning light.]
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