Summary: The dead are always calling to them.
Note: Yes, yes, another story. I know, I know, "Janae, go update your other ones!" I will, I will.
Katniss Everdeen, Mockingjay – my mother, the killer. And what – who – am I? Madge Mellark, daughter of the Victors – the two faces of the rebellion. These are different times, I know, but there are still periods – a couple of days at worst – when both my parents black out.
They recoil into their shells – not cowardly, no, but as if they are prolonging the moment of facing something terrible. I know the Games, the war, has scarred them greatly – how do they bear it? The fact that they have killed many – hundreds, for all I know – of people?
The truth is: they don't.
The dead are always calling to them, whispering, caressing. They don't answer back. I'm not sure they can.