She's hugging herself so tightly that she can hardly breathe.
The fog descends upon her most days, like a fickle cloud. Sometimes bare, sometimes patchy, sometimes swallowing her completely whole.
Loss.
It reeks of love, of longing. It echoes like the empty house, the screeching of lost time, the absence of her. It's falling in drizzling circles around the room, soaking into her nostalgia and pale, scarred skin.
Katniss feels the loss. The loss of air in her lungs.
And she can only hug herself tighter.
Even when there was a war, everything was easy.
There was Prim.
