Cinderella

Excitement. Curiousity. Joy.

I felt these things as a child. Of course there were times where I'd be scolded for a child misdead, but ultimantley I was raised in a loving, nuturing home. Of course it helped that I lived in the richer part of District 12, so I blended right in with the other pretty girls with frilly dresses and buns.

"Evie," my mother would coo my name to retrieve my attention as she taught me the simple things: Housekeeping, cooking, sewing, healing, and selling.

I looked different than everyone in District 12. My mother would brush my long, soft blonde hair, whispering lovingly that I was her Golden Baby. I would always giggle and hug her, kissing her cheek and telling her I loved her. Yes, I was quite affectionate a young girl, and that was to everyone.

My father always told me stories at night, fairytails with beautiful princesses and daring prince charmings. Like any little girl, I dreamed of having one of my own. I don't recall wishing he would sweep me away from my home, but I did daydream of him loving me and giving me children. My father always called me Cinderella, claiming I was just as beautiful and kind as she was in the story.

I never could have predicted Zayn, but i never did look down on the Seam boys.

What I remember most vididly, though, is a night a storm was raging, forcing my family to shut the windows and curl up together for warmth. I was pressed between my parents and my older brother, Rise, in my parents' large bed, heavy quits covering us from head to toe.

I have never liked the rain, even though we almost never got it, and storms terrified me. Being five years old at the time, I was crying my heart out, one tiny fist clutching my father's hand and my face pressed tightly in my mother's nightgown.

She stroked my hair gently, kissing my face ever so often and rocking me, "Evie...shhhh, it's alright. Shhhh..."

"Dry those tears, Cinderella," Dad was now rubbing my tiny back, "it's just a little rain."

Of course that was when a huge clap of thunder shook our home, which made me sob harder into my mother. That's when Rise spoke up, which he rarely did, and took me into his lap.

"Deep in the meadow...under the willow..." his singing voice was beautiful and deep, one that made you want to curl up in it's beauty and sleep away your troubles away.

So I drifted off despite the loud thunder and bright flashes raging outside our door, the lullaby imprinted in my mind as I slept. Ever since that night, I always curled up with Rise when it rained, even if it was only a faint drizzle. And ever since that night, he'd sing that lullaby to me when I would crawl in his bed, until I was fourteen and he was eighteen.

Excitement. Curiousity. Joy.

"Sunrise Break!"

Fear. Sadness. Depression.

I can only watch, helpless, as my older brother mounts the stage. The female tribute, a long-haired girl who always came across as a brat, is already sobbing on the stage, and now my big brother has joined her.

My brother, the one sang me a special lullaby, the one who would quietly watch over me at school, the one who never did anything to anyone.

And he's gone.

*Time shift*

"Evening, listen to me," I look up from my tears only when he says my full name, something that's almost never done by my family.

"Don't die," I choke out best I can manage, "you can't..."

"Listen," he takes my chin firmly, forcing me to look into his beautiful light gray eyes, "you're going to be alright. You still have Mom and Dad. You have to be strong for me, Evening."

"But I don't want you to die..." I hiccup out weakly, and he pulls me into a hug.

"Give me you brave face," he tells me, squeezing my ahoulders, "we're going to get through this."

"Deep in the meadow..." I start shakily, my voice nowhere near as soothing as his own, "under the willow..."

"A bed of grass..." much to my dismay, tears are now shining in his own eyes, "a soft green pillow..."

That's when a Peacekeeper comes in, "Your time's up."

He grabs my arm, almost snapping it in half, and I start to struggle to no possible avail. Rise just hugs me one more time, kissing the top of my head before I'm yanked out of his fingertips.

He's hungry and exhausted.

I watch, hands over my mouth as I plead silently for him, to somehow find the stregnth to pick up his spear and kill the District 2 girl. He'd made it to the final eight, so far. I pray he won't let go now, he won't give up when he's getting so close to coming home.

But when she stabs him in the chest with one of her swords, I know the cannon fire belongs to his soul.

Fear. Sadness. Depression.

Darkness.

I clutch the coat tighter around my small body. It's been two long years since Rise came home, bled out and in a coffin box with a single red rose in his hand, curtesy of our president. Since that day, I've lost myself in a never-ending darkness, one that traps my mind in an endless torture. Scenes of our time together, both good and mind, flash through the blind darkness, blocking reality from my eyes constantly. Sleep only brings nightmares amd tears, and now it is Reaping Day once again.

My name is the bowl five times this year.

I want to go into the Games and die. As much as I would hate to leave my parents, I want to be with my brother again. Perhaps death would ease the constant pain, and being reaped wouldn't make it obvious I wamted to end my own life.

But what if I'm not picked?

I can't let myself go on like this, in this state of agony. If I touch he fence now, I will electrocute myself and die. It's obvious suicide, but in death, I'll not have to explain why.

I'll be free.

"What are you doing out here, Little Girl?" a Peacekeeper demands, and suddenly I am being dragged forcfully.

Darkness.

Hope.

I look up from rubbing my hands my hands together, having been doing it for so long, my hands were beginning to crack from being so dry. We were having a District-wide watershortage, and it was driving everyone insane. So much, that in fact, the heat was cut to save energy as several people were forced out of Districts 11 and my own District, as well as hundreds of others, to find more water supplies.

I am from the wealthy side of town and only seventeen, so of course I am not going.

But my father has, and now he is coming home.

As I stand with my mother in the coldness of winter, my clothes not doing much justice to keep me from freezing to death. That's when I see him for the first time, which is cliche, I know, but still. He sports the Seam look of brown hair, olive skin, and gray eyes, but he is lean and looks wise. He one of the few calm ones in crowd, not moping like most of the Seams but not complaing like most of those in my part of the District.

"Here," that's when I realize is handing out homemade gloves, made from molding leather.

My mother turns him down not-too-politely, but I accept. Unlike both of my parents, I don't judge the Seams, and I actually like to help them out. I slip a coin in his pocket, smiling back at him when he looks to me with kind eyes and a thankful expression.

Hope.

Nervousness. Anticipation. Worry.

I clip the fancy necklace around my neck, even though it's not really that fancy. It has a beautiful mockingjay on the end of it, encased in a gold circle, and it hands from a simple silver chain.

My parents do not know what I am going to do tonight with Zayn.

Ever since he gave me this necklace he made deep in the mines on break from rare flecks of pure gold in the coals, I knew I loved him. He was charming and fearless, and I have been dating him for about two years in secret. It has been hard, true, to keep this from my parents, but I feel like I am getting my own personal fairytail with a guy who doesn't judge me and loves me more than anything.

I am Cinderella.

But my parents will probably disown me after this. However, while I do care and the memories of a pretty happy childhood swirl in my mind, I will not put them before a man I loved more than anything.

I took at the shiny ring he placed on my finger near the electric fence, tucked away from the rest of the District and the night patrol, before I slip out of my window to meet him in the Seam. His parents love me, thankfully, and I feel like I have found my other half as my nightgown brings dust on my bare feet while I run into his arm.

I am Cinderella now.

Nervousness. Anticipation. Worry.

Happiness.

Disgust. Shame.

I hate how prissy I am acting, but the Seam is disgusting to me. The dust everywhere and all of the starving people that I encounter every day horrify me, and I can't get used to getting truly hungry and sleeping on a single rough matress on the ground.

But I have Zayn, and that really is all that matters, right?

Disgust. Shame.

Beautiful.

Before I met Zayn, as I mentioned before, Mother would always coo about how I Was beautiful and adorable. But my own daughter is truly the picture of beauty, though she sports the Seam look. She looks much like her father, and I cradle her close as she cries, opening her gray eyes to the world for the first time. Softly, I sing to her that old song imprinted in a special place on my heart as Zayn prepares formula he had to trade for in the Hob.

Deep in the meadow,

Under the willow...

I know I want at least one more child after her. She is a lovely thing, and I know she will be bright and happy. I will see to it personally she has the best life she can possibly have.

"Dinner is served, Mom," Zayn smiles tiredly to me, handing me a stew of roots that he knows is my favorite, making me smile back as our baby girl sleeps.

"What are these roots' names again?" I inquire, taking a sip.

"Katniss," he replies, and I look to our child.

"That's her name," I reply happily, feeling at peace, "Katniss."

Beautiful.

Innocence.

"Can I hold her, Mommy?" Katniss asks me, crawling beside me on the bed as I hold my second baby girl close.

"Be careful with her," I smile back at her, easing the baby into my four-year-old daughter's arms as Zayn begins to scrub off the blood from the sheets from my birthing.

Katniss holds her very carefully, concentration on her small forehead as we all admire her. She looks just like me, with soft blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She is just as beautiful as her older sister, and she looks much like me, from what I've seen in photos when I was a baby.

"I'll protect her," she decides with a toothy grin, "forever and ever and ever and ever!"

"That's lovely, dear," I stroke hair hair, playing with one of her braids as Zayn scoops both of them in his lap and lay back, exhausted.

"Why don't we come up with a name for her?" he asks her, and she once again creases her forehead, now in thought.

Zayn's eyes go to a flowerbed growing outside of our house, only a few beautiful plants barely sprouting from the dry ground, "How about Primrose?"

"Prim," Katniss coos in agreement, and I nod, closing my eyes and grinning weakly to the innocent baby now being put back in my arms.

Innocence.

Rigid.

I am shocked to hear what my children and husband are singing. That horrible Hanging Tree song, the one that secretly tests the Capitol and shows them how much we all them. Even though my brother wasn't Victor so many years ago, I know the Capitol is watching our District closely.

"Stop! Never sing that again!" I bark, which makes both of my daughters' cry while Katniss runs off to hide.

Tears now dripping from my eyes as Zayn goes after her, I pull Prim into my arms, hiding my face in her soft blonde hair as snuggle up to my chest, "I'm sorry..."

"Mommy no sad," she says sweetly, wiping my eyes with her tiny hands, "Mommy sing. Mommy sing pwetty song."

Deep in the meadow,

Under the willow...

She sings best she can with her tiny toddler vocabulary, which makes both of us smile through our waterworks. While Katniss is her father's daughter, Prim is 'my' baby girl.

Relaxation.

Terror.

"Zayn..." I barely choke out in a whisper as we three stand pressed against each other tightly, one of Prim's hands in mine, the other clutching Katniss'.

Families cry in relief as they reunite with their husbands, their fathers, their mothers, their wives, their families. Slowly, the crowd thins, and we three still stand in wait. Tears pour out of my eyes as I sink to the ground, clutching my children's hands. Prim kneels in front of me, shaking my shoulders gently, her voice echoing into nothing in my mind.

First I lost Rise because of the damn Capitol.

Then I lost my parents because I dared to love another again.

And now I've lost my love...because of the damn Capitol.

Zayn...

That's the only the word that really matters to me. The world is spinning slowly, achingly slow, and I find it's hard to move, to breathe, or to think with a numbed mind. Prim is still staring at me, terrified, but for some reason, the emotion doesn't really connect.

"Mom! Mom, say something!" Katniss demands through her own tears, but I barely hear her as I stare at the collapsed mine.

Depression.

Rememberance.

The bread that Katniss all but feeds me in tasty.

Tasty and warm...just like Zayn's lips.

But for a brief moment, I feel like things will be okay, that time will march on and that we'll all be okay.

Neglect.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

Haunted.

I can't believe it. I simply can't believe it.

I've finally somehow accepted in my heard and soul that Zayn is dead, and that is never coming back. Perhaps there is hope I will see him again in Heaven, but there is probably not, because I abanded my children to die because I was ready to let myself go to complete waste. Katniss has not forgiven me, even though Prim has, and I do not blame her.

I certainly can't forgive myself.

But now 'my' baby girl is going into the Hunger Games, just like my brother. She won't make it long, even in less time than Rise ever somehow did.

She will die, too.

"I volunteer!"

Katniss.

She might win. She is a fighter and surrvivior, just like her father always was. She will win, but I know not for me.

It's for her little sister.

Haunted.

Relief. Joy. Heartbreak.

I knew it: Katniss won.

But she won with the boy who gave us bread, who got us all through that long period of pain, loss, and fear. I am grateful both of them returned for us, but it is a bit of a painful reminded that my brother never got to come home to me the way my oldest daughter has.

Rise and Zayn would've been proud.

Relief. Joy. Heartbreak.

Unbelievable.

Katniss is going back into that damn arena.

I will do my best, I know I will. To keep a grip on reality, and to take care of little Prim. But I am terrified for her, and I am terrified for what the Capitol may do to us.

Simply unbelievable.

Insane.

I guess you could say that is what I was for a while, but Katniss is know truly insane. She is offically mentally unstable, but not just because she has it on a band around her wrist.

She is hopelessly in love with Peeta Mellerk, and she doesn't even know it.

Prim is concerned, but she doesn't really say it. She and I just walk around District 13, the memories of the night our home, both of them, were destroyed, and our District brothers and sisters were killed ruthlessly in a horrible way. But we are both stronger enough, on the outside, at least, to handle it and help healing any way we possibly can.

Insane.

Pride.

I always knew my children were going to amount more to more than I could ever dream of. Katniss is going to bring us all safety and happiness at long as last.

She is our Mockingjay.

And Prim has been granted an honor: To go out and help those in the field of battle. She is going to save countless lives because she is that amazing of a person, and soon, I will be working for her.

I am proud.

Pride.

Depression. Rush.

Prim is dead.

She is gone.

That reality is even harder than when I learned from someone I don't know that my husband was dead. It was even worse than watching my brother be murdered.

Prim was my baby.

She was the sweetest person in Panem, in the universe. She cared so much for everyone and everything, and she was beautiful. I abanded her to die before, but she lived because I was lucky enough to have her older sister to protect her.

I should've protected her for all thirteen of her years.

But now she is gone, and she will never come back. I don't have time to be depressed, to let myself go so I can join her, Zayn, and Rise in Heaven. I am a healer, and I am expected to take her almost legacy's place and travel to pick the pieces of war.

I need Katniss to keep me strong again, because I am not strong myself.

Pain.

Strength.

I finally got it. In the beginning, I was a weak merchant's daughter with a big heart but no idea of how cruel the world really was, how bad Panem was as a whole. But time hardened me in a cruel way, mangling me into a shell of a women who is still just molding herself into the modern, healing world.

Healer.

Though I was her mother, Prim was an unsung legacy. I am doing as she would've wanted, instead of the other way around, and taking her place. I am making myself useful instead of killing myself, just like Katniss.

She is just as broken as I am.

We are unfixable.

But we both served/are serving usefullness. She killed that monster President Snow, and Panem is now a true united country. We call each other know and then to mourn over our loss of our beloved Primrose, and over all of our losses as a whole.

We are strong, but we both of broken hearts.

Strength.

Katniss' P. O. V.

My mother.

I resented her for quite some time, but now I am beginning to understand why she clocked out of reality for so long. I watch my children for a minute in the living room before I place the old Panem world history book, the one I studied in school before the 'certain issue' forced me to drop out for a while. It is open to a the section of past Victors and tributes of the Games, and one name is highlighted because of me.

Sunrise Break.

Break was my mother's maiden last name, meaning that he must have been her older brother. He was killed in the Hunger Games, which meant she'd lost someone important to her before she lost my father.

I never knew that.

So tonight, we mourn his death as well as Prim's. We are both united as one, it seems, even though we are not together and probably never will be unless something horrible happens to a place that was once District 12. Things are running smoothly for now, and for the most part, we are all at peace.

That is good, at least.

But the peace isn't even enough for a heal the pieces Panem left our minds, souls, and hearts in.

At least we still have some happiness to keep us clinging onto reality for our lives.

Ms. Everdeen's P. O. V.

He cares about me.

Thunder is a coworker of mine, and he just admitted he is falling for me hard. His cheeks are pink, and his hair is tangled. His eyes are nervous, and he is even sweating a little bit.

I find it cute.

I am aware he will never be able to take Zayn's place as I take his hand. I know that Katniss will probably never meet her potiental stepfather as I tell I love him too. And even if I had a million kids with him, I know not even the sweetest one could take Prim's place and the strongest couldn't beat Katniss.

But I'm alright with that.

I am Cinderella.

Hope.