She was sad a lot.

Patria was sure that her mom thought she was being secretive. But Patria knew that the day was going to be ugly if she returned from school and the house was silent. When Patria walked by the closet, she hoped to hear noise. If she could hear movement, Mom might join them for dinner. If there was silence, Patria tiptoed away.

She knew not to disturb the closet, and as soon as Dad caught on that she and Egill were home from school, he would quietly direct them upstairs, to their rooms, far away from the closet beneath the staircase that held a sad, distant mother.

Patria understood. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't young anymore. Dad found that out quickly when he tried to explain why Mom wasn't at dinner one night.

"She had a tough day," he would say, like he always did, three or four nights a week. But Patria decided she couldn't take it anymore.

"Mom's sad."

Dad looked at her and reached out to tuck hair behind her ear, but Patria pulled away. "No, you can't hide it from me. I'm not six anymore, I'm sixteen. Egill sees it too, even if he doesn't want to admit it." She looked to her brother for confirmation, but he looked away. She couldn't blame him for that; he didn't inherit her fire. And Patria knew that it scared him to see Mom in a closet all day.

Dad sighed and set down his bread. "Mom and I have explained to you why… we're like this."

"You aren't like this," Patria protested. "You get up each day. You work. You bake. Mom sometimes wakes up. And sometimes she hides in the closet. All day." She was practically shouting at this point. "Doesn't that ever bother you?"

"Sometimes," Dad admitted, giving a nod of assent. Patria briefly felt like she'd won a battle, until Dad soldiered on with his words. "But you also need to understand, Patria. What your mother has suffered—"

"Yeah, I know," she cut in. "Hunger Games and a war and all that. It's all I've heard for sixteen years and it's all I learn about in school." She scoffed. "I'm so sick of the excuses."

Before she stormed away from the table, she caught her dad's strained look, but it was Egill's wince that almost brought her to her knees. The apology was hanging on her lips but she swallowed it. She had too much pride to march back in and apologize.

Sometimes she hated Mom. There were days where everything was fine. Days where Patria would come home from school and see Mom cleaning game. Those nights they would have fresh stew and their favorite bread. There would be questions about school and whatever mundane things they could come up with.

There were other good days too. Days where Mom met them at the schoolyard were especially glorious. She would have smiles and hugs. Once she brought bread that Dad sent with her, still hot and fresh. Some kids would stop and some would stare, because was that really Katniss Everdeen, the girl that won the Hunger Games and started a rebellion and was the reason that things existed the way they did?

Some people didn't stare with awe, but scorn, because her mother was not just a figurative symbol of the rebellion, but a physical one as well.

"What's wrong with your mom's skin, Patria?" Some would ask, and she would bite back harsh responses. Dad had always emphasized ignoring rude people and Mom had agreed.

"She's disgusting," Tethys Hildit spat one day, and Patria chomped down so hard on her tongue that she tasted blood. "Her skin's all scarred and pink and red and lumpy. I bet she feels gross."

"What a freak," Fedelmid Winters murmured in the hall as Patria passed. "I hear your mom eats raw animals and hides in basements all day."

And while his comments were exactly true, they were at least close – Mom hunted wild game and she hid in closets sometimes. Too close for Patria's comfort and her anger started to boil.

Day after day, she was so sick of the comments. So ready to lash out at people, to tell Tethys that she was only alive because Patria's mom included her grandmother in the Mockingjay Treaty. To tell Fedelmid that his family wasn't to be mentioned in her house because the Winters were sent to 12 as rejects and debtors.

It felt fair to hurt other people with comments just as they were hurting her. But it wasn't until Connla Askr whispered, "Maybe Katniss Everdeen should just have died at the end. Burned and smoked like a true Girl on Fire," that she reacted.

Each scratch of her fingernails gave her more empowerment and she didn't even feel sick when, after people pulled her off of Connla and held her back, Patria had to pick pieces of his flesh from under her nails.

She couldn't repeat to Dad what Connla had said. Dad was disappointed, frustrated, because he wasn't quick to anger, and he was a forgiving soul. Patria already knew that she had her mother's countenance, but when Dad muttered it on the walk home, she scoffed and started to run.

She didn't want her mother's countenance. Because that day, it was just Dad showing up to get her from school. Only Dad knew that she was in trouble. Mom wasn't there, because Mom was in the closet, acting like Mom, shutting out the world.

Patria ran through town, away from Dad and his pleas. Past the shops, through the hedges, to the outskirts of town, where she could sit interrupted and think. She just had to think, not talk. Talking would get her in trouble, because sometimes, in the back of her mind, she thought exactly what Connla Askr whispered in her ear:

Maybe it would have been better if Katniss Everdeen had died.

Author's Note: Let me know what you think (like if it made sense) and how I can improve. All feedback is appreciated!