Author's note: This is... well something I wrote because the idea wouldn't leave my head. I'd love to hear your thoughts, even if you hate it.

Confused by the name on the envelope, her nimble fingers pry open the letter. A single sheet of paper, covered front to back and from edge to edge, falls onto the solid oak table. Tears prick at her eyes as the lines, dots, and dashes form words. Words crafted in a familiar, yet refined scrawl.

Katniss,

As I sit here, staring down at this paper, I am not sure what exactly to tell you. See, the trouble is this: I know you better than just about anyone. And while I cannot leave you with nothing, I cannot have you hanging onto every word I write here as though it is a piece of me. I pray you never see this letter, that you never have cause to read these words. But I am assuming, if you have read this far, I have passed.

I'm sorry. As your little sister, you should know that. If only for your sake, I wasn't meant to go first. I was supposed to be the one left behind, struggling to hold myself together-at least sixty years from now. But if this letter has reached you, I have left yet another unbearable load on your shoulders. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough, or resilient enough for this world. I'm not like you. You made sure of that.

You made sure I was safe, sheltered, protected. I'm not as used to loss as you. But that doesn't mean that it is okay for you to lose another loved one. I won't list them all; I know their faces haunt you. Or I knew, rather. I knew more than you thought I did, of that I am certain. I'm sorry if this gets confusing as I switch from present to past tense. It is confusing for me as well. But I know this: You blame yourself.

Whatever has happened to me, whether it is an illness that takes me twenty years after I write this, whether I die giving birth to my first or third or fifth child, whether I was somehow killed in something related to the rebellion. You blame yourself. If there is a convoluted way to connect yourself to my death in any way, you have taken it on as your burden. And, stubborn you, I know you won't share it. So I won't ask you to.

I will tell you this: you are wrong, my sister. So wrong. You couldn't have killed me. Blaming yourself for it is like… like blaming yourself for the birth of President Snow himself. I hope that gets me a laugh, or a scowl. Something. Honestly, though, there are some things that are put in motion that cannot be stopped. Even if I hadn't been _ I would have been _ and it still would have been my time. But you don't believe me, despite the fact that I was pretty smart.

I am not very old. Despite what you would believe, however, I do understand that there are things you cannot or simply will not tell me. There are people trying to kill you, you are not and were never pregnant- if I know one thing for certain, it is that-, even if you don't know it you love Peeta, and you love Haymitch too, while I'm telling you who you care about.

I don't have to understand it to know it.

While I'm at it-writing to you, that is-I thought I might as well try to alleviate some of your other burdens. Dad, for instance. I don't remember him as you do, but it is no secret to me that you worry about what happened to him. You worry you weren't enough for me, that you ruined me in some way. You didn't. You, Katniss, are stronger than Mother and Father combined, because you are the perfect balance of both. You love with your whole heart, and mind, and body. And you fight with just as much, if not more. You were perfect, let me tell you that. You were a mother and a father and a sister, all rolled into one indescribable being. You made me feel safe, loved, and cherished all at once. For a seam girl from 12 we both know how remarkable that is.

But I also thought I would try to speak for those who couldn't. Maybe for the one I think I understand best, at least. Rue. I never met her, but you did. She was braver than I'll ever be, smarter and stronger too. But that's not what I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you that what happened to her wasn't your fault either. Death… there are two parts to it, Katniss. There is physical death, which humans are just beginning to understand. But there is another way to die. Your spirit can die, and hers hasn't. You said it yourself, on the victory tour. You see her in everything that is beautiful. Because she was beautiful inside and out. That kind of beauty doesn't die. It lives on in the hearts of the people who survive. That beauty fuels everything. I have to believe that Rue died, the horrible way she did, because her battle here on earth was over. She could leave this place, with your song as a sendoff, and go somewhere better. Somewhere more fit for someone like her. She is at peace.

There are other burdens I cannot help you with. Marvel, for instance. Though you never said anything, I know there is a part of you that regrets killing that boy. Yet even I know he deserved it. And I could write a book on all the reasons why it wasn't your fault. His mind was poisoned into thinking that killing was a means to an end, and he chose the wrong victim. Snow put you in that position, where you had no choice. He murdered Rue, and he deserved to die in a more painful way than you delivered-you were being merciful. But that is not what you need. You know all of that, without me telling you. I can't imagine taking someone's life-but not for the reason you're thinking.

I understand the act of it. I will never understand how it is possible to keep going on after something like that. It must be psychological torture, at least to any decent being. For you, it must be living as a corpse. You know right and wrong better than anyone Katniss, and that was a situation without a solution. The lesser of two evils was to shoot him, so you did. If it were me, in that arena as it should have been, I would stopped right there. I guarantee you there would have been no more effort from me. I don't have that strength. But you do.

You made it look easy, too. I'll tell you this: I never thought less of you. I was not as pure as everyone thought. Sitting at home, watching the games unfold, seeing Marvel trap Rue and send that spear into her… I wanted to be in that arena with the sole purpose of making him pay. I admire you for your bravery, your restraint. I would have done something like what Clove intended to do to you. As always though, you're stronger than me. Smarter too.

But Clove brings us to Thresh, which brings me to my next point. Thresh was an odd one for me. I thought he would kill you. I've never been so terrified in my life actually. But he didn't. Over a debt. I don't know if anyone has ever or will ever tell you what a brave thing you did there. I'm not sure anyone else would understand the magnitude of it. Katniss, you let him die debt free. Isn't that all you ever wanted?

Cinna. I never really met him, but I owe him everything. He made you who you are. Katniss Everdeen: Girl On Fire, Katniss Everdeen: Victor, Katniss Everdeen: Mockingjay. You are all of them. You always were. People manipulated you, and dressed you up, but he tried to keep you true to yourself. I think he knew what you wanted better than yourself.

Mags, or even Wiress for that matter. Maybe even that Morphling. You blame yourself, but it wasn't your fault. And it wasn't Peeta's either, so don't lash out at him. They made their choices, they fought their battles, and they left that arena with their missions accomplished.

I know there are more. But I can't keep writing, eventually I'll run out of paper, even though I am writing as small and as neatly as possible.

I know, in my heart, that I cannot change the way you look at these events, these lives with my words. You are too stubborn. But I am hoping to persuade you to begin to forgive yourself, if only for my sake. It will take some of the pressure off you. And, promise me, if you're going to put the weight of every dead body on your back you might as well accept it when someone-if I need to be explicit I'm talking about Peeta here. Peeta Mellark-offers it.

I still believe he's in there, and you better not give up on him.

I'm sorry you're reading this all on paper. I wish I were there to tell you the words myself. I wish I were there to hug you, and tell you everything would get better. But I couldn't leave you with nothing. I chose this so that, when or if, something happened to me, I would have the chance to give you my last thoughts. After all, they were of you. Your strength, your beauty.

I love you Katniss. And as your little duck, I order you to live your life. Forgive yourself. I never needed to forgive you.

Love,

Prim

She thinks she can finish the letter without the crushing pain. It has been years since she last felt it. Now it is more of a dull, ever-present, ache. But then writing on the edge of the paper catches her eye. It is more scrawled than the other line of text and in it runs vertically along the page. She rotates the paper, smiling sadly. Prim tucked this sentence into the only open space in the letter.

One last thing: Buttercup. You hated that cat about as much as I loved him, but for me could you try to open up to him? He is a reliable, if somewhat sullen companion. Some would argue he's a lot like you.

A small heart follows the word 'you'.

The cat, as though he knows he is being spoke of-by her, no less-appears. He howls, and she wonders if maybe he smells the young girl on the paper.

Prim was looking out for the cat, she thinks, wryly. Why doesn't that surprise me?

And for the second and final time, the cat and the human mourn the loss of their angel together, as one entity. She has managed to ally them still, after all these years.