I gently run my hands over the large leather notebook and open it once more, flipping to each page, adding all the tiny finishing touches that will mostly go unnoticed and unappreciated. But she will appreciate them. If she decides, that is. Because if she sees these sketches, she will have decided.
Then she will truly be the Mockingjay. I only add to the outside what she already is inside. That's all I've ever done, and yet she's never understood it. She still doesn't know how important, how influential, she truly is. She doesn't know how much we have riding on her. How much we would sacrifice for her.
I know they'll kill me.
This is the least I can do for her.
Poor girl. With so many people behind her, so many depending on her, we're not even allowed to let her know. Instead she gets pulled back and forth, manipulated and used, the most important piece in a game she barely understands she's playing. And when she does realize, will it be any better? A seventeen year old girl shouldn't have to bear the weight of the entire world on her shoulders.
But then a small smile comes to my face.
This is Katniss Everdeen. She can bear it on her wings.
And if anyone has to bear it, it'll be her. My money has been on her from the beginning, for so much more than the games. Slowly I pick up my pencil once again and turn to the last page of the notebook. The sketch I made of her mockingjay pin fills the top half of the paper, but I've left room for more. There is so much I wish I could say.
Slowly, in large, even letters, I write it – the one message I want to give her.
I'm still betting on you.