Death is not how they described it. It is supposed to be a tall, menacing, skeletal figure, swathed in black. It is supposed to be scary. Instead, I find that it is a woman, not unlike my mother, draped in white satin, welcoming me into her outstretched arms, beckoning me forward, with a smile. Her short figure is shaped like an hourglass. Tears roll down my cheeks, but I can't feel them.
"Katniss," I say. My voice sounds distant, detached. She nods, slowly, sniffling. "You have to win." She nods again. "Can you sing?"
In response to my question, she intones a melody. Something that I have heard before. The Valley Song. She sings, her voice catching:
"Deep in the meadow/
"Under the willow/
"A bed of grass/
"A soft green pillow/
"Lay down your head…"
I don't catch the rest, as Death is folding me in her arms, slowly. A sort of warmth spreads from my stomach, making my hands tingle. Her hands are fully around me now, and I lean my head against her shoulder, breathing in the sweet smell of roses. The white of her robes swirls in my vision, finally turning everything that color, that bright white, like clouds on a sunny day. I am about to encroach upon death. But I am not scared. If anything, I am at peace with myself, more so than ever. At last, after a blissful few seconds, I am oblivious, enveloped in roses and white satin.
