Oh my goodness, guys. It's been so long.
I don't even remember what this website LOOKS like. Ha. Okay. I'm kidding.
But a lot has changed.
I wrote my last Hunger Games fanfic, You Love Me, when I was, like, fourteen. And it got a LOT of reviews, and I still cannot believe it a lot of the time. It's not my best work, so I guess if you want to read it you're welcome to but I would recommend it. Haha!
I did get a lot of questions about the third daughter I wrote about in the last chapter of the fanfic. What had happened to her? And so yesterday I decided that, well, it was time to find out.
So here you go.
Love and appreciate and read EVERY review! Thanks so much! 3
-Homey
**COPYRIGHT HOMESCHOOLGIRL 2014. ALL WRITING IS MINE**
Disclaimer: I do NOT own these characters or The Hunger Games and any of its affiliates in any way shape or form.
She was in Peeta's likeness.
Her scalp was dotted with soft blonde, her eyes wide set. When she opened them, Katniss saw they were a deep brown, the only thing that differentiated from either of them. Genes, she supposed, from a thrice-removed ancestor, they'd come to fruition.
A doctor whose eyes had been darting toward the door since his arrival yesterday-he blatantly wished to be anywhere at here-proffered a birth certificate. Katniss passed her baby off and held the pen tight in her bloodstained fingers, thinking.
Nightlock.
She wrote that not so she could remember, so that the terrors that were a direct and perfunctory result of that berry, the fear that seized in her chest whenever she sent her children to school, the hollowness in her eyes on certain mornings, she wrote that so they'd go away and be replaced with something beautiful, alive, inherently good.
Katniss wrote that so she could forget.
The baby was tucked against her chest. She smoothed her palm down the length of her bare back, glancing around for a blanket of some sort.
"Does she need to be covered?" Katniss asked, voice hoarse.
The doctor was busy putting his tools away without cleaning them. She cringed to see them shoved back in his plain canvas bag, blood and mucus and other tainted fluids. He barely glanced back at her question, gave a terse shake of his head.
"I have to be somewhere," he said, keeping his back to her.
"Please," Katniss begged. "Don't leave."
"I can't be here."
"I need you. I need somebody."
He pulled his full lower lip through his teeth, sent it popping. "You're strong. You have Ree and Abe."
Tears leaked from her spiritless eyes. "Gale."
He acted as if he didn't hear, like the hat pulled low over his ears was lined to block out all sound. She rolled over in bed and buried her face in her new baby's chest, feeling the tears leak out, one by one.
She hated him. She was bitter that he'd moved to District Nine, that he was the closest healthcare professional within a stone throw's distance. If you had a really strong arm.
Mostly, she hated that Peeta wasn't here. That he couldn't see how much the last daughter he'd ever have looked like him. So beautiful. Nothing like Katniss, with her predominantly turned-down mouth and her thick eyebrows and nonexistent lashes, licked away by fire years and years before, scarred out of sight.
Oh, God, she missed him so much. She bent over herself and let out a howling sob. The baby started to cry.
Nightlock, she reminded herself. Nightlock.
Oh, her Nightlock. She was so wrong.
She'd only serve to remind Katniss of all she had lost.