EEEEEEEEVERRRRLARKKKK BABIEEEEEESSSSSSSS

On another note, I'm freezing.

On another-nother note, I'm kinda sick of people hating on Gale just because they ship Everlark. Gale is not in this story, but mentions of him are not bitter.

Katniss's POV.

Also, I don't own Hunger Games, but you probably knew that already.

Deep in the meadow

Under the willow

A bed of grass

A soft green pillow.

"Willow." I say suddenly, startling Peeta, "Willow Madge Mellark. That's her name."

"It's beautiful." He agrees, "But she's not due for another four months, so we always have time to change it."

"No, I'm sure." I smile, "Willow Madge."

"Willow Madge." He repeats softly, falling back asleep.

The name is perfect. Willow is a part of Rue, and Prim at the same time – that song holds so many memories with the both of them. As for Madge, she deserves to be recognised. She was my only friend before I (Well, Prim) was reaped. I didn't realise it at the time. I wish I had. I wish Gale had helped her out of 12 in time. Maybe she would've married Gale, in the end. She always stared a little too long if we ever delivered strawberries. I imagine her sitting at the table with me, both of us laughing together and complaining about our husbands and (Soon-to-be-born) children.

But that will never happen.

Because she is dead.

I let out a strangled sob and feel Peeta's arms tighten around me, attempting to soothe me into sleep, but I know that I will not be getting to sleep tonight. I remember something, suddenly, and manage to leave Peeta's arms and creep towards the door.

"Katniss." He mumbles.

"I'm going to the toilet." I lie.

"Mmkay."

I am not going to the toilet.

I tiptoe downstairs, hoping not to step on a creaky floorboard and cause Peeta to worry. I flick on the lightswitch in the front room and drag a chair over to the bookshelf, so I can stand on it and reach on top to find a forgotten book, covered in dust.

I pick it up and blow the dust off it, and open up to the first page.

I wish I hadn't.

Prim's smiling face is staring up at me, as if it were real.

Damn it Peeta. I think, Why do you have to be such a good artist?

It is not just his art that starts me crying though. It is the memories, written in smudged black ink around the edge, in my writing, my mother's, Peeta's, even some of Gale's.

Lady walking into dinner and licking Prim's face.

Prim falling over and Rory helping her up. He held onto her hand just a little too long.

Prim refusing to acknowledge that Buttercup is actually a demon cat.

Prim eating an entire batch of chocolate-chip cookies before Peeta had a chance to even know they were done cooking.

Prim and me running home from school, because we knew that today Dad had caught some salmon for dinner, which was extremely rare.

Prim admiring the cakes in the bakery all the time.

Prim forcing Peeta to make her lunch every day because, in her own words, she'd rather eat Buttercup's poo than eat my attempt at scrambled eggs. (Cooking is not my strong point.)

Prim in 13 climbing into bed with the orphans until they fell asleep.

Prim.

I stare fondly at the page a little longer, before turning over, being met with Rue's face.

Perfectly painted.

The memories are only written by me this time.

Rue hiding with Cato's dagger in training, whilst he blamed the boy from 5.

Rue catching my eye in training and looking away quickly.

Rue pointing out the tracker jacker nest to me.

Rue saying that she had never had a whole leg to herself before. The leg was tiny.

Rue whistling to the mockingjays.

Rue lighting the fires.

Rue, at only 12 years old, accepting death and asking me to sing.

Rue lying in a pool of flowers.

Rue being taken away by the hovercraft.

Rue.

I'm full-on sobbing now, the memories tearing at my brain and making me regret so much.

There is so much I could've done. To save them.

I am not prepared for who is on the next page.

Finnick O'dair smirks up at me.

The memories around it and smudged and faded and messy. There is a little something from everyone: Me, Peeta, Haymitch, Johanna, Annie, even my mother.

Finnick winning his games and coming home, claiming he had only bothered to win so that he could get expensive underwear.

Finnick being a mentor for the first year and sobbing to himself when his tributes died.

Finnick having to mentor Annie and having a mental breakdown.

Annie winning and Finnick crying and promising never to let her go again.

Finnick at the next reaping, not looking as depressed as he usually did when he saw which two poor souls were going to die next, because he had Annie.

Finnick being a complete idiot and forgetting my birthday every year! (That one was Johanna)

Finnick at the Quarter Quell offering me a sugar cube.

Me and Finnick waking Peeta up on the beach and scaring the life out of him.

Finnick on the hovercraft to 13, struggling to breathe as he watched me attack Haymitch.

Finnick posing in his underwear and asking if I found it distracting.

Finnick crying in his hospital room with a length of rope.

Finnick's eyes lighting up at the sight of his trident.

Finnick being so happy and excited when he found out he was part of the squad.

Finnick being even more happy and excited and sobbing when he found out Annie was pregnant.

Finnick sacrificing his life.

Finnick.

I close the book with a thud, and shove it back on the bookshelf, unable to handle any more of this without Peeta.

Little Willow Madge kicks in me, as if to remind me that she is here, and I know that when she is old enough to understand, she will know that she had an Aunty Prim, and a cousin Rue, and an uncle Finnick, and she will know why they died, and why Aunty Annie sometimes cries to herself, hugging her 5-year-old son.

But for now, Willow is alive, and well, and she'll be born on the 2nd May, and she will bring a new life, with new memories.

And I know that, somewhere, Prim and Rue and Finnick will be watching over her.

THAT WAS A BIT MORE DEPRESSING THAN I INTENDED OH WELL

Review guys! :D