Song inspiration: Wings – Birdy, Figure It Out – Royal Blood

Figure It Out: Effie

Three years later.

Summer in District 12 is warm. Very warm. Like a never-ending surge of heat that penetrates every inch of your body and gives no rest until deep night replaces it. A dry heat that is only bearable thanks to the proximity to the mountains and their cooling breezes. I like summer here better than the muggy heat in District 4, which sticks to you even after you cool off in the sea – better than the damp sweat on the back of your neck that eventually turns into dusty salt. The salt water also attacks the ends of my hair. The lake in the forest behind District 12 does not.

The lake, surrounded by green ferns and colorful wildflowers in summer, is one of the first places I show Johanna and Annie when they come to District 12. It's their first visit, preceding a short stay by Haymitch and me in 4. A completely different world than 12 or the Capitol. Beautiful with its turquoise waters and deep green palm trees. The many shades of green there are reminiscent of Finnick's sea-green eyes and the sun also seems to compete with Finnick. Even the sand looks like the color of his hair. As if this was actually the place in the world he was meant to be.

Mags and Finnick now lie here together and forever. Directly in the open air, directly at the sea. Beneath the stars and beside the waves of the sea.

Despite all the beauty of District 4, I am glad to be back in 12. Maybe it's because of Haymitch and the kids, or because of all the years I've served this District, but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Of course it's not perfect here. Far from perfect. Although most of the District is newly built, we are not yet at the technological level of many other Districts. Coal production is slow because the mines are still barely usable after decades of negligent use and the Capitol bombs. Most people distrust me, even if this seems to gradually subside over the years. But we are nowhere near the point where I would say that I am accepted. That's fine. I am glad they even give me a chance.

The reflective surface of the lake glitters as little Fin moves towards Johanna with shaky feet and almost loses his balance when he comes into contact with the water. Annie and I sit in the shade of a treetop and watch in amusement as Johanna – kneeling in the water a few meters away from the toddler – waves her hands encouragingly. Fin laughs and then walks towards Johanna more confidently. He looks exactly like his father. Sometimes I see in their faces how painful this resemblance is. Johanna is good at covering it up.

It took a long time before Johanna was ready to set foot in any form of water. One would think that this would be unthinkable in a District like 4. And yet it took her almost two years until she was able to overcome her fear. She says she likes the lake more than the sea because it has a clear ending. Since she moved to the coast with Annie, we don't talk much about her time in prison anymore. We have both begun to heal in our own ways and are at different stages. Although their traumas run deeper anyway. Now that the Hunger Games and the Rebellion are slowly but surely fading into the background, we're seeing each other more often. After the chaos and death, everyone needed some peace and quiet to process what happened during and after the 75th Hunger Games. And to finally come to terms with the horrors of all the years before. Somehow.

Everyone deals differently with the ghosts. Annie and Johanna have Fin. Katniss hunts. Peeta bakes. Haymitch drinks. And breeds geese. I started tailoring. At least every now and then, when an idea pops into my head. I complete very few of them. Instead, I knit and sew clothes for Haymitch and the children or mend things that are getting old. Whatever keeps you from going crazy.

We have all changed. I believe that we are still in the middle of the change process.

Johanna still curses like crazy, but the heat in her words is gone – as is the hate. She seems more balanced, like she has finally found some kind of center. She has turned her back on morphine once and for all and instead looks after Fin. Her ax is still her most faithful companion, even though she is miles away from her actual home. District 4 seems to be good for her.

Haymitch hasn't given up alcohol completely, but after decades of addiction that's hardly possible. It's more of a gradual weaning process, which is well on its way. Despite all my fears, he has changed for the better in the last three years. His hot temper has subsided. The eternal indifference has given way to a caring that he tried vehemently to suppress at the beginning; because he thought that everything would fall apart again. For too long, Haymitch has known nothing but loneliness. He continues to be suspicious and overprotective of strangers, but so am I. Probably all of us. Despite all my fears, Haymitch only cares more about his loved ones and cares for District 12 as well. His ghosts are still there, but they terrorize him less often. Now that he sees what the world can be like. Precisely because he sees what the world could have been like with a living family his anger turns into melancholy over time.

The evening before Johanna and Annie travel back to District 4 with Fin, we all meet up with Katniss and Peeta for dinner one last time. Over the years, Peeta's house gradually became more and more like her own, until Katniss left her own to other returnees to 12.

They are good for each other. They truly thrive in each other's presence. I can't describe it any other way, but that's how it is. Katniss continues to be Katniss, but like Haymitch, she finally learns to breathe as she realizes over time that this is actually permanent. Her gray eyes, drenched in a veil of absence for so long, find strength to shine again. Katniss finds the strength to laugh again. Not often, but hearing it once is enough to know that Haymitch and I have not failed in our task. Mentor and escort. We kept our children alive. There is no better triumph.

Peeta reminds me more and more of his old self. While Haymitch and Katniss took a long time to adjust to the bleak presence of District 12, he has positively thrived here. His art supports him; helps him to express himself. And it is a unique look into the past from his perspective. The more time passes, the brighter and more balanced his pictures become. But like all of us, he has his dark days when the last remnants of brainwashing wear on his mind. Like all of us, he also has people to mourn.

Now that we're all gathered in one place for the first time since our parting in the Capitol, it's not just the good memories that come to the surface. It reminds me a little of the final night before the 75th Hunger Games, when some of the victors gathered in the penthouse of District 12 to spend one last evening together before possibly being separated by death.

We toast today, just as we did back then. This time to the lost friends and family members who were actually taken away from us by death. We raise our glasses high and honor the victims who sacrificed without whom we would not be standing here together today. And while the crystalline clink of glasses still echoes through the room, we all bow our heads. It feels a little like we're all quietly reciting their names in our minds. And yet I hear them as clearly as if someone had spoken them out loud.

Mags. Chaff. Finnick. Cinna. Portia. Rue. Primrose.

I look at Haymitch. His mother. His brother. His girl.

Peeta's entire family and all the other residents of District 12 who didn't escape the bombs.

Elowen. Ramon. All the tributes from District 12 that we couldn't save. All the tributes from the other Districts whose names I don't know.

Lyssandra and Marcus. My parents.

And as the moment of guilt, of sadness, of pain passes, we eat, drink and laugh. They all wouldn't have wanted it any other way. They would want the inhabitants of this new world to find peace with the horrors of the past Panem.

And between the phases of laughter there are also moments of bicker, curses, and arguments. Never for long. We know that this is our family. And even though everything happened more than three years ago, more time will have to pass to heal these wounds. The traumas. The memories. If they ever disappear completely. If we can ever be fully healed.

At some point, after the darkness has already pushed the sun away from the horizon for a few hours, I stand outside behind the children's house. Leaning against the veranda, which would have had a view of the garden if the light had been on.

In the distance the crickets chirp in the clean summer air. From the depths of the forest an owl howls its warning call. Muffled laughter comes through the slightly open windows behind me. A veil of dry warmth surrounds me. My head tilted back, I look at the sky. The stars shine bright and clear out here and it's easy to get lost in the sight of them. Unlike in the bright Capitol, where they are swallowed up by the glow of the city.

The door opens and closes again seconds later. The wooden floor of the porch creaks as a figure slips out of the house. His smell surrounds me first, followed shortly by his arms. I nestle into Haymitch without taking my eyes off the sky full of stars. Haymitch knows it fascinates me; that it lets me unwind and drift off.

"What are you thinking about, Princess?" His voice is rough from laughing and talking. He tilts his chin and his stubble pokes against my forehead. Even after three years, shaving doesn't work as well as I would like. But how could I argue with him with all that I have won?

It is not just Haymitch who has changed. I have too.

My traumas, which I dragged from prison to District 13, then to the Capitol and finally to District 12, have given way to a phase of self-discovery. Not gone, but easier to bear. Haymitch and the children make them bearable, sometimes even make me forget them completely for a short period of time.

I finally know who I am outside of the glamour, Capitol duties, and rebels. It took me more than a decade to finally understand who I am. To finally listen to myself without putting the needs of a society above my own. Now I am free, and I know myself better than ever before.

I hardly dream about my mother anymore. When I do, they are usually fulfilling dreams that I wake up from and wish I could return to. Snippets from my childhood. Moments when the pressure of the Capitol did not weigh on any of us for a few moments; where it was just the two of us. Or scenarios that my brain makes up. Wishes and longings that never became reality.

I rarely miss my old life anymore. But sometimes there are those days of nostalgia. When all the positive outweighs the negative. At least for the blink of an eye. When I am not entirely sure whether I am living up to the old Effie. Whether she would still be alive, whether she would be happy with this life, whether she would be sad.

But then I think of all the bad things. Of all the crimes and sacrifices that had to be made. Of all the scars that me and my new family will have to bear for the rest of our lives.

Then I remember that the old Effie isn't dead. That she still exists. In me. That we are one and there were never two Effies. I am alive, I am happy with this life, and I can still grieve. It's okay and it's good and right.

It was worth it. This was worth the pain and years of suffering. For the children. For Haymitch. For me.

"I think about how this is the truth."