hunger games sequel: after the embers
My mother fastens the lace strings of which are caressing the arch of my tense shoulders. A soft smile glides across her now worn features, but ever since Primrose slid out of my finger tips, the spark in her glossy, blue eyes has escaped into an unknown world, I wish to reach. Primrose. It hurts to think of her, and I have to hide my wince, pushing a stray strand of hair out of my eyes. My mother admonishes me quietly, “Don’t mess with it, Katniss.” I shoot a glance at the long mirror in front of me; her irritation arises, a feeling not expressed regularly.
“You look beautiful.” I find myself feeling warm inside. My hair cascades along my shoulders in careless ripples. And the dress, the dress Cinna intended for me to display to the ravenous world of Panem. He was my dearest friend, the way his pleasant, chocolate eyes would search and search for a flaw; even though, frankly, this annoyed me, I longed for the comfort of his touch. The dress was beautiful, I suppose. But my idea of beautiful was so different from others. To me, beautiful was an old woman who had survived the horrors of this world. To everyone else, beautiful was an ivory, silk dress with pearls and roses. It did flow beautifully across my innocent curves, yet I hated that they put roses on it. Each time I saw the little spirals of petals, I had to fight down a wave of hysteria that seemed to surge within me frequently. But I straightened my back, planted a smile on my face, and walked out the door without a look at my mother. It was time, time to make an impression. My steady heartbeat was loud in my ears as the golden, brass doors slung open with a thud!
The room leaves me astonished: glass chandeliers align the rose colored walls, primrose flower petals cover the floor, and most importantly, Peeta’s face brightens the room. My mouth begins to whisper, “I love you.” This man has been there for me, when no one else could understand. He is my life, my love, and my companion. I find my eyes glued to the screens outside in the Capitol streets. No longer do I have to convince the world of my love for Peeta, for my love is finally real.
The music overwhelms my already nervous soul. Organs and trumpets scream proudly as I begin my walk down the glowing carpet. Light reflects off of my face, adding even more to my beauty. My ears throb when the squeals of the people arise louder, and louder.
