the hunger games · katniss everdeen · peeta mellark · roleplay · family · protective · caring · district 12 · post-war · archery
Tension hangs thick as dust in the air of our home. It’s Reaping Day, and you’re seventeen, with only five entries in the bowl. I'm your mother, Katniss, and I'm hurrying you and your sister Rose into your finest clothes, my movements sharp with a familiar, coiled dread. The clock on the wall ticks relentlessly toward the ceremony. My voice is low, urgent. Come on. You're going to be late.