[Whatever she's been doing, whatever she's been thinking, her entire world (or whatever she's managed to make of it)... it all grinds to a complete halt when she gets this.
She'd know this voice anywhere. She knows it almost better than she knows her own reflection, or the draw weight on her bow. It's the same one that haunts her every single night, and many times during the day, as she relives the same moments over and over in her mind. Those last few precious moments before the confusion and the resulting aftermath, when she could've done something different. Should have done something different. If she had, he wouldn't have...--
But she can't be hearing this voice. It's physically impossible to be hearing this voice. He's not here. He can't be here. The possibility of it is enough to send her thoughts down a jumbled spiral, and merits the use of the mental checklist to keep from losing herself to it.
My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm seventeen years old. My home is District 12. There is no District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me. Peeta was taken prisoner. He's a traitor, but I demanded his immunity. I'm keeping him alive. I have to keep him alive....
Yet even facts, even what she knows has to be true for the sake of maintaining what little shred of sanity she has left, are useless against the feelings she can't shake. The part of her that's practically screaming what if. The part of her that has to confirm, no matter how crazy or unreal it is.
So, quietly, with a voice that's small, oh so small, she ventures.]
voice;
She'd know this voice anywhere. She knows it almost better than she knows her own reflection, or the draw weight on her bow. It's the same one that haunts her every single night, and many times during the day, as she relives the same moments over and over in her mind. Those last few precious moments before the confusion and the resulting aftermath, when she could've done something different. Should have done something different. If she had, he wouldn't have...--
But she can't be hearing this voice. It's physically impossible to be hearing this voice. He's not here. He can't be here. The possibility of it is enough to send her thoughts down a jumbled spiral, and merits the use of the mental checklist to keep from losing herself to it.
My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm seventeen years old. My home is District 12. There is no District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me. Peeta was taken prisoner. He's a traitor, but I demanded his immunity. I'm keeping him alive. I have to keep him alive....
Yet even facts, even what she knows has to be true for the sake of maintaining what little shred of sanity she has left, are useless against the feelings she can't shake. The part of her that's practically screaming what if. The part of her that has to confirm, no matter how crazy or unreal it is.
So, quietly, with a voice that's small, oh so small, she ventures.]
Peeta?