the start of the end.— [abel/katelyn]

k a t e l y n .

Darker times will come and go
Times you need to see her smile
And mothers' hands are warm and mild

Somehow, the annual stress of attending the games had not gotten to her this year. Katelyn wasn’t sure if was because she’d finally made her peace with everything she’d gone through, because she was in love, because she knew what happiness was at last or some combination of the three. In any case, it was a wonderful feeling. Still, her heart went out to the tributes.

Especially Abel.

Katelyn wondered briefly if the Capitol had finally tired of whittling away the Izar clan and had set their sights on the O’Malley’s. Underdogs from impoverished districts made great drama for television, as long as they didn’t win. History repeated itself, and perhaps they were now torturing Kassandra with a family she couldn’t save, much as they’d done to Katelyn herself.

The boy had entered the car she was in with a face crinkled with emotion he was trying to hold in. They rarely managed to do that. Katelyn’d buried enough tributes over the years to know that. He was muttering reassurances to himself in an attempt to stay calm. Admirable. Keeping a level head was the first step towards getting home. Too many tributes had lost themselves, or tried to be something they were not before cracking under the pressure.

“It’s okay to not be okay, Abel. I’m not going to judge you for it. My name's Katelyn Persimmon.”

It was surreal really, to be talking to a tribute too young to remember when she was a hellraiser. Back when she’d guided Kirito and Harbinger home in consecutive years. As far as kids these days were probably concerned, she was just that blond victor that had been the district’s first one in decades. The one who ran a bakery. Or maybe kids his age read the tabloids and knew about the engagement with Opal Shore. She wanted to shake her head. How was it that the 69th had been twenty years ago when she remembered the snowflakes and the blood like it was yesterday?

She supposed the boy was brave; volunteering for a cousin was something she could understand a lot more than just volunteering for a stranger to chase fame and glory. It was likely that the full weight of his decision was hitting him now. She glanced down at her arms, and the names that were tattooed there. All of The tributes from her games. Around her neck were the names of the three lives she had taken.

Chaske Parks, Dillon Hartman and Margaret Dubois.

She still carried their memories. But she was no longer haunted by their ghosts. Perhaps that was a part of getting older too. Laying those things to rest. It had taken her years to be able to do that, but she thankful she did. “Do you want to talk about it? That’s what I’m here for. To listen and offer guidance.” Maybe a few other things too; she’d stopped bringing fudge to the train a few years ago, but there were plenty of other desserts she was well versed in. A moment later and she’d taken the tin out of her bag.

“Would you like a slice of cherry pie?”