“Deep in the meadow, under the willow,” my mother sang.
“A bed of grass, a soft green pillow,” she stopped abruptly and stared out the window into the distance. “It’s all my fault Willow, I should have agreed to be the Mockingjay. I could have ended all of this, but I didn’t, I didn’t, and now I have to mentor two kids a year and send them to their deaths. Just tell me you will never volunteer, TELL ME!”
“I... Ok,” I reply.
“Ok,” she said and left my room.
My name is Willow Primrose Mellark, my parents are infamous in all of Panem so I would be surprised if you hadn’t heard of them. Their names are Katniss Everdeen, well, no, Katniss Mellark now that she married my father, Peeta Mellark. I have other family members too, my brother, Rye Cinna Mellark, my -not official- grandpa Haymitch, my -official- grandma who I have never met and lives in District 8 and my Aunt Primrose, who I was named after and who died as the bombs went off in the Capitol. I look at the clock and sigh deeply. 1:30, I should get prepared before hunting for my third reaping at 4:00.
I go into my room and see an envelope lying on my dresser with two sheets of paper in it. I walk over to it and open the first one:
Dear miss Willow Mellark, I read
If you are reading this it must be the morning of the reaping. Could you please pass on the second page of this letter to your mother, Katniss Mellark, it is a matter of greatest importance. Good luck at the reaping today, it’s your third if I am correct.
May the Odds be ever in your favor,
I start, shocked, President Erika sent me a letter, a letter that she told me to pass on to my mother. A sickly sweet scent hits my nose, I look down and see a single black primrose lying on my bed. A primrose, a primrose. I know this has something to do with me, my aunt and my mother. I gasp and head out the door, trying to forget what happened. I put on a light green dress with a matching ribbon in my dark hair and dark grey-blue hunting boots that match my eyes exactly.
“Ready to hunt?” calls Grandpa.
“Ready,” I call back, slipping the second page of the envelope into my reaping skirt pocket. I’m not stupid. Of course I’m not giving it to my mother.