Cinna. He’s dead, isn’t he? Yes, dear. He made Plutarch promise not
to show you this until you’d decided to be The Mockingjay on your own.
He knew the risks. As we all do. He believed in this revolution. He
believed in you.
“My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. There is no District 12. I am the Mockingjay. I brought down the Capitol. President Snow hates me. He killed my sister. Now I will kill him. And then the Hunger Games will be over…”
I mourn my old life here. We barely scraped by, but I knew where I fit in, I knew what my place was in the tightly interwoven fabric that was our life. I wish I could go back to it because, in retrospect, it seems so secure compared with now, when I am so rich and so famous and so hated by the authorities in the Capitol.