[There were two paintings of her on the wall, both of them beautifully painted. The first was a picture of her standing in a field with a bouquet of flowers in her hands, yellow wings on her back, happy, joyous, serene (alive).
The second was one of her stopped over a puddle, her yellow wings still showing, but her reflection showed a beautiful dress (blue chiffon, stage lights, "if they can't catch me, they can't kill me") with butterfly wings.
She knows the Peeta here now isn't the same one that painted the pictures, though they're the same person. But he painted them with love and care. And she's honored by the pictures as much as it hurts. Were those real memories of a previous stay in Luceti? Or were those images Peeta had and painted in a way of remembering her?
Because she's dead. She's dead in her world, and Peeta knew that, and here in a world with wings, it's her only chance to live. But living is hard with nightmares stalking the night and fear stalking the mornings.
How do you voice any of that?
You don't.
You don't.]
...I didn't expect to see them. That's all. They're very beautiful.
no subject
The second was one of her stopped over a puddle, her yellow wings still showing, but her reflection showed a beautiful dress (blue chiffon, stage lights, "if they can't catch me, they can't kill me") with butterfly wings.
She knows the Peeta here now isn't the same one that painted the pictures, though they're the same person. But he painted them with love and care. And she's honored by the pictures as much as it hurts. Were those real memories of a previous stay in Luceti? Or were those images Peeta had and painted in a way of remembering her?
Because she's dead. She's dead in her world, and Peeta knew that, and here in a world with wings, it's her only chance to live. But living is hard with nightmares stalking the night and fear stalking the mornings.
How do you voice any of that?
You don't.
You don't.]
...I didn't expect to see them. That's all. They're very beautiful.