My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my motherโs body, their cheeks pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks younger, still worn but not so beaten-down. Primโs face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named. My mother was very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me.
Suzanne CollinsAs I descend the stairs, I canโt help brushing my fingers along the unblemished white marble walls. So cold and beautiful. Even in the Capitol, thereโs nothing to match the magnificence of this old building. But there is no give to the surface - only my flesh yields, my warmth taken. Stone conquers people every time.
Suzanne CollinsYou would think after all the hours Iโd spent with Galeโ watching him talk and laugh and frownโ that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadnโt imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands [...] could entrap meโฆ I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest.
Suzanne CollinsI know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," says Peeta. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." I'm jolted back in time, to another wound, another set of bandages. "You said that same thing to me in the first Hunger Games. Real or not real?" "Real," he says. "And you risked your life getting the medicine that saved me?" "Real." I shrug. "You were the reason I was alive to do it.
Suzanne Collins