They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside me, I was consumed with fear that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much.

Also playing with them are their cousins. Two boys with blond hair and blue eyes. Standing next to me on my left, holding my hand is my baby sister, who moved the whole family to District 12 a year after the birth of both of our second children. Peeta and Prim's husband are behind us talking shop, I can make out bits of the conversation, but I'm entranced by our children playing together.

Even though I have both Prim, her husband, and Peeta, I know the questions are just beginning. The arenas have been destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them in school, and the eldest children know that Peeta and I played a role in them. The younger boys will know in few years. How can I tell them without frightening them to death? Our children, who take the words of the song for granted:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow

Lay down you head, and close your sleepy eyes

And when they open, the sun will rise.

Here it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm.

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings

them true

Here is the place where I love you.

Our children who don't even know that they are playing on a graveyard. Peeta says it will be okay. We have the each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I will have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won't ever really go away.

I'll tell them how I survived it. I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away. That's when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I've seen someone do. It's like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

A/N: Thank you everyone. Those who have been reading since August of 2015, or those who joined after the fact. Thank you for the support, and hanging in there waiting for me to finish the story. Thank you, and I'm glad I could brighten you life for what little time I did.