Azalea Rose Willow loves three things above everything else:
summer, the only season that mattered in her mind.
singing, alongside the comforting embrace of her guitar.
but above all, the easy camaraderie with the boy who lives next door to her, and...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Azalea slipped into the new yellow dress Mags had sewn for her. Unlike the previous year's garment, which strained at the seams from how many times she'd worn it, this one flowed comfortably around her growing frame. The style echoed a dress Mags herself had worn years ago, a hint of nostalgia clinging to the fabric. It wasn't the height of District 4 fashion, but for Azalea, it felt perfect.
She paired it with a set of simple, white socks and her well-worn reaping Mary Janes. The ensemble, despite its simplicity, somehow managed to make Azalea appear younger. Like a ten-year-old girl playing dress-up, a stark contrast to the harsh reality of the reaping looming just hours away.
Despite the outdated style, a throwback to Mags' younger days, it accentuated the long auburn hair that cascaded down Azalea's shoulders in soft waves to her hips. The simple look, adorned with a matching yellow ribbon holding half of her hair, completed the look.
"Thank you, Mags," Azalea said twirling around in her dress, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. "It's beautiful."
Mags beamed, her weathered face crinkling at the corners of her eyes. "Beautiful like the wearer."
Tomas stepped into the room, a smile creasing his kind face. The sight of his daughter twirling in the sunshine-yellow dress, a stark contrast to the somber mood of the day, transported him back in time.
He remembered a younger Azalea, a giggling mess of brown waves, swirling around in a sunflower-printed dress, a childish delight radiating from her. The once-tiny girl was now a young woman, grace replacing her childhood clumsiness.
"Feliz Cumple, Florcita mía," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Azalea stopped her twirling, her smile brighter than the sunshine streaming through the kitchen window. She rushed towards him, her embrace warm and enveloping. He held her close.
"Thanks, Dad," she murmured, burying her face in his chest. Pulling back slightly, he brushed a kiss against her forehead, the gesture grounding her, reminding her of the unwavering love that surrounded her even in the face of the Games.
"Speaking of birthdays," Tomas said, a playful glint in his eyes, "I have a little something for you." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. Azalea's eyes widened with curiosity.
"Open it carefully," he instructed, his voice laced with a hint of excitement.
Azalea took the box from his hand, her fingers trembling slightly. With a deep breath, she lifted the lid, revealing a delicate gold necklace nestled on a bed of crimson velvet. A single charm dangled from the chain, catching the light with a soft gleam.
