Dauntless born, Amity transfer. My name is Ally, Ally Cat is simply my nickname. I may be Amity but don't be fooled. When you were young and your heart was an open book, you used to say live and let live.
Falling in love and getting married was the last thing I expected after coming home from the Capitol, but it had happened. I had met the perfect woman at a bonfire and we danced for hours and spoke about everything but every day we still had something to talk about, it was wonderful.
Chessa had been the first person I had told about Ingrid and she sat me down and demanded all the gossip. I think that was when she started planning the wedding actually.
I had been married to Ingrid for three years and now I was sat here holding the most perfect baby I had ever seen, her birth mother was a friend of ours but she had never meant to get pregnant, she promised the baby to us and we had promised to raise the child as our own.
When the baby was born the mother didn't even want to hold her and insisted we name her ourselves, so we did, our Elizabeth-Rose was more perfect than I could have ever imagined. She had blonde hair like the two of us and big eyes that were completely hypnotizing.
We took her home and I didn't want to let her go for any reason, she was much too precious, she slept in my arms for the first few nights. I read old poems to her every single night; Ingrid would sit next to us with baby toys and warm milk. I had never considered falling in love let alone ever being a mother, and here I was, my friends already had children of their own but they would always have been able to have children, Elizabeth-Rose was my second miracle.
My first was love and hope, brought to me by Ingrid. When I had finished reciting the old poems to the bundle in my arms, Ingrid would almost always be asleep on my shoulder, her arm wrapped around the two of us and sometimes I would cry with sheer unadulterated happiness. I had found more love than I had ever thought possible and I would never be alone again.
"'Hope' is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me."
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