Every victor is a victor for a reason.

All of us have killed, some of us never thinking we could. But whether we killed for love, life, pride, or glory, we all killed. Yes, every victor is a victor for a reason- we're killers.

Except her.

The first time I saw her on the screen, I doubted that she could love anything. The cold look in her eyes, defiant set of her jaw no matter what smile was plastered on, the way she held his hand as the chariot made its round. I knew she could kill- that she would kill. And I had no doubt that she wouldn't spare a second thought about her district counterpart.

My assurance of her fatal attitude turned on its side while in the thick of the Games. Her braid pushed behind her, limbs at odd angles as an attempt was made to be comfortable in the stiff and artificial arena trees, she looked the epitome of done. A huff and two muffled sounds later finds her back to adjusting when she sees what I thought would make her nervous and angry- the Careers.

I and every other mentor in this god-forsaken room watch as her face contorts. I look away- it's been an excruciatingly long time since I've been sober enough to have any attention span left to care about the pigs they've raised for slaughter, but who was I kidding with this one? Even if the two would've allowed me to drink, no amount of poison was going to make it easier to watch an Everdeen go down. Especially Katniss.

Sure, everyone loved the little blonde, little Primrose . Her loving and kind nature draws everyone towards her, like the bunch of bloody saps we are. Mrs. Everdeen was pitied by most, particularly by those who knew her before the accident, but still liked her fairly well. And their father was the same as Prim- just someone that everyone loved. Katniss, however, was neither like her father nor her mother. Even with her father's bloody perfect singing voice being passed down to her, the air she kept around herself was never quite as jovial as people would expect from an Everdeen. As a little girl she was vibrant, but after the accident it was damn near impossible to get a smile out of her.

All of this made the eldest Everdeen child believe that she was tough to get along with. Well, she bloody well is. But the drive, determination, fierce love, and loyalty she shows for those close to her was something everyone in District Twelve saw. Whether Katniss likes it or not, all of us tried to help her without her knowledge. The mayor and the baker would buy hunt from her, even though the mayor didn't often eat meat and the baker knew his bitchy wife would get into it with him, the old hag. Prim knew what we were doing, too. She kept quiet as she sometimes saw old game thrown out, simply because they'd had too much once they bought from Katniss. But the customers kept coming back, hoping against hope that the brunette girl would realize she's not as horrible as she thinks. In a way, Twelve loved this girl more than her sister.

And now she was to either kill or be killed.

When my head turned away from the holographic screen, I met eyes with a Capitol official.

Damn. Looks like I'm gonna have to watch it.

The camera is still focused on Katniss. I examine her face, looking for the anger we all knew would be there when she discovered her boy with the bread was picking off people with Careers instead of throwing sacks of flour at them.

But what I- and the rest of the mentors- saw as her eyes locked on to her next potential threats was not the look of rage we anticipated. Instead, there was a look that none of us anticipated ever seeing in her face, that no one in Twelve had seen since the mine accident.

Hurt. The hurt spread across her face like fire. Starting in the eyes, catching on to crinkle her forehead, her mouth opened the tiniest bit. She may not be the literal girl on fire, but her face was doing a good job of figuratively catching it.

This was a pain that most of us had experienced, but none of us had actually seen it portrayed so crystal clear. Anyone involved in the Games knows how to hide emotion. We feel it, but conceal it. Katniss had that down pretty well.

Until now.

"She really does love him," I hear one of the mentors breathe out.

We watch as she regains control, and the fire that was once sorrow is now a burning hatred. "Did," I correct. "She did love him."

Every victor is a victor for a reason.