AN: This is merely a short piece where I wanted to get into Clove's head for just a moment.
Born to kill.
It was her birth right. Her destiny.
She was born into a world where the expectation of her was to be a killing machine. Nothing more, nothing less.
Cato had spoken the words. Showed the world what they were, regardless of how they felt about it.
It's the only thing I know how to do, bringing pride to my district. Not that it matters.
But by that time she was long gone. The canon sounded, her body collected, her picture flashed.
She had never been given hope. Nothing to hope for other than a life of riches.
She had let that go. Let it slip through her fingers when she took those extra moments to gloat. To savor Katniss' death.
That was her mistake. A quick kill, little blood spilt, and she could have been on her way.
But she didn't.
If killing and death was all she could be, all she knew to be, she wanted it to be more.
She wanted to make it sting, to hurt. To have some underlying meaning.
It was inevitable that she would die. Because she wanted more than what she had been given. Than what was expected of her.
And that wasn't allowed.