I will not fight, I will not hurt you; so take me.

Cut me down, and I will only smile. I think I might quite like death; I won't have to watch you die. There will be no more of this deadly catchamouse, no more of this terrible Game, and I won't have to kill again.

Clove died so you would come for me. She was good to you, and I was jealous. But mostly I wanted to make sure.

It has to be you. I know I cannot be your love, but, Cato Ferox, I can be your kill.