I don't own The Hunger Games; this was written purely for recreation.

"Katerina March!"

She is fifteen.

{fifteen, fifteen, young, so young}

x

He meets her on the train, and is reminded of a wolverine.

{tiny, fierce, a survivor}

x

"Wouldn't it be nice," he says, "if we were birds, and could fly away?"

She doesn't look up from the knife that she is polishing. "We can't."

"No," he sighs. She is amused. "I suppose not."

He wishes they could.

{fly, fly away with me}

x

"I won't kill."

"You'll have to." It is coldly spoken, a fact, true as true can be.

"No." He shakes his head. "Because I'm not going to win."

Her face is a mask of stone. "I am. There're enough martyrs in the world, and you can join them if you like. But I'm not going down without a fight."

{going to live, live scarred and impure}

x

It is cold.

And beautiful, in a way—the snow, white, white snow, and the forest, and the way the sunlight glares off the ice.

{cold, cold like determination, like death, like her}

x

He stays with her, somehow, despite her swiftness and her silence. He doesn't quite know why he wants to stay with her, but he does, and he is, and that is that, for them.

{sweet, clueless boy}

x

It is lonely. She doesn't laugh, doesn't smile.

She belongs here, he thinks, cold and beautiful, harsh and strong. She barks orders at him, sometimes, impatient and intolerant. She doesn't much like him, he thinks, and every word stings.

{it is easy to love a pretty, pretty shell}

x

She kills. She is quick, unforgiving, merciless. Her knife is Death, and she is the Grim Reaper. She watches them die with blue, blue eyes.

He watches her fearfully.

{now you see, now you see, how cruel she can be}

x

The blade is sharp and cold, and his blood is hot, so hot, he almost doesn't mind as it soaks his shirt, as his life drains away. But soon all he feels is pain and the world blurs.

There are no stars in the sky, only clouds. She is all he sees, clear and sharp and beautiful and fierce.

She leans close. "Goodbye, martyr." Her voice holds neither sadness nor remorse.

{no stars, but for you, her eyes are close enough, aren't they?}

x

He thinks he has learned to fly.

{they'll remember you}

AN: ...I am disgusted with myself right now. Even the title sucks. I was going to dedicate this, but I don't think anyone could bear the shame of being connected to this.