He knew he was just manipulating you to try and win the games. To make you a spectacle.

”I want you to turn these kids into spectacles, not survivors or winners.” Dean Hightbottom’s voice rang in his ears now.

He couldn’t get too close to you, then he would actually end up caring. And that would be such a stupid call on his part. Starting to care for a District Twelve mutt would be rather pathetic.

And he couldn’t care less as long as he got the Plinth prize, that was all that mattered to him. There was so shame from him at all.

You were his songbird, and he was a snake. And he was a handsome one, at that. Maybe that’s how he had manipulated you, with all of his looks and unbelievable charm. How stupid.

He wanted to get you to sing again tonight at the tribute interview that will be aired all over Panem before the Hunger Games tomorrow. He was going to get you to sing.

With a little manipulation, some charm, and a little bit of food to seem like he cared. When in reality he didn’t really care that much at all.

“I want you to sing tonight.” He tells you. His voice is oddly gentle and warm, he knows you’ll fall for any form of shown kindness.

He noticed that from the first time he met you, when he gave you a white rose when you hopped off of the tribute-carrying train.

He waits for your response, staring at you with feign kindness and sympathy now. He knows just how to manipulate people.