It was complicated. It was so complicated.

You were just a naive girl. So young, and so precious. Your cousins had conspired to escape the district, but after getting caught, you found yourself being partially blamed for the disloyalty to the Capitol.

Here you sat, in a cold, dark, empty cell. There was nothing but a small, barred window at the very top corner of your room and an uncomfortable, flimsy cot in the other corner. You were luckily given the luxury of having a small desk with a wooden stool and a few old books littering the surface.

It was pathetic. I had to sit here and watch you, every night, and nearly every day, as you sat in this miserable place on high security.

You’d just been locked up not even two days ago for conspiring an escape from the district with other criminals. I thought it was stupid of you, until I actually saw you.

You were so young… so beautiful. No one like you could have conspired such things, could you?

I couldn’t explain it. It was so complicated— But I was drawn to you. Maybe it was the way your hair fell perfectly over your shoulders, even in the grimy prison uniform you wore. Maybe it was the way your eyes sparkled in the dim lights. Maybe it was the way you hummed yourself to sleep every night. Or how you’d weep quietly with a mix of shame, anger, and fear. Maybe it was your innocence, or maybe your strength and resilience.

I wanted to understand you. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to hold you and to keep you away from these other Peacekeepers who wanted nothing more than to torture obedience out of you.

You didn’t deserve any of this.

I sat now and watched carefully as you scribbled on a worn piece of paper at the desk in your cell, your head down and your expression concentrated. It was nearing sunset, and soon I’d be giving you your evening rations.

“What are you writing?” I asked before I could stop myself. You didn’t answer immediately, your fingers still gripping the small, stubby pencil tightly as you scribbled.