Bokelskere.no

....but it's something of a revelation that those in the Capitol feel anything at all about us. They certainly don't have a problem watching children being murdered every year. But maybe they know too much about the victors, especially the ones who've been celebrities for ages, to forget we're human beings. It's more like watching your own friends die.

"I can only form one clear thought.
This is no place for a girl on fire."

(..) but what is the worst pain? To me, it’s always the pain that is present.

They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love.
(Johanna Mason)

"No one really needs me," he says, and there`s no selfpity in his voice. Its true his family doesntt need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. "I do," I say. "I need you."

I lie with my head on Peeta’s lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he’s practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. “What?” I ask. “I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” Peeta says. Usually, this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I’ll never have, I just let the word slip out. “Okay” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Then you’ll allow it?” “Ill allow it,” I say His fingers go back into my hair and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It’s a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the skyline of the Capitol. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss it,” he says.

“Are we supposed to hold hands this year?” I ask. “I guess they left it up to us,” says Peeta.
I look up into those blue eyes that no amount of dramatic makeup can make truly deadly. Our hands find each other without further discussion. Of course we sill go into this as one.

When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before he can order me to do push-ups or something. Instead he pulls me in close and buried his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading though the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go.

We star-crossed lovers from District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victory, do not seek the fans' favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving.

Katniss, the girl on fire, has left behind her flickering flames and bejewelled gowns and soft candlelight frocks. She is as deadly as fire itself.