drake breukelen | d12 | fin | cbd #1

Ripred fucking damn it.

Haven't I made my peace? Hadn't I accepted our brief moments in the Justice Center as our last goodbye?

After all, feelings mean nothing, and idle wishes are worthless without the ability to enforce them.

Only power holds meaning. Only strength holds sway.

Not for kindness or for altruism, my dear sister, for those shall only weaken your resolve - but live for power.

There's still a dent in the wall from where I punched it that day. That was a terrible idea, but damn did I need the pain in my knuckles to stave off the sick feeling in my stomach.

Images of these hands throttling Ansel Khiev invaded my mind, but what good would that do? What use, when five days in the arena left him with barely a scratch, when his pack proved stronger than even the Careers?

No, the only thing left are the regrets I hold - because even if we disagree, even if our values are different, even if I should know better than to think she deserved to win the Games - I needed more time than a three-minute goodbye and two young children I can scarcely bear to look at without feeling clotted and heavy inside.

But life is never fair, and in Twelve we see it better than anyone. Twenty years of deterioration is the price we pay for wrong moves made before I was even born, for a game whose phases we have failed to keep up with.

So, well played, Jacinta. Very well played.