You grew a heart in the districts.

No, not in the districts. In the Hunger Games. I should be thanking you.

The credit for the Hunger Games goes to your father. Half of it, at least. I only dreamt them up as an assignment. A joke. I was drunk. Devise a punishment for our enemies so extreme they will never forget how badly they've wronged us. When I sobered up, I wanted to destroy it. But your father, my best friend, he'd stolen it from me. Put both our names on it, taken it to Gaul to rise up himself. I tried morphling the night that first child fell. I hoped the Games might die out. I tried to stop them however I could. But then you came along. Now, the blood of so many more generations will be on my hands. Because you've shown us the price people are willing to pay for a good show.