She watches the curve of his horns tilt and dip as he moves and the pain is back, as abrupt and terrible as she remembered, only worse somehow. Somehow it never gets easier, she never acclimates, it's always a burning bright pain. It's bright and fierce and she can feel her whole body ache with the tension of holding herself together.

She's trembling, trying her best not to scream, not to cry. Her nails dig into the floor, pulling up splinters. It doesn't work, she still screams, but she refuses to cry. She's better, stronger, tougher than this. She's a better troll than the Capitol makes her out to be. She's a tougher troll. The smell in the air makes her want to claw herself free, curl in, wait for death to come, but she's stronger than her fears and her anguish. Than the nausea boiling up inside of her.

Afterwards, she promises herself. Afterwards, when the pain is over. Will the pain ever be over? Will he ever stop. A thought--kill him for the pain, murder--and she shakes her head hard. It's just the pain, just the horror, just her old hatred welling up. Stronger than her base instincts. Stronger.