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It’s a construct of the Capitol, all of it. The ready smirk he wears, the faux-rebellion, the flirtatious lines they force out of his mouth. They like their wild animals, but only leashed and collared.
If he’d ever had a choice—but that doesn’t matter, does it? He hasn’t had a choice since the day he was born.
There are no choices for a Seam brat. Nor any for a tribute. Not even for their Victor.
They have taken and shaped him in their image. They have stolen all of him that was himself. He is nothing but the Capitol’s creation.