"I can't have you," Finnick whispered, pressing a soft, parting kiss to Rose's forehead, "because you'll always be Snows, not mine."
Rhoswen (Rose) Snow is the daughter of President Snow, who rescued her from a homeless, destitute life in District...
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Rose turned the water up till steam clouded the bathroom and her skin reddened underneath the boiling stream.
She grabbed her loofah and put it under the faucet that deposited the floral smelling wash she preferred. She then scraped the sponge across her skin, rubbing so hard it stung. But even that wasn't enough. She kept rubbing and rubbing until she could no longer feel Fallon's touch on her. But nothing was enough, no matter what she did, she could still feel it. Clinging to her, the damp feeling of his touch gliding against her.
She let out a ragged sob, pressing her forehead against the marble tile. She had poisoned him. Poisoned him and brought him back to life but poison was poison. She had been no better than her father. She loved Snow, she did, but she kept a solid firm line between him as a father and him as a president. It wasn't the easiest thing to ignore his knack for poison when he needed to get rid of an issue, but sometimes it was. Sometimes Rose was content getting lost in their laughter around the dinner table or the press of his kiss against the top of her head.
He was her father but not biologically. She thought that traits carried through blood not...not through upraising alone. But here she was, poisoning members of the capitol overrun by their own power. She was no better than Coriolanus. No better because she found that she enjoyed it. That she wanted to get her hands on more berries, to do it again and again until the world was red and finally...finally, blissfully quiet. Till there were no more men drunk on power but poison. Her power.
Rose shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, wiping the fog from the mirror. She looked tired, but that wasn't anything unusual. She had gained a bit of weight since becoming a tribute. Her and her sisters used to be on a diet, no processed food or unnecessary sugars. But now Finnick was stuffing both her and Callum, to prepare them in case there was no easily accessible food in the arena. Which was a very real possibility.
Rose shuddered and quickly toweled off, vouching for a simple black sweater and dark gray pants. It fit her mood.
She blow dried her hair, which needed nothing more than a top of a button. There was a blast of air and her hair was lying in silky black locks across her shoulders once more. She tugged at a strand, wondering what she was going to do in the arena. Should she cut it? In case it was hot? But what if it was freezing? What if they put her in a tundra? They had done that one year. None of the tributes lasted long, apparently it got boring watching them all waste around by their fires, too cold to move.
Rose walked out of the bathroom and moved towards the door. She braced her forehead against it, sucking in a breath. It would work. Their scores were coming out soon and she was determined that she'd get a score. The applause and cheers gave that away. But the worst part...the worst part would be explaining how she did it to everyone.
Dinner was already set out on the table as Rose walked out. Pink frothy soup dotted with roses, spiced wine, carrots and potatoes floating in some kind of decadent gravy, a collection of berries soaking in a purple broth. It would've sent her into a ravenous state had she not been so shaken.
