"𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘸."
in which persephone ignis, born of fire and love, writhes under the tricks and power of snow to form the black swan.
(young! coriolanus snow x fem! oc)
takes place during and after th...
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—High-as-a-Kite Bottom—
Persephone stood out in the bitter cold, tugging loosely at the scarf around her neck. She had been fine with it earlier, but its increasing pressure made her skin itch. Like its presence became too overwhelming.
More importantly, she felt choked by the Ignis scarf.
She took a sharp inhale through her nose and smoothed her blouse carefully to avoid more wrinkles. Persephone needed to process the new responsibility bearing down on her to craft a violent tribute into a star. Reaper had potential—but none like Lucy Gray Baird's. Coryo was lucky to have a natural star.
At least his tribute did not punch a Peacekeeper on live television.
The Ignis girl took a heavy sigh and continued to pull at her scarf.
"Good morning, Miss Ignis." Persephone whipped her head around to find the addict of a short man. Dean Casca Highbottom walked out of the same door she escaped with, hands behind his back as if his head was clear as day. "I presume you, like the others, are upset about the change of plans."
"Not quite." She replied curtly, lacking the interest in talking to the Dean but responsible to be nice. For a moment, she wondered where Coriolanus was so he could pull her away from the man's odd behavior. "I suppose I am a little shocked with the Mentor idea and a little mad that I have another assignment. I was supposed to graduate today. To move onto University."
Highbottom nodded along with her. "Yes, well, do you not agree that these tributes need guidance?"
"Guidance?" Persephone was inclined to ask—but it more so slipped out of her mouth before she could catch her words. She needed to proceed with caution. "The Games are honestly none of my business, our business as students. Yes, this Mentor project might be suited to root out the students only the best on paper and not socially, but the Hunger Games is a large leap to true responsibility. What if one of us dies?"
The man nodded along once again and shrugged. "If a student dies, Miss Ignis, it is not simply for nothing."
And then the words were in her throat. Persephone had to think for a moment. The tributes would be bloodthirsty as a standard, and one of her fellow classmates may be killed, but it would not be wasteful. What point was he trying to prove?
"What is the reason you are speaking with me?" She questioned. "Why the stares and prolonged looks during your speech?"
He only smirked at a distant memory. Highbottom sounded too drugged up to be taken seriously anymore. Persephone had the urge to walk away from the man and come back when his mind was clear. Or, a more suitable option: never approach him again.
"Your family name—Ignis—what does it mean?"
Persephone's brows were drawn close as she frowned, searching for his ulterior motive. "Fire, in Latin."
