"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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—Of the Swan and Snow—
The moment Lamina killed Marcus to spare him mercy, something he was not given for running to save his life, Persephone's facade cracked—and she knew it. She was a hairline fracture away from crumbling to pieces.
She excused herself to use the bathroom. Her face remained unchanged. Only when she locked the door to the bathroom and ensured nobody else could see her, Persephone's cheeks bore warm streaks of tears. Her hand was clamped over her mouth to cover any sobs she could not contain.
A complete, utter mess of a girl named Persephone Ignis.
For someone who was supposed to be perfect, she dwindled far below the bar. If someone had seen her from the past, a mere week before she cradled herself on the floor of a bathroom, she would have been pristine. Elegant. No forced smile, but calculated movements with every shift in her figure.
A part of her desired to go back to when she was oblivious to the truth about the Hunger Games. Persephone's path was set before her at a very young age: she would attend the Academy, graduate, move onto University, graduate, marry someone noble, settle down, birth his heirs, and never fail to bring glory to the Ignis name.
Her back slid against the wall, down until she hit the floor and brought her knees to her chest. Persephone wept soundless tears for the tributes killed within the first ten minutes of the Games. For Marcus, hung and paraded like a symbol of power among the Capitol. For Sejanus, who witnessed such brutality against his former classmate. And for the future tributes to the Games, young or old, who would be forced to kill in order to survive and live with the guilt for the rest of their lives.
Perfection was pain. Persephone wiped her tears and prayed with time, her red eyes would fade to go unnoticed.
In the silence of the bathroom, suffering and guilt swallowed her whole.
"You can't save her by watching." Back in the auditorium, Coriolanus tore his eyes from the screen broadcasting Lucy Gray and found Highbottom lurking in the shadows. The short man leaned against a vacant desk next to the boy and studied him carefully. "What do you want from that girl?"
"Nothing, I want her to live." He began to become irritated with the man's intrusive behavior. Lucy Gray was his tribute, his path to the glory of the Plinth Prize. He must care about her in order for her to win. Her beauty like a dove was only an addition to her capabilities as a performer.
Highbottom was not a fool. He observed the attitude Coriolanus offered to Persephone Ignis and to Lucy Gray Baird. The similarities the boy shared with his father started to blur together into an uncanny resemblance. Crassus Snow liked power—his son was busy chasing after it.
"And the Plinth Prize would be a happy coincidence, I suppose?" Here is the part where Highbottom grew suspicious: was Lucy Gray an infatuation linked to power and money or was Persephone the one he truly desired to ruin?
