𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑰𝑪𝑰𝑻 𝑨𝑭𝑭𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑺
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, 𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐬, 𝐭𝐨𝐨.❞
in which the daughter of the man who created the hunger games does...
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"The 10th Annual Hunger Games"
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Winter wished she could be holding Sejanus' hand like she had been when they arrived at the Academy for Arachne's funeral procession.
Instead, she found herself stationed further back on the steps that were littered with uniformed students, all of whom had been arranged in alphabetical order. She stood behind Vipsania Sickle, the mentor of the District Seven boy, Treech, and in front of a boy whose name was Xanthe.
The crowds had gathered in their masses dressed in black, Capitol flags flew proudly from the windows of buildings, and Winter knew that it wasn't to mourn the girl, but rather to hopefully catch a glimpse of themselves on the television. It was pathetic, but she expected nothing less from the Capitol people. They didn't care that a girl was dead, that several others had died and had been injured since, they found the whole thing to be exciting, they loved the attention that it brought to their home, and the buzzing of the Games had amplified it by a thousand.
She found the fact that they were televising it to be uncouth. It was a funeral, funerals were supposed to be filled with respect and mourning and instead, someone, most likely Gaul, had decided that it was the perfect opportunity to bank on the Games.
A funeral parade before a slaughter.
She was sure Arachne would have loved it, she had said it to Coriolanus and it had been true. All these people crying for her, even if the tears were crocodile, sobbing her name, shouting how she had been too young, had so much more life to live. Of how she was smart, and kind, and didn't deserve to die.
She did deserve to die, Winter found herself thinking. And if she was smarter, if she was kinder she would still be alive.
Her eyes found the back of Coriolanus' head as he stood proudly at the front of the line up, right next to President Ravinstill. The older man put on a strong front despite the critical condition his son lay in at the hospital. He should have been there with him, he should have been by his side and instead, he was here, leading the charge against the rebels when he should have been pointing the finger at his Head Gamemaker.
Winter wondered if he knew it was Gaul who had planted the bombs and if he had agreed to her doing it. Surely not if he knew his son was going to be there. Or had he also been so brainwashed by Gaul that he'd sit back and allow her to do as she pleased?
As the clock struck nine, Winter watched Coriolanus move to the front, her eyes narrowing as he settled in front of the microphone, opened his mouth and... began to sing?
