"The fallen angel" and "the devil in disguise"
Two names Ares Aristo was known for, a boy who had more to him than originally met the eye. Charming the capital with his kind facade, it was only in the games did they realized just how far an angel ca...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧.
(blood diamond )
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
At the end of the games, when the sole Victor was announced to the masses and a period of emotional rest began for those who had personal stakes through their loved ones, the twelve reapers would be put back into their gilded cages where they would remain until the next match of life commenced. Usually, the cages would stay empty and hollow, polished with gold and draped in old ornate jewels; for District Nine, however, at the end of the 67th Hunger Games, there was a new blood diamond fixed to the sidings of the cage, dull around the edges from the hellscape it was retrieved from but polished back into refinement.
No matter how beautiful it appeared under the spotlight, put up on a pedestal to gleam in front of millions of people for its rarity and newness, the inside told a different story. Underneath the polish and buffed-out sharpness was something unconsolable and vulnerable. Something that would need to be covered up and mended with glue in the cracks or else the entire jewel would shatter into pieces so small they would never be put back together again.
Ares Aristo, the blood diamond of the year, waited patiently with his hands clasped behind him. He stood tall and on his pedestal of glory, forcing himself to hide his imperfection, dressed in a perfectly fitted all-white silk ensemble with delicate trails of gold embroidery running down the fabric beautifully in fine-spun roses—one might say it was comparable with some of President Snow's very own divine picks during his younger days, a purposeful move done on Quiver's part to present the angel like the god himself for his first showing.
Ares' crystal eyes caught the camera, and he no longer needed his cue to know how to shine. He walked to the center stage the same way he walked to the final platform when fire licked at his heels—with a mask of arrogance.
Except the mask had been forever marked. There was a crack that was impossible to buff out or glue back together, resting just over his eyebrow and leaking his inner trepidation and agony. The emotions pooled in his eyes the same way the blood from the wound's first inception had. Even as he flashed a small smile of delight, if you looked hard enough into the pooling blue depths to see behind his irises, you'd see how much agony was being masked.
How damaged the blood diamond truly was.
His mentor, Callum Mikaels, and his stylist, Quiver, were the only people able to see through the crack, and they both held their breaths. They all had yet to hold a conversation with one another. Not when Ares had been admitted for various medical reasons for the past two days and wasn't all that willing to talk.
But while Callum and Quiver found themselves uncertain and silent, the crowd roared to a deafening rise.
"The Fallen Angel has come to bless us again! Give it up to our Victor, who walked through fire—and looked delectable while doing it—to be here with us today! From District Nine. . . Ares Aristo!" Ceaser Flickerman's loud announcement boomed across the stage and melded with the audience's shouts. The man was already standing and waiting for him to approach, with newly dyed florescent yellow hair blinding Ares with every step. The cheering was so loud that Caesar needed to wait for a minute to be heard again. "I think I speak for everyone when I say it's an absolute delight to see you again."
