"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...
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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧.
(fire and ice )
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Ares Aristo was crowned Victor of the 67th Hunger Games in front of the roaring Capitol audience, with more fanfare than anyone could have anticipated. Overlooking the cheering crowds and raised banners, flowers of all sorts were being tossed over the barriers in hopes they'd catch his alluring eye.
Dressed in a more sombre black suit, covered in spindling diamonds shimmering under the bright lights, Ares sat on a plush throne with perfect posture and a soft smile playing on his lips—just shy of a smirk. Yet, his hands were clasped tightly together in his lap, his knuckles white to fight off the tremors that threatened to shake through if he so much as relaxed a single muscle. The feeling he had was something akin to both trepidation and anticipation.
While the people of the Capitol only had him in their sights, Ares was steadfast as he focused on the foreboding presence behind him. It felt as though he was back in the arena again, his awareness hyper-sensitive to every squeek a shoe on the floor made as the person shifted, and every long exhale that felt like a ghostly whisper brushing past his ear.
President Snow was the King Ares had dreamt of taking down.
President Snow was the God who had made Ares into the Fallen Angel he now was.
Ares only rose from his chair when Snow approached, his imposing presence now just an arm's length away.
Snow delicately picked up an intricate golden crown from a velvet pillow. "A halo for an Angel," he remarked as he stepped forward, his cloudy eyes tracing over the grooves in the gold, the embedded red rubies like drops of blood. "How fitting."
"President Snow," Ares greeted as he dipped his head. His icy eyes flicked upward to meet Snow's with an unnerving gaze as the older man raised the crown. For a brief moment, something flickered in Snow's eyes, but Ares kept his expression the same, if not on the smirking side. "You're shorter than I expected."
Snow's smile tightened, though his demeanour remained composed as he placed the crown on Ares' pushed-back blonde hair. "Appearances can be deceiving, Mr. Aristo, as I'm certain someone like you must already know. It is the weight of power that truly measures a person."
Ares straightened, the crown settling atop his head with a gleam. Even in the midst of the game, facing foe after foe, he'd never felt the way he did now, standing before the very man who crafted the board and moved the pieces to his liking. "Indeed," he nodded, feeling the weight of the crown ground his jitters. He refused to be just another pawn. He told Pandora on their very first day on the train that he'd capture the King eventually, and this moment was the very first occasion where he could spin his fine red thread. He just needed to anchor onto something first. "I've learned that lesson well in the arena. The smallest things can hold the most significance."
