Siren Song ~ Finnick Odair x oc

20...Home Sweet Home

Selene Nightingale stood at the threshold of her new life, a world away from the scarred and sun-scorched brutalities of the Hunger Games. The victors' village, with its manicured lawns and quaint homes, felt foreign to her—a bitter echo of her time in the arena.

She brushed a strand of her long black hair over her shoulder, taking in the hollow comfort of her impressive two-story house failed to provide, as it loomed large in its loneliness.

The streets appeared pristine, but there was an unsettling stillness, as if the place held its breath, waiting for her to fill the space with laughter, warmth, and the illusion of flawlessness that the Capitol demanded.

Haymitch, her grizzled mentor, stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest in his familiar casual defiance.

His eyes bore a mixture of pride and concern, knowing more than anyone what lurked behind Selene's icy blue gaze.

"Welcome home, Selene," he mused dryly, gesturing at the trim white picket fence that surrounded her property. "Isn't it lovely? Always so cheerful. You've got a well-stocked kitchen, a library, and of course, a space for all those extravagant parties you're going to throw."

Her lips twitched in an attempt at a smile.

The notion of hosting a party felt grotesque. Each room of the house, echoing a sense of loneliness, reminding her of the fallen tributes, from her games, and of those who never got the chance to come home.

Eleven lives, personally extinguished by her hand.

"Haymitch," she said slowly, anguish threatening to spill over, "none of this feels right."

He sighed, the whiskey on his breath strong enough to knock out an unsuspecting Peacekeeper.

"It's never right for someone like us... but you'd do well to play the part," he said, his tone softer now.

"Take the time here, away from the Capitol and their prying eyes...to try and recover. The Siren is a part of you now...but it doesn't have to be all you are. It doesn't have to define you here."

"I'll try," she murmured, lowering her gaze to the polished floorboards, avoiding the weight of his expectant stare.

"Do more than try," Haymitch interjected, his voice imbuing a touch of sternness amidst the care.

"You need to be seen, Selene. You need to be celebrated, to appease the people. That's the price of your victory."

After a long pause, he stepped back, as if acknowledging her need for solitude.

"I'll check in later," he added, his nonchalant attitude hiding his concern.

"Just remember—don't let them dehumanize you. You're more than their puppet."

With that, he walked away, leaving her at the threshold of her new existence, and she felt the enormity of silence settle around her. Selene stepped into her home, heart pounding against her ribcage like a moth beating against a windowpane, seeking freedom.

The living room was adorned with plush furniture that felt out of place in the gritty reality she had endured. Echoes of laughter seemed to seep from the walls, remnants of a family that she doesn't have.

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, as she imagined the faces of the spirits of the arena—their eyes hollowed by fear, betrayal, and anger.

Would they follow her here?

Would they continue to haunt her every breath? Even in sleep, she can't seem to escape them...

Making her way up to her bedroom, she hesitated at the door, absorbing the calmness of the still air.

It was too tranquil—a beautiful façade over a cavern of despair.

She thought of the other victors, the many evenings spent alone in their own homes. Each one, trapped in the solitude of their own nightmares.

Would they ever find peace in the memories of slaughter and survival?

A flicker of resistance ignited within her; the image of her tribute team, Haymitch's unwavering spirit, Cinna's compassion, Effie's relentless optimism, revived her strength.

Instead of succumbing to the tragedy surrounding her, she would channel the pain into a mastery of the role she must play.

The Capitol could not break her; defiance thrummed in her veins like a battle hymn.

She recommitted herself to the world beyond District 12's confines, her exceptional beauty and haunting voice ready to captivate audiences who remained blissfully unaware of the depths from which she had emerged.

Stepping to the window, Selene let the sun catch her features, illuminating the paleness of her skin and the glint of her icy blue eyes.

She would rise; she'd draw them in like the tune of a haunting lullaby—a Siren ready to exploit the shadows of her past.

Outside, the world gleamed with expectation.

As she prepared to face the Capitol, she vowed she wouldn't let the accolades of victory strip away her humanity.

If they wished to adore her, they would do so for the tribute who battled not just for her life, but for the lives that had been snuffed out, trapped within her beautiful prison of a heart.

To make her true story known...