The Black Widow- A Hunger Games Fanfic

A Rose without its Thorns

The room I woke up in wasn't what I had been expecting. Instead of a cold, dark cell, it was a relatively nice room with light flooding in through the windows and a four poster bed. Was I missing something here?
Slowly, I rose from the bed and walked over to the door. I pressed down the handle, and it swung open. There wasn't even anyone in the corridor to stop me. Too confused to run, I wandered down the stairs and found myself in an ornate dining room, where President Snow was sitting eating breakfast.
I had never thought of him eating like a normal human. I had always thought he would exclusively eat childrens' hearts or at least drink their blood. Johanna said that was a common story told to children in seven.
I approached, slowly and without his notice, swiping a knife from one of the unused places.
He looked up,
"Good morning Miss Gold. Please do take a seat." I stayed standing, the knife clutched tightly in my fist. He gestured to the place opposite him, "I insist. Come, eat with me. We have much to discuss.
I sat, and as soon as I did, a steaming plate of eggs and toast was brought to me. I didn't touch it. As nice as it smelled, poisons could smell nice too. The 50th game's arena was proof of that.
When Snow had finished eating, he rose to his feet. He coughed violently and when he brought the handkerchief away from his mouth, I could see the red stains of blood on it. I realised then that he was dying. One way or another, this year would likely be his last. There would be no punishment for the man who had ruined so many lives. After all, what threat was execution to a dead man.
"Please come with me," he said, sweeping from the room. I would have run, had I not seen the armed guard posted at the doorway. I might've felt unguarded, but that could not be further from the truth. I followed the President out into the snow filled grounds. My breath frosted before my face as I walked and it soon became clear that the clothes I had woken in would not be enough to protect me from the brutal elements.
Fortunately, we weren't outside for much longer. I followed Snow into a large greenhouse. Inside, it was warm- warm enough to grow flowers even when everything outside was dead.
They were roses- my namesake. Rows and rows of white petals and thorns filled the greenhouse, their odour suffocating.
But after hearing what Finnick had said, they had a much more sordid meaning.

I stopped with Snow as he took a seat on an aging wooden bench among the roses.
"Such an interesting song you sang in the arena to make the snakes leave you alone," Snow mused,
"They were spiders," I corrected. That he had created, I didn't need to add.
"My mistake," he said, stroking his beard, "What was the song called?"
"It was a ballad, but I don't know the name." I didn't know what was provoking such honesty in me. Maybe it was the fact that I was about to kill him. He didn't deserve my honesty. All he deserved was the knife still in my fist to be plunged into his throat and to die painfully, choking on his own blood.
"A ballad," he chuckled. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me, "Of course it was. Now I remember: The ballad of the Rose without Thorns." He was right. That was the name of the song my father had sung to me: it was about a girl who pretended to be strong so that people wouldn't come after her. She was able to blend in with the other roses in the garden until one day she needed her thorns and died because she didn't have them. I had never liked the story because the ending was so unhappy, but my father had named me after that ballad. My mother had insisted on continuing the colour theme with Burnie and White. My father had made me swear to keep his real reasons a secret.
He had said his mother had named him for a ballad and a colour as well. But he had never known her last name so the colour in his name became his surname. And he had given that to me.
"It's a covey naming practice," Snow said, "A ballad and then a colour. You're missing the last name, but I could probably hazard a guess."
"What's a covey?" I asked, curiosity overcoming reason.
"They covey was a band of travelling musicians. I had them killed, all of them."
"But here I am?" I finished for him.
"Precisely. Now which year were you born, Miss Gold."
"51," I replied shortly.
"And I presume your father chose your name."
"How did you know_" I was cut off by Snow's maniacal laughter,
"Oh Lucy Gray. I knew you hadn't died. You're a cockroach that way." Who the fuck was Lucy Gray?" When Snow had finished laughing, he looked me dead in the eye,
"Would you like to hear the story of your grandmother?"
I had no choice but to listen as Snow told me the story of Lucy Gray Baird- the first victor of District 12. And his lost love. Disgusting.
"Come here so I can look at you," he said calmly, when he had finished his story, "And leave the butter knife over there." Reluctantly, I placed the knife on the edge of a bed of roses and walked over to him.
There was a guard outside the door we had come in through, but no-one else. I still had my nails; if I slit his throat with them, I could kill the guard while he wasn't looking and escape. It would be no different to the games except that these people deserved it.
I walked over to Snow, hands by my sides. The feeling of his eyes on my face and body made me want to run, but this was my one chance to end this. To end him.
"Please come closer, so I can see you properly. My eyesight isn't what it used to be anymore." Reluctantly, I obliged. He reached out a hand to pull my chin towards him and I began to move on autopilot. With one sweep, I dragged my nails across his throat.
But they barely even left a dent.
Shocked, I looked down at my hands. My nails... they were gone.
I had forgotten that they had been a product of my genetic engineering. And I would pay the price.
"A rose without its thorns," Snow mused as a guard grabbed me from behind, "How fitting."