"Octavia Voss. Better known as The Siren...Capitol's 'It Girl,' the 'Party Girl.' The people there would kill just for a chance to spend an evening with her."
"So she's the Capitol's whore?"
"Easy, Tavia's more than just a face for Capitol entertain...
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As soon as Octavia stepped off the stage, she could barely make out Triss calling her name. She could still feel the bright lights heating her skin. Her chest tightened, and the overwhelming tension that had been building inside her finally cracked. Her breaths became shallow and rapid as she hurried back to the dressing room.
Stumbling into the dressing room, she struggled with the zipper of her dress, her hands trembling as she tried to yank it down, the fabric suddenly too tight, too suffocating. Her chest felt like it was going to explode. She needed to get out of it—out of everything.
As she fumbled with the zipper, her back to the door, she didn't hear it creak open behind her.
"You okay in here, Princess?" Finnick's voice cut through the thick panic, laced with his usual teasing tone.
Startled, Octavia spun around, tears in her eyes, "Finnick, I—" she tried to speak but choked on her words. Her breathing, shallow and rapid.
He stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind him, his gaze immediately softening when he saw her tear-streaked face.
"Hey," Finnick said gently, closing the distance between them. "What's going on, Tavia?"
Octavia shook her head, trying to hide the tears in her eyes, trying to keep up the mask she'd worn in front of everyone, but it was crumbling, and fast.
"I can't—the dress, it's—it's too tight. Too much. Everything is too much."
Without hesitation, Finnick moved closer and reached for her, his hands pulling hers away. "Let me help, just breathe." he said, his voice gentle. He carefully began undoing the zipper, his touch light, his eyes never leaving her face.
As he worked, Octavia stood there, her shoulders slumped, her body trembling slightly from the pent-up panic. She didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at the floor, trying to steady her breathing, as finnick removed layer after layer of fabric.
When he was done, he placed a blanket on her and stepped back, giving her space, but his presence was grounding. "It's okay," he said softly.
Octavia looked up at him, her eyes wet and raw. "How do you do this, all the time?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He didn't say anything for a moment, just watched her with that same quiet intensity he always had. Then, with a gentleness that almost startled her, he reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek. "It gets easier."
Octavia let out a bitter laugh, sharp and cold. "Yeah? Well, I don't have to worry about pretending for long." She shook her head, her voice cutting deeper as she spoke. "I'm probably going to die in the games anyways."
