The Princess of Panem | Finnick Odair x oc

XLIII

I finally step out of the prep room, my ballgown swishing softly as it brushes against the marble floors. My reflection, distorted in the golden mirrors lining the hall, looks almost unrecognizable. The stylists—four of them, in fact—spent hours pulling me into this creation of fabric and art. The gown, a swirl of dark green silk with gold threads woven through, clings perfectly to my frame before spilling out into a dramatic cascade of shimmering layers. The bodice is tightly cinched, almost suffocating. My hair, woven with golden ribbons and pinned into an intricate updo, feels almost too perfect to touch. The Capitol's obsession with grandiosity and beauty reaches its peak at events like this. Tonight, I am part of the spectacle.

But underneath it all, I'm just grateful the focus isn't on me. Not tonight.

It's all about Katniss and Peeta, their victory tour dragging them through the districts in carefully controlled appearances. The Capitol's golden pair, symbols of peace, or at least of control. I can fade into the background for once, content to play my part and watch the spectacle from afar.

As I make my way down the grand hallway, the sound of familiar laughter catches my ear. My heart skips a beat as I recognize the voices—loud, unfiltered, and distinctly not Capitol in their tone. I hurry forward, turning the corner to see two figures who feel like home in a world of artificial glamour.

"Ophelia!" Cressida's voice slices through the air, and her face lights up as she sees me.

She practically barrels into me, pulling me into a tight hug before stepping back to look me over. "Look at you!" she exclaims, her voice somewhere between admiration and amusement. "How many Capitol hands did it take to get you into that thing?"

I laugh, adjusting the weight of the gown. "Four, actually. And I'm still not sure I can breathe."

Cressida, with her sharp eyes and effortless coolness, is stunning tonight in a sleek black dress that contrasts with her striking features. I've always imagined her as someone who could never be outshone, but here she stands, in the middle of the Capitol's finest, looking as fierce as ever. It's like she was made for this—the rebellion behind the mask. 

Max steps up next, his warm smile disarming as always. 

"You look like a Capitol princess," he says with a grin, offering me a quick but sincere hug. "But we know better, don't we?"

"I missed you both," I say, a genuine smile stretching across my face. I didn't realize how much until this very moment. For weeks, I've been surrounded by pretense and formality, barely seeing them as I maneuver behind the scenes. But now, standing here with them, I feel a sense of belonging that's been missing since the tour began.

"We've missed you too," Cressida says, her gaze softening. "Capitol life's not the same without you running circles around everyone."

Max chuckles, adding, "You make it look too easy."

I shrug. "It's all in the act."

For a while, we stand there, laughing and catching up like old times. Cressida talks about her latest project, filming the more 'human' side of the Victors—an assignment given to her by Plutarch, who is always playing some long game. Max, as ever, is looking out for me, asking if I've been okay, if I need anything. It's like he knows how much the Capitol takes out of me, even if I don't say it outright.

And for a few precious minutes, I can forget where I am. But that feeling never lasts long.

The ballroom is already full by the time we make our way in, and it's just as grand and extravagant as I expected. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting glittering light across the room. Guests are dressed in luxurious gowns and tailored suits, sipping champagne and exchanging hollow pleasantries. It's the Capitol at its finest—beautiful, indulgent, and entirely hollow.