𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌

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The deafening roar of the Capitol swelled in Aphrodite's ears, the vibrant colors nearly blinding her as they swirled and flashed, making her eyes sting. She had barely entered the public's view when a practiced smirk curled onto her lips. Let them see you excited to be here. The Capitol eats that up. Finnick's words ran repeatedly through her mind, anchoring her in the moment.

Beside her, Ash was fiddling nervously with the cuffs of his sleeves his face scrunched up in hesitation.

"Ash, you look constipated," she muttered, her voice sharp and commanding. "Fix your face." The words were gritted through her teeth, but her fingers gently slipped around his hand, a quiet reassurance hidden beneath the bite.

Ash's gaze dropped to their entwined hands, and a genuine smile spread across his face when he looked up again. Bright and effortless. Good, she thought. Trust me...

He leaned in closer, his voice cutting through the Capitol's roar. "Thank you, Aph."

Her smile faltered, her expression freezing in place. Aph. That name. Only one person called her that—Otto. And before he left, her father. For a moment, the sounds of the Capitol faded, replaced by a dull ache somewhere deep within her chest. Everything went wrong when her Father left.

Four years ago, one year after her father's disappearance...

"Aphrodite Clearwater, you will not say no to me!" Her mother's voice cut through the small house like a blade, as she paced furiously. Twelve-year-old Aphrodite sat curled up on the chair, her small frame trembling as sobs racked her body.

"M-Mama, p-please... no more. It's w-wrong..." Aphrodite stuttered, tears blurring her vision, carving streaks down her cheeks. She clutched her knees to her chest, desperately trying to hide from her mother's wrath.

Her mother crouched in front of her, yanking her chin up with sharp nails that dug into the soft skin of her face. Aphrodite winced, her mother's grip forcing her to meet those cold, unyielding eyes.

"You are not leaving this room until you can say a basic lie without sobbing your little eyes out," her mother hissed, her voice low and dark. As she released Aphrodite's chin, she stood, the shadow of her figure looming over her daughter. "If you don't learn this, Aphrodite, you will die in that stupid arena."

"I w-won't go then, Mama. I p-promise..." Aphrodite whispered, her voice shaky and broken. She didn't care about the Games, she didn't even understand them—she just wanted to be free. To be outside, playing with the other kids down by the docks, instead of locked in this room, practising the art of manipulation.

Her mother's expression softened for just a moment before hardening again. "Aphrodite, do it again." The command was sharp, cold. No affection. Only survival.

Aphrodite wiped her eyes, sniffling as she slowly straightened herself in the chair. She looked up, forcing herself to meet her mother's gaze. She had to try. For her mother. For herself.

Aphrodite wiped the last of her tears, sniffling, as she forced herself to sit up straighter. Her mother's cold eyes bore into her, unrelenting. The room felt suffocating—walls pressing in on her from every side, leaving no escape but through her mother's approval.

"A basic lie, Aphrodite. Now." Her mother's voice was flat like she had no time for hesitation. No time for softness.

Aphrodite's heart pounded in her chest as she swallowed hard. She tried to remember the lines her mother had drilled into her. Her throat was tight, her words trembling as she spoke.

𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫, Finnick OdairWhere stories live. Discover now