𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫, Finnick Odair

𝑻𝒉𝒆 ''𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆''

The trio made their way back to the base camp. Venus and Ash fell asleep after a few minutes, but Aphrodite wouldn't be sleeping for the rest of the night. The image of Sam's death played over and over in her head, like a movie stuck on a loop. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared blankly into the darkness, her thoughts swirling in a storm of guilt and regret.

She couldn't shake the sight of his small, broken body, nor the sound of his screams that had pierced the forest. Sam had trusted her, and she had used him, manipulated him into staying away from the Cornucopia, knowing full well what would happen. She told herself it was to keep herself alive, to divert the Careers' attention, but now... now she couldn't justify the pain she had caused.

Her breath hitched as another wave of tears threatened to spill. She bit down on her lip to keep from sobbing out loud, but the tears came faster, her body shaking with the weight of it all. She pulled her knees to her chest, burying her face in them, hoping the others wouldn't hear her. Guilt suffocated her, wrapping its icy fingers around her throat. She had survived, but at what cost?

The night was eerily quiet, save for the faint crackling of the dying fire and the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. Aphrodite wiped her tears hastily, glancing over at Ash and Venus, who slept soundly, unaware of the war raging inside her. Ash trusted her, and Venus... well, Venus was always harder to read. Aphrodite wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up this lie. The guilt was consuming her, threatening to break through the careful mask she had crafted.

Her mother's voice began to echo in her mind, sharp and cold, like a piercing headache she couldn't shake.

"Aphrodite, when death happens in the Games, you can't feel sympathy. They were simply an obstacle standing in your way, and now they're gone. Do you understand?" her mother had said, her tone as cutting as ever.

 A Fifteen-year-old Aphrodite leaned forward, pressing her arms on the dining table, a flicker of resistance in her eyes. "I'm not sure I can do that, Mother. I have robbed someone of life."

Her mother's face twisted in disappointment and disgust as she stood up from her chair. "Oh, I see. You don't care enough about coming home, is that it? You'd rather wallow in guilt than survive." Her mother's gaze sharpened into a dangerous glare. "I guess you don't care about coming home to Otto and me, either. You're perfectly fine leaving your little brother and Mother behind, aren't you?"

"No, Mom, that's not wha—" Aphrodite began, but her words were cut off.

Her mother chuckled, the sound sharp and piercing. "No, it's exactly what you're saying!" She took a step closer, her voice cold. "You're telling me you'd rather feel sorry for yourself than do what it takes to get back to us"

Aphrodite stood abruptly, pushing back her chair. "It's not!" Her voice wavered with frustration, but there was a fire burning inside her.

Her mother just tilted her head, a sick smile playing on her lips. "Oh, really?" she said, mockingly. "Then prove it to me."

The challenge hung in the air like a knife between them. Her mother's gaze was unyielding, the twisted smile on her face a dare. Aphrodite's heart pounded, knowing that this wasn't just about surviving the Games—it was about proving her mother wrong. About proving she was strong enough to come home, even if it meant becoming exactly what her mother expected her to be.

"Prove it," her mother repeated, her voice like ice.

Aphrodite's mother leaned in, her sharp eyes boring into her, the challenge unmistakable. "Prove it to me, Aphrodite. Prove you care about surviving. Prove you care about Otto, about me."