𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗 ✪ 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝙾𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚛

- ȶաɛռȶʏ ʄօʊʀ

"You look wonderful, dear!" Vesper beamed, looking at what she did to Willa. She was put in a dress made of golden chains. The chains draped to the floor with just enough chains to cover what was necessary. Her hair was pinned up in a low bun with a few strands left out to frame her face. Tribute interviews were that night but Vesper was running a bit behind. She got Brutus ready in a good amount of time but she was being extremely picky when it came to how Willa's hair looked.

The clink of the golden chains accompanied Willa's every movement as she shifted her weight slightly, trying not to show her discomfort. The dress was heavy, far heavier than she'd expected, and though it was undoubtedly stunning, she couldn't help but feel trapped. She glanced at her reflection in the tall mirror that Vesper had dragged into the center of the room. The image staring back at her was striking, to say the least. The gold caught the light with every slight turn, each chain shimmering like liquid sunlight. The low bun gave her an air of regality, while the loose strands softened her face just enough to make her seem approachable—but not too soft. That wasn't the look Vesper was going for.

"You're a vision," Vesper said again, her voice breathless with satisfaction. She was bustling around Willa, making last-minute adjustments to the drape of the chains. "A goddess of war and beauty, perfectly untouchable. They won't know whether to bow or fear you."

Willa's expression didn't waver. She stood still as Vesper fiddled with the last chain on her shoulder, but her eyes flicked to Brutus in the corner of the room. He was dressed in an outfit of deep bronze with sharp, angular designs, something that evoked the hard edges of a weapon. He gave her an approving smirk.

"They'll eat it up," Brutus said, leaning back in his chair with a casualness that only someone like him could manage in such a situation. "But don't let that fool you. Tonight isn't about looking pretty—it's about making them believe you're the one they should fear."

"She already does that," Vesper interjected, her tone clipped as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. "The dress, the hair—this will seal the deal."

Willa tilted her head slightly, taking in the way the golden chains seemed to move like water when she so much as breathed. It was more than a costume; it was a weapon. It would draw attention to her, make her unforgettable.

"Good," she said simply, her voice as even as ever. Vesper clapped her hands, beaming. "Perfect! Now, we're running late—come on!"

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

The interviews were held in the Capitol's grandest theater, an arena of extravagance that screamed opulence. Willa could hear the crowd from the hallway as she and Brutus waited their turn. The roar of cheers, the laughter, the murmurs of excitement—all of it felt distant and muted to her, like static in the background of her thoughts.

"Remember," Brutus said, leaning in close, his voice low enough that only she could hear, "this isn't about showing them who you are. It's about showing them what you want them to see."

Willa nodded slightly, her gaze fixed ahead.

"And don't smile too much," Brutus added, his tone turning wry. "We don't want them thinking you're nice."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Willa murmured, the two slipping between Gloss and Cashmere and Wiress and Beetee. Willa stood with her hands clasped behind her back, rocking back and forth on her feet. But when her eyes landed on Finnick, a faint smile tugged at her lips.

"Willa," Finnick spoke, coming up to her. A smile played at his lips, taking in her appearance.

"Finnick," she answered. Finnick took a step closer, his sea-green eyes scanning her up and down with that infuriating mix of charm and mischief he always seemed to wear so effortlessly.