𝘷𝘪𝘪𝘪. 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣

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CHAPTER 8
- 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗳𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻
( 𝗯𝘆 𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗯𝘂𝘁𝘀𝗸𝘆𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗿 )

CHAPTER 8- 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗳𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻( 𝗯𝘆 𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗯𝘂𝘁𝘀𝗸𝘆𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗿 )

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             "Feathers

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"Feathers...you're like a bird!" Caesar gasps, reaching out his hand to graze his fingers along Katniss's altered black veil that cascades down her back.

Katniss swings her arms lightly from side to side, ruffling the wings. "A mockingjay, I think. It's the bird on my pin I wear as a token."

Oh, how stupid they all are. Caesar recognizes immediately the true symbolism of her new costume, but it's obvious that the men and woman in the crowd do not. While citizens in the districts are viewing her feathers as rebellion, the Captiol people see it as innovative fashion, a lovely transformation that showcases her beauty, not as a threat towards all of Panem itself. When Cinna, her stylist, stands up to take a bow, I know nothing good will become of him. His design is too noticeable, and the President won't forget this after he shuts off his television tonight.

I can't help but look at Finnick, a look of alarm and support mixed together on his face. This is not good for Katniss. She has made herself stand out more, beyond compare, yet her dress has made an impact in the districts, giving the rebellion much more leverage than before. My shining butterflies are worthless now which saddens me, but it's for the best. The revolution is much more important than my physical appearance.

Katniss takes a seat, still letting off puffs of black smoke every few seconds, only to have Peeta replace her. He's always been charming in way that's a bit more subtle than Finnick. His words always have the power to move a crowd, especially last year when he admitted his secret love he'd been hiding for Katniss since they were just children in school. I wonder if he has anything as shocking to reveal this time.

The conversation starts out slow but picks up until they're on top of the renowned wedding. The audience begins to sniffle again as Caesar questions Peeta about his feelings, causing some men and women to blow their noses loudly into their handkerchiefs. Finnick catches my attention and acts out a perfect imitation of a young woman in the front row, wiping her eyes every so often and rubbing the excess makeup down her orange cheeks. I suppress a laugh by placing my head in my lap.

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