𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 ᐅ 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙧

𝙏𝙒𝙊

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊰⌍
I'm hoping you'll
be much more...
cooperative.
⌎⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⇲⊰⌏

The Capitol's finest celebration was dedicated to me — I should've been honoured. Except as I stared at the tables piled with the most exquisite foods, I couldn't hold any more remorse in my body. Dancers whirled in the centre of an audaciously painted floor, and swayed around oyster pillars that wound towards a ceiling that replicated every star in the night sky.

It was beautiful. It was disgusting.

The juxtaposition of the glamour with the horror underneath it was a sickening notion, one that made me think back to the Games. Disguised by glory, coated in blood-thirst. I finally realised why it was called the Hunger Games — it wasn't a hunger for food, but for blood. And I had no appetite.

Even my dress, a beautiful silken masterpiece, held more secrets than the surface level. It was ethereal, my stylist Rosette was an angel, and yet I was the demon underneath it. I was the snake in the Garden of Eden. The wrong in a group of people so right. Of course, Jameson, Yvette and Rosette were the only people who were right.

I stole the opportunity to hide behind a column as soon as it appeared, and I revelled in the sudden quiet. I didn't even have to try to talk to people — they just scampered over, as though I were a museum exhibit rather than a human being. Taking a deep breath, I composed myself before someone inevitably found me.

"Having fun there?" A familiar honey-toned voice asked with a chuckle.

"What do you want?"

"A dance."

"Why?"

I turned to face Finnick, who was looking down at me, his sea eyes glistening with amusement. "I'm bored and you're someone without their head completely up their ass."

I scoffed. "I'm flattered, truly."

Finnick extended his hand towards me, but I walked straight past him, head held high. He let out a breathy chuckle before following me, and golden strands of hair fell in front of his eyes as he walked. The music seemed almost alive, sending a buzz of adrenaline through me as I realised I didn't quite know how to dance. But that didn't matter, since Finnick spun me around gently, and I didn't need to do much but follow.

"I think if I have to converse with one more middle aged Capitol person I'm going to volunteer for another games," Finnick proclaimed, his voice light. "Sport a moustache, perhaps. Maybe drown myself in the punch bowl."

My gaze flickered over to said punch bowl, which was currently merged with vomit, courtesy of the drunkard face-deep in it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, unless you want to have a face full of someone's guts. You'd think they'd understand the concept of hygiene, wouldn't you?"

Finnick followed my gaze before laughing obnoxiously loudly.

"Oh, now that's just cruel."

"And hilarious. It's a shame someone hasn't filmed that yet— and I spoke too soon."

A man with a gleaming red ringmasters hat whipped an expensive device out of his tailored pocket and filmed the sick man, laughing stupidly to his questionably dressed companions. I grinned. How refreshing it was to see the Capitol's people in distress, even if it was nowhere near what I'd experienced. Did that make me a psychopath, or just someone who enjoyed karma?

"Good God, I would not like to be him right now."

"That's going to haunt him in the morning," I snickered before turning back to look up at Finnick, raising one eyebrow. "Speaking of haunting, you seem to be like a ghost following me around. Want a bit of my glory? I'd happily give it away for free."