𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘽𝙇𝘼𝘾𝙆 𝙎𝙒𝘼𝙉. coriolanus snow

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

—House of Ignis—

During the war, the only constant among the Ignis family was fire. It burned for days during heavy snowfall, endured the heavy patter of rain, and continued to be lit in a rustic chalice from the beginning of the brutal battle for power until the very end when peace was restored again. A father, stressed and anxious from their lack of protection and food, tended to the fire every waking moment, throwing things such as wood scraps to the clothes stripped off dead bodies on the streets.

A man named Dunamis Ignis was utterly determined to keep their fire of life burning—and succeeded.

However, circumstances have changed. No longer is a war for any scrap available happening outside their doorstep, but an important day for his daughter.

Persephone Ignis smoothed her skirt one last time to ensure wrinkles were quelled. The long skirt, which had been her mother's, donned an orange-brown color faded with age and fell an inch longer than expected. Though unnoticeable to another's eye, the girl frowned deeply and grew irritated with its behavior.

The one day Persephone needed to look her absolute best happened to be the day her skirt refused to look perfect. She huffed quietly and opted to fix her blouse, a white dress shirt, ironed to be free from any imperfections and wrinkles.

For a moment, she felt herself get so worked up over her appearance in the mirror that she forced herself to take a step back and breathe. Ever since Coryo caught her rage over a small stain of juice on her uniform shirt, he told her to calm herself down with deep breaths.

In and out, he had told her once in a public bathroom when she had tears in her eyes over the imperfection. That's it, good girl. Persephone felt her rapidly beating heart slow down to a soft, constant beat and let out a deep exhale. Successfully, she calmed herself down without his help this time.

At least, until for some reason, her heart sped up for another reason at the memory of her hand held by his and his deep blue eyes.

Before she could scold herself for thinking such scandalous thoughts, her father knocked swiftly at her door. The girl whipped around and sharply inhaled, scared she had been caught thinking of a boy who only helped her in such ways. "Come in, Dad." She called out to him, though worried about what he may say of her clothes.

Dunamis Ignis had grown to be a lean, built man accustomed to being relatively taller than most others. His face consisted of the perfect harmony between a sharp nose bridge, low set brows that cast dark shadows of his eyes, and lips that almost never curled up into a genuine grin without his daughter. His attire, however, differed far from hers. His own white shirt had been paired with a tight vest that gave the illusion of flames at the bottom from the pattern. The blazer under his arm was the only thing somewhat simple. The moment Persephone glanced down at his shoes, decorated with the flame pattern underneath from his vest, she had understood her mistake.

Her father was wearing his best shoes—she wore simple garments.

With one look down her body, Dunamis shook his head sharply. "No, everything is wrong. You look too District." He mumbled, then took a few steps forward to smooth out wrinkles Persephone hadn't caught, despite her fervent and constant caution. "See, Persie, I knew I should have dressed you. Never let you choose your own clothes for a day so important as this. Look, Persie," the man pointed to her collar at a nonexistent stain, "be careful. Don't embarrass yourself on your big day."

"Yes, Dad." Was all she could say due to her disappointment for falling short once again.

"The Plinth Prize," Dunamis smirked to himself, "our family name will be glorious when you secure it. Can you imagine, you as my heir, continuing to spread the influence of Ignis like fire?"

Persephone knew better than to question his assumptions. If she told him blatantly that it is not guaranteed she would win, he would get into one of his fits and ruin the day for her. But if she took another approach...

"What about Coriolanus? If anyone will win the prize, it will certainly be him." The Ignis girl ignored the flutter in her stomach as she mentioned his name. The boy liked to plague her mind for hours, settling in her thoughts until she could not breathe and take control of her body. And very few times, she would imagine certain things with him against her control.

Her father grabbed a thin scarf from his back pocket and folded it up, tying it hastily around her neck. It faced off to the side and had sat in such a perfect way where the flame pattern he donned revealed itself enchantingly. It hung like a whisper, subtle but obvious enough to understand the proud, influential nature of Ignis.

"My dear, you look too much like your mother." Dunamis took a step back and smiled softly at her. The shadows of his eyes faded for a moment and were replaced with proud eyes of a father. He moved her hair off one of her shoulders and secured a silver clip to one side of her hair. With a final touch at her collar, he nodded with approval. "Ignis endures,"

"Ignis prevails." Persephone finished, her mind filled with innocent confidence with his content and her similarity to her mother. She was going to show the Capitol and the rest of its citizens who she was. What she strives to become. She would spread her name to be known for eternity.

The daughter of Ignis is fire. She will endure and survive until she has the power to spread. But before she becomes fire, Persephone eats every little pomegranate seed and is eternally marked for death under the control of pure white snow.

Panem is not ready for the beginning of its demise known as the Black Swan.