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It required several moments for me to grasp my surroundings. The scent of antiquated metal, laden with dust, mirrored the grim aroma of the mines in my hometown. In the selected Districts, individuals sat side by side, their eyes wandering within the confines of the indoor metal train. Ironically, one could argue that it resembled more of a cage upon contemplation. A cage where beings were showcased briefly outdoors only to vanish forever.
I observed a shared awareness among us candidates from the moment we first interacted. It was a collective understanding that vigilance was key, especially once the official games were about to commence. The prospect of preserving our innocence seemed increasingly elusive. To be honest, fear gripped me as it did my peers. However, rather than displaying our apprehensions openly, we deemed it more fitting to project the pride of our Districts, concealing the pain and suffering we all silently endured.
While fortunate to encounter someone beyond our accustomed way of life, there was a person among us donning a striking red suit, resembling a uniform upon closer inspection. However, the attire we had back home failed to meet the Capitol's standards. If any were to venture into one of Panem's most impoverished regions, one could easily imagine the disdainful expressions upon wearing our clothes, let alone daring to comment on the supposedly inferior skills of our stylists. If only the Capitol were aware of this disparity. Rather than taking offense at his presence, unlike many of my peers, I found myself intrigued by his immaculate and captivating aura. Nevertheless, he said nothing. His eyes betrayed a slight unease, as he had previously expressed a preference for being with his classmates over our company. Considering the contrast in our backgrounds, this choice seemed a reasonable explanation.
Fortunately, the journey proceeded with relative smoothness, and despite being enclosed within these fractured walls, I welcomed the chance to swiftly distance myself from the confined space. Breathing in the outdoor air of the city, I reflected on what my mother used to share about the tales of the Capitol—how its citizens differed, and how living among the affluent might have been an intriguing experience. However, being chosen for a life-and-death Game cast a shadow over any enjoyment of the Capitol's beauty. In my own way, it felt eerie and uncomfortable, an experience I would have preferred to encounter long before the Games became a reality.
"This is our stop." Declared the man in the red suit. He promptly exited the train, displaying a palpable sense of relief, as if escaping from a personal hell. However, the haste with which he walked made me wonder if he had mistakenly chosen the wrong wagon to meet us or if he was merely a less fortunate student, possibly tasked with the punishment of welcoming a subset of the selected candidates, only to be cast into the ordeal along with the rest of us. That. We will never know.
We were instructed to wait for our mentors, each person departing one by one. Being among the last selected, it was no surprise that the train would empty the moment my name was mentioned again. As I observed others walking hesitantly, a tingling feeling settled in my stomach. Who would be my mentor? Could I meet their expectations, and would I be able to trust them to guide me to victory in the Games? These were likely questions on the minds of many here. As the list approached the last few remaining candidates, the call of my name to exit the wagon left me simultaneously thrilled and uneasy. "Y/N. District 12, you may come out."
As I approached the exit, the Capitol's sharp sun revealed an impeccable and rather hot day. The opulent marbling on the walls stood in stark contrast to my own humble origins, despite many back home considering themselves the wealthiest. It dawned on me, the irony of the residents living in such splendor. A wry chuckle escaped me at this realization. While everyone disembarked and paired up with their mentors, I couldn't help but notice the same boy in the red suit. He, who had seemed uncomfortable around us just moments ago, now exuded confidence as our gazes met. Descending, I could have sworn there was a smile playing on his features, as if he found relief in seeing me. It struck me that we had never met before, or perhaps we had during the reaping ceremony, though at the time, I must have been too blinded by the consequences of my new life to notice.
"Welcome to the Capitol." His words sounded rehearsed, ingrained in his mind as he handed me the purest roses I had ever seen. The strong scent wafted directly to my nostrils as I accepted them gratefully from his delicate yet cold fingers brushing themselves with mine. One would expect that in the heat, warmth would be shared, but it seemed to be a one-sided affair. "And who might you be?" I echoed the same tone he used when welcoming me to his hometown. Initially, I detected a hint of surprise in the man, his brow furrowing in confusion, as if he expected me to know why he was there, awaiting my response. However, he insisted that he didn't, as if it were a customary way to initiate a conversation between two strangers. "I am your mentor. I do my best to take care of you" He asserted.
This time, it was my turn to furrow my brow in confusion. Yet, to my satisfaction, I endeavored to conceal my bewilderment behind a pleasant smile—a smile that mirrored the gratitude my mother always emphasized whenever she spoke of the Games. "The overall key to winning is trust between you and your mentor." She would often recount in her tales, stories I would miss during my time away from home. If my mother's wisdom held true and my new mentor knew how to guide and present himself effectively, then navigating the Games promised to be a more equitable endeavor.
"Then I am delighted to have you as my mentor." A surge of confidence flowed through me, buoyed by my positive response. He ensured that my acceptance would bear fruit when the Games commenced. Following that simple acknowledgment, we were directed towards our "home"—a term I found debatable as we were thrust into the depths of the Capitol's disused zoo, treated like animals meant solely for the amusement of humans. However, it was just a few minutes before we were escorted that my new mentor took hold of my arm, our eyes locking. "I'll see you tomorrow, with lunch, Miss Swan." It wasn't until I departed with my fellow candidates that I caught sight of the boy, once a stranger and now my mentor, observing me as I left. It marked the first occasion someone had addressed me solely by my last name.
x
Observing his new candidate depart from his view, Coriolanus Snow understood the importance of his actions. Just as he had greeted Lucy Gray, this time he refrained from revealing too much, avoiding the mistake of fostering trust prematurely. He had learned this lesson the hard way, and now he was determined not to repeat it. If the 11th Hunger Games presented an opportunity to prove Panem's trust and pave the way for his future role as the President of a struggling nation, Coriolanus knew that gaining the trust of the Capitol and, consequently, his candidate was the first crucial step. Winning the Games would follow, with the rest to be concealed in the future.
They were markedly different from the previous candidate, possessing features that were strong and slightly smaller in stature. Their carefully braided hair, a Dutch braid, exhibited a subtle golden hue due to its low-maintenance style. The harmony between their last name and their entire demeanor was striking—like a delicate yet dominantly poised swan. Snow was well aware that gaining their trust was inevitable. However, he made a mental note to avoid one crucial misstep—falling in love. While the idea might be deemed impossible by some, he knew how to shroud his emotions and ward off any potential distractions. If Y/N Swan was to be one of them, he resolved to remind himself of this imperative.
And it wasn't until the very next day. By starting to meet them, with a lunch that Coriolanus Snow knew that gaining their trust meant even more than just handing a couple of sandwiches. Let alone, helping them to bring him to the finish line. Which is to win this 11th Hunger Games. And later, become President of Panem.
