Final Bow | coriolanus snow

CHAPTER ONE

She swayed back and forth on her shoes, a pointy leather ballet flat dyed a maroon color and laced to her knees with red ribbon. The mirror before her, a gold color, yet stained and scratched from years of use and the war. The stylists surrounded her as they poked and proded at her every being. One stood on their knees straightening her tights. Another put a wig cap on her light brown curls, and the other applied a deep red on her parted lips.

Amira couldn't help but feel like a lab rat to the stylists as they prepared her for a show. She was to dance in front of the elites of the Capitol. Insanely rich people would have their eyes on her for a prolonged period of time. This wasn't the first time she had done a gig like this but it was her first time being involved in a prehunger games reaping party.

She took a deep breath and tried to remember her moves for the dance she had practiced over and over. The blood red wig was slid onto her head. The curls pinned up into a large obseen bun. She had always felt like she belonged to the circus when she was dressed in her outfit.

For tonight her outfit consisted of red leather the same as her shoes with black accents. Her outfit was a tight body suit that was tied like a corset in the back, her fishnets a black with red glitters sown in. She felt sick.

A reaping party was something she never wanted nor imagined doing but being originally from district 12 and needing to keep money flowing into her pockets its one she couldn't refuse. Even if she wanted to refuse, the company shes contracted with wouldn't allow it.

The sickness didnt subside as she had the finishing touches applied to her costume. If she didn't like clownish before she surely did now. A pale pink on her cheeks and a bright firery red on her eye lids mixed with the extravagnt head piece all made her look like she belonged to a circus. How could people take her seriously dressed in such a way? She dreamed of elegant dresses and her natural hair for one of these events but she knew it would never happen.

"You and your group are on in five. You'll take the main stage." Said a big burly man with a noticeable bald spot covered with tiny bits of his remaining hair. This man was her manager. He helped her and her co-dancers book gigs and keep relatively well suited.

"Thank you Gus." She smiled and put on her game face. Dancing was natural to her espically as a child when she still lived in district 12. She spent her days dancing on the side of the road while her childhood friend would strum a beat up guitar and sing. They'd earn a few bits of change to support their familes after the war. Amira shook her head, enough reminiscing she thought.

She took her first few steps out of the dressing room attempting not to bump anything with her wig. Soon enough as she approached the backstage area her walk transformed into a powerful strut. She had to look the part of the Capitols most desired dancer.

She took center stage and closed her eyes, a hand cupped her shoulder. She jumped slightly before looking at who the hand belonged to. It was Roslyn, her best and well only friend.

"You're nervous aren't you?" Roslyn asked, her voice smooth and sweet like honey. Roslyn was from district 1 before she was contracted by the company they both worked for, no belonged to.

"Yes, and the ridiculousness of this outfit doesn't help at all." Amira sighed and hugged herself gently. She felt like a child again, living in a fearful reality.

"No need to be nervous. You never mess up." Roslyn whispered to her and rubbed her shoulder. The comfort was short lived as a chuckle came form behind the pair.

Amira turned to face familiar sound. There stood a tall pale man, his icy blue eyes could have swallowed her whole as she locked her gaze on his.

"Come now Roslyn don't give the girl false hope. She has every right to be nervous. We're dancing at the largest event of the year." This was Winston. Amira was unfortunately his dancing partner.

He was filthy rich and from the Capitol.

"God Winston can't you screw off." Roslyn huffed and crossed her thin arms as she stepped between the pair as if she could protect Amira from the lengthily blond.

"Your little dog needs a muzzle." Winston let out a deep hearty laugh. His grin was sarcastic and condescending. He lived on the suffering of others, especially people from the districts, Amira knew this.

"If anyone is to mess up it would be you." Amira scoffed, she had to pretend to be the snarky strong woman she had presented herself as when she came to the Capitol.

"Oh sweetheart you and I both know I never mess up." He stepped closer, as he was about to speak as a booming voice dragged the attention of every dancer on stage.

"You're on in a minute, places." Called Gus, he held his clipboard in one hand. Amira nodded to herself and took her place once again in center stage.

Two hands laced around both sides of her waist.

"Don't mess up." Winston whispered in her ear.

The curtains opened an the bright lights blinded her for a moment. She held her breath as the music from the pit below the stage began.

Her feet carried her while Winston followed his hands on her waist tightly as if keeping her confined to him. The cheers filled the room as if encaging her. She felt sick once more.

The music was a soft slow melancholic sound. She moved on beat, never missing a step as she glided across the stage. She was in her element. Even with the pounding head ache and the bile in her throat threatening to break free she felt calm.

She moved with ease, and eventually came the lift. Winston wrapped his arms completely around her corseted waist and hoisted her into the air. She opened her arms wide as her spun her around in a circle. She smiled brightly, like a bird free from its confined cage she was free to dance. As he sat her down and she glided away from him and continued the dance the group had practiced for countless weeks just for this moment.

As the dance continued the flag of Panem was lowered onto the stage. A show of appreciation and obedience from the dancers. The group danced around the flag, the music picking up greatly as it switched to the Capitols national song.

She had always hated this part of the dance. Amira was no rebel but she certainly didn't support it either.

As quickly as the dance started it ended. The curtain drew to a close and the applause rained down around them. Amira froze in place for a moment before taking a deep breath. She didn't realize how out of breath she was until now.

Sweat trickled down her forehead, she now felt confined in the costume. Like a prison cell she was cursed to. The dancers, in a single file, walked off the stage as the event came to a close. The reaping was in two hours.

She'd have enough time to rush home and hopefully get a quick meal before watching the reaping. The thought made her feel dizzy, sitting in her nice Capitol apartment while children her age and younger were plucked from their homes to be sent to death. This was the time of year she dreaded. But as with everything she had to endure it. Anything was better then cursed to the life of starvation she lived in a few years ago.

The district she grew up in was poor beyond belief and the thought of being there again made her want to cry.

Amira was meant to be here, she had to be here in the Capitol.