*:ꔫ:* 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘, 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑, 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚{𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖}
In the Capitol's shadow, where white roses conceal secrets and emerald eyes mask desires; the fight for money, power, and glory weaves a clandestine dance of ambition a...
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THE SNOW RESIDENCE, ONCE A BASTION OF OPULENCE, now stood as a weathered testament to the family's faded glory.
As dawn painted the Capitol in hues of rose and gold, the penthouse overlooking the cityscape began to stir with the subtle echoes of a bygone era.
Within the expansive living room adorned with remnants of the Snow family's former grandeur, Coriolanus Snow, an embodiment of privilege worn thin, moved with a grace that belied the silent struggles encircling his life.
His pale blue eyes, mirrors reflecting the shadows of his family's past, surveyed the room with an air of quiet contemplation.
The walls, once adorned with portraits and tapestries, now whispered tales of loss and sacrifice.
In the heart of this faded grandeur, Grandma'am, the matriarch of the Snow family, sat with an air of regality that time had failed to diminish.
Her presence, a vestige of a bygone era, echoed the strength that had once defined the Snow lineage.
Grandma'am, the once indomitable matriarch of the Snow family, now occupied a delicate space between the reality of the present and the echoes of a bygone era.
Time had woven a tapestry of memories, each thread connecting her to a Capitol that existed before the flames of rebellion reshaped their lives.
As the aging sun filtered through the grand windows of the penthouse, Grandma'am's presence became a nuanced dance between lucidity and the fragments of the past.
In the soft morning light, she would sit by the window, a silhouette framed by the cityscape beyond.
Her silver hair, a cascade of memories, glimmered like a halo as she softly hummed the Capitol anthem— the anthem of a time when the Snow name resonated with power and privilege.
The notes, a haunting melody that stirred the air, were both a testament to her resilience and a poignant reminder of a reality that existed solely in her aging mind.
Coriolanus, witnessing this daily ritual, often grappled with conflicting emotions.
The anthem, a hymn of the Capitol's former glory, became an emblem of Grandma'am's struggle to reconcile the past with the starkness of their present.
There were moments when she would lose herself in the refrains, her eyes clouded by the shadows of memories that eluded the grasp of time.
To him, the anthem echoed not only through the penthouse but also through the corridors of her mind.
The Capitol she sang of— a place untouched by rebellion and hardship— was an illusion, a dream fading like a mirage in the harsh light of reality.
Coriolanus, torn between empathy and frustration, sometimes saw her as a custodian of a fading legacy, clinging to fragments of a world that no longer existed.
