*: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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SERAPHINA'S MORNING BEGAN WITH THE TRACES OF TEARS STILL EVIDENT ON HER CHEEKS, but by the time she arrived at the Academy, she had mastered the art of concealing her emotions.
Her eyes might have held a lingering hint of weariness, but her smile was as radiant as ever, and her grace remained unblemished.
As she moved through the familiar halls, Seraphina made a conscious effort to maintain her usual composure. Every step was deliberate, every gesture poised.
She kept a measured distance from Coriolanus, allowing enough space to avoid suspicion, yet not so much as to draw attention to her deliberate distancing.
In the lecture halls and shared spaces, Seraphina engaged in conversations with fellow classmates, effortlessly blending into the lively atmosphere of the Academy.
Her laughter rang out, and her words carried the charm that had made her the Capitol Sweetheart.
To an outsider, it would seem as though nothing had transpired the night before.
Internally, however, Seraphina wrestled with conflicting emotions. The pain she had hidden beneath her graceful facade lingered, but she was determined not to let it show.
She understood the delicate dance she needed to perform, maintaining her Capitol Sweetheart persona while silently navigating the complexities of her relationship with Coriolanus Snow.
Seraphina knew that appearances were paramount in the Capitol, and she had honed the skill of projecting an image of poise and perfection.
As the day unfolded, she continued this artful performance, all the while concealing the vulnerability that had gripped her the previous night.
The Capitol Sweetheart remained unscathed in the eyes of her peers, while the echoes of her silent struggle resonated only within the confines of her own heart.
Later that day the mentors had been instructed to gather on the balcony of the Heavensbee Hall after lunch, ahead of their first official interviews with their tributes.
Each mentor had been given a brief questionnaire to complete with their assignee, partly as an icebreaker, and partly as a matter of record.
The chatter died away as the mentors pushed through the swinging balcony doors and caught sight of what awaited them below.
All signs of the reaping festivities had been stripped away, leaving the vast hall cold and imposing.
After Arachne got killed in broad daylight by her tribute, Brandy who was shot dead not long after— only twenty-three small tables flanked with two folding chairs each were spread out in orderly rows
