*: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 EARLY MORNING SUN CAST A WARM GLOW OVER THE PICTURESQUE FIELD, where Lucy Gray sat, her back turned to Coriolanus.
The serene ambiance was disrupted only by the haunting melody she coaxed from her guitar, her voice weaving through the air like a gentle breeze.
Are you, are you comin' to the tree?
Hesitantly, Coriolanus approached, a storm of conflicting emotions churning within him.
Lucy Gray, in this quiet moment, seemed like a solace— a fleeting escape from the shadows of his own making. Yet, the very sight of her stirred a tempest of resentment and guilt, the remnants of the havoc he had wreaked upon Seraphina's life.
Where they strung up a man, they say, who murdered three
His footsteps were cautious, a hesitant cadence echoing the tumultuous symphony in his mind.
The anger he harbored towards Lucy Gray, a conduit for the pain he inflicted on Seraphina, simmered beneath the surface.
The pristine field became a battleground of conflicting emotions, each step a reminder of the tangled web he found himself ensnared in.
Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be
He hated Lucy Gray.
He hated her for being the catalyst for his fall from grace, for being the reason he cheated in the Games, for being the reason he was now exiled to the desolation of District 12.
The resentment burned within him, a fierce flame stoked by the realization that his own actions had led him to this wretched place.
As he drew closer, the allure he once felt for Lucy Gray began to wane.
The initial attraction that had offered a fleeting distraction from the echoes of Seraphina's departure now morphed into a bitter taste of regret.
The desire that once lingered in the periphery of his consciousness now threatened to transform into something darker— an impulse to throttle the source of his torment.
If we met at midnight in the hanging tree
Coriolanus found himself spiraling, lost in the maelstrom of his emotions. The field, once a serene haven, now mirrored the chaos within him, and Lucy Gray, oblivious to the tempest brewing behind her, continued to serenade the morning with her haunting melody.
Coriolanus closed the distance to Lucy Gray's seated figure, each step weighted with the burden of his tumultuous thoughts.
The peaceful field, once a refuge, now bore witness to the collision of their worlds. As his last step cracked a branch beneath his shoe, Lucy Gray flinched, the melody interrupted, and she turned to him with surprise etched across her features.
