Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 31 - The Beginning of the End

In that single motion, I can feel my whole world come crashing down around me. The faint glimmer of hope that I clung to for so long is now gone, replaced by a deep sense of dread. My mind races with thoughts of what punishment awaits me, how brutal and unforgiving it may be. But one thing is certain— when it's over, there will be nothing left of me or anyone I love. Despite the overwhelming sense of despair that consumes me, there is also a strange sense of relief. Relied that Peeta and I can finally go back to being ourselves without the constant pressure to prove our supposed undying love for each other.

I know that I need to get back to District 4 as soon as possible. It's where everything will start and end for me. My father, Wren, Bea, and their families— they'll all be targeted. Peeta and his family here in 12 are sure to be targeted too. I decide to add Haymitch to the list too, just to be safe. I'll take Haymitch and Peeta to District 4 and then we'll gather the others and flee up north. But how? How will I convince them to leave with me? And where will we go in the middle of winter? How do we avoid getting caught? I don't know the answer to these questions, but there is one thing I do know— I have to act fast. So I steel myself for what lies ahead and focus on making a plan. A plan that will lead us all to safety, no matter what.

President Snow's voice echoes through the grand hall, silencing the audience as he suggests holding the wedding right there in the Capitol. I hold my composure, my face breaking into a smile, although it feels strained and tinged with madness. I try to channel as much joy as I can muster for his satisfaction. Caesar turns to the president and asks if he has a certain date in mind.

"Before we set a date, we better clear it with (Y/N)'s father," the president says, draping his arm around my shoulders. The audience responds with a boisterous burst of laughter. Is this his way of warning me that he plans to go after my father first, or am I just reading too much into his words? No matter what he means by this, his comment makes my stomach twist in knots.

The party is held in the banquet room of President Snow's mansion; it's unlike anything I've ever seen. The ceiling, forty feet high, had been transformed into the night sky with twinkling stars and a full moon shining down on us. Musicians float on fluffy, white clouds, suspended between the floor and the ceiling, their melodies adding to the enchanting ambiance.

Gone are the traditional dining tables, replaced by plush sofas and chairs adorned with delicate fabrics and intricate designs. Some are placed around fireplaces, while others are nestled beside flower beds or ponds teeming with exotic fish. In the center of the room, there's a large tiled area that serves as a dance floor.

But as amazing as the decorations were, it was the food that took my breath away. Tables overflowing with an endless array of delicacies. There was every dish imaginable, and even some that I couldn't fathom in my wildest dreams. Whole roasted cows, pigs, and goats slowly turned on spits over glowing embers. Platters of succulent fowl stuffed with fruits and nuts. Ocean creatures glisten in sauces. Cheeses, breads, vegetables, wines.

My stomach growls hungrily at the sight before me, despite my lack of appetite for the past few weeks. But now that my worries have subsided, I'm famished and eager to eat.

My voice is filled with longing as I lean in towards Peeta, my eyes scanning over the extravagant feast spread out before us. "I want everything," I whisper to him, and I can see the confusion etched onto his face as he tries to decipher the change in my demeanor. He doesn't know the truth about President Snow believing I've failed, so maybe he assumes that we've succeeded in our mission. Or maybe he sees that I have some sincere happiness at the thought of our engagement. His blue eyes reflect puzzlement for just a brief moment as he tries to read me.

"Then you'd better pace yourself," Peeta advises, a small smile forming on his lips.

"No more than one bite of each dish then," I tell him. As we move from table to table, sampling soups and stews and roasted meats, the aromas swirling around us are almost overwhelming. The first table alone has at least twenty different soups, each one unique. There's a rich pumpkin soup sprinkled with nuts and seeds. A green broth that tastes like fresh herbs. A frothy pink soup dotted with raspberries. Each bite is more delicious than the last, but I force myself to stick to my one-bite rule.