—Of the Swan and Snow—

The moment Lamina killed Marcus to spare him mercy, something he was not given for running to save his life, Persephone's facade cracked—and she knew it. She was a hairline fracture away from crumbling to pieces.

She excused herself to use the bathroom. Her face remained unchanged. Only when she locked the door to the bathroom and ensured nobody else could see her, Persephone's cheeks bore warm streaks of tears. Her hand was clamped over her mouth to cover any sobs she could not contain.

A complete, utter mess of a girl named Persephone Ignis.

For someone who was supposed to be perfect, she dwindled far below the bar. If someone had seen her from the past, a mere week before she cradled herself on the floor of a bathroom, she would have been pristine. Elegant. No forced smile, but calculated movements with every shift in her figure.

A part of her desired to go back to when she was oblivious to the truth about the Hunger Games. Persephone's path was set before her at a very young age: she would attend the Academy, graduate, move onto University, graduate, marry someone noble, settle down, birth his heirs, and never fail to bring glory to the Ignis name.

Her back slid against the wall, down until she hit the floor and brought her knees to her chest. Persephone wept soundless tears for the tributes killed within the first ten minutes of the Games. For Marcus, hung and paraded like a symbol of power among the Capitol. For Sejanus, who witnessed such brutality against his former classmate. And for the future tributes to the Games, young or old, who would be forced to kill in order to survive and live with the guilt for the rest of their lives.

Perfection was pain. Persephone wiped her tears and prayed with time, her red eyes would fade to go unnoticed.

In the silence of the bathroom, suffering and guilt swallowed her whole.

"You can't save her by watching." Back in the auditorium, Coriolanus tore his eyes from the screen broadcasting Lucy Gray and found Highbottom lurking in the shadows. The short man leaned against a vacant desk next to the boy and studied him carefully. "What do you want from that girl?"

"Nothing, I want her to live." He began to become irritated with the man's intrusive behavior. Lucy Gray was his tribute, his path to the glory of the Plinth Prize. He must care about her in order for her to win. Her beauty like a dove was only an addition to her capabilities as a performer.

Highbottom was not a fool. He observed the attitude Coriolanus offered to Persephone Ignis and to Lucy Gray Baird. The similarities the boy shared with his father started to blur together into an uncanny resemblance. Crassus Snow liked power—his son was busy chasing after it.

"And the Plinth Prize would be a happy coincidence, I suppose?" Here is the part where Highbottom grew suspicious: was Lucy Gray an infatuation linked to power and money or was Persephone the one he truly desired to ruin?

Holding Lucy Gray's hand in the zoo cage, treating her like the star of the show? A small part of him was grateful the chance for Persephone to escape presented itself in the form of a District 12 tribute destined for doom.

The boy's jaw clenched. It was growing harder to refrain from choking the man until he turned blue. He was insufferable before, highlighting his debt, and he was insufferable again. The fool hadn't a clue what business he was sticking his nose into. "I believe I would be entitled to it."

"What of your pretty little swan, trampled under your starving, poor foot?"

Coriolanus remembered the way Persephone once said the Dean mentioned a white swan. Highbottom referenced the vulnerable girl, tormented by the man with his stares and flickers of unknown emotion in his eyes. One could presume it to be lust, others love.

But who was he going to choose to utterly destroy?

Only in death would Coriolanus let Dean High-as-a-Kite Bottom speak of his Persephone.

His gaze shifted to the short man as he craned his head around. "What of Persephone?"

Highbottom easily caught the way his voice darkened as he said her name, as well as the hint of jealousy along his face. The boy made it all too clear of where his loyalties lie. "Your gullible white swan, does she believe a word you say? Does she know of the empty belly you endure every waking moment?"

If the man were to mutter a whisper of the truth to his First Lady, his dream to kill Highbottom would occur much sooner.

"Don't bring her into this."

"Is that a threat?"

A man who has been through hell loves to play with pure cold snow.

"What do you want from me?" The blonde boy demanded.

And the Dean could almost smirk. Ruffling the feathers of Crassus Snow's son was almost enjoyable, though he knew to not get so close to the cold with the chance of freezing. "Your precious songbird is your ticket to the Plinth Prize, correct?"

Coriolanus remained silent.

"But your darling Persephone does not possess any sort of advantage, any reward, does she?" Highbottom leaned toward the boy as far as he could and narrowed his eyes. "What do you want with an innocent swan, Mister Snow?"

He swallowed his confusion-filled rage and lied through his teeth, the only comfort he had ever known. "She is just a friend."

"Considering who you are, you have no real friends. Not even Sejanus Plinth." Highbottom continued to crack down the boy's tainted, evil facade. With each word, the truth seeped out of his pores as if it were his own sweat, the odor of his fabricated lies breaking down with a vile stench of deception. "I saw the way you watched him storm out of this room. Not even his display of emotions could make you feel even a drop of pity for him."

To be opened up and read like a children's book was a new experience for Coriolanus. It made him feel weak and vulnerable. For a power-hungry, ambitious man like him, he found pleasure in a daydream of striking Highbottom until there was nothing left but a bloody mix of flesh and bone.

"Ice cold snow. No feelings for anyone, right? Everyone is just a pawn in your game." Casca Highbottom felt himself trail off into the depths of his mind, spewing out words he craved to say to the boy's dead father. "But your elegant swan must be something more. You keep her around like a pet, a prize, what? Or does she just melt you down into a puddle with that fire of hers?"

His fists balled up. Every part of his mind was screaming for him not to harm the man with people in the room and a facade to uphold. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about." Before he continued, Highbottom paused. He felt her presence, the aura of a girl eerily similar to her mother, descend down the steps of the auditorium among the quiet murmurs of other Academy students. Although she was a swan like her predecessor, Persephone did not feel like a white swan the same way her mother did.

A swan on fire, he would describe her as.

"Who do you think makes that final decision for the Prize you so covet, Mister Snow? Wake up, even if Lucy Gray Baird somehow wins it all, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you don't see a dime." He stared deep into the eyes of a man embraced in cold, cold snow. "And as long as I live, I will make sure your pretty swan does not belong to you."

As long as he lived. If Coriolanus, hypothetically, killed him, he would have free reign to not only claim Persephone, but acquire the Plinth Prize for its money and bathe in its power. His gaze shifted to the familiar girl behind Highbottom when the man backed away from the empty desk and gave a respectful nod to her.

"Miss Ignis." The man greeted as his eyes barreled into identical ones from a distant memory.

"Dean Highbottom." Persephone returned, confusion laced in her voice. Her gaze flickered between the cold expression on the boy's face and the man in front of her. She still furrowed her brows at the way he, without fail, took a moment longer to observe her gaze.

Persephone would have assumed he noticed her fading red eyes if she did not know of his antics to stare.

Feeling the glare of ice cold eyes, burning with snow, Highbottom almost scolded himself for allowing his personal vendetta against the boy's father to come between them. That is, until he glanced back once briefly and found the same blue-eyed gaze that sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

It was a gaze of bloody, painful desire to murder.

"What did Highbottom want with you?" Persephone asked him innocently as she settled down in the empty desk originally occupied by Lasistrata, Mentor of Jessup. "You look angry, is it something he said?"

Coriolanus pondered chasing the man down and shoving too many vials of Morphling down his throat to make his death appear as an overdose. Yes, he could get away with that. The Dean had a crippling addiction, all of the Capitol knew. They would not suspect it was murder, only his poor choices catching up with him in the long run.

He decided against it until the perfect time. Like a snake, he must wait for the right angle to strike.

"Oh, you know how he is. High-as-a-Kite Bottom." Coriolanus sneered. His lips curled in disgust at the accusations the man made. At all the accusations he criticized him over. What did he think he was doing, parading around on a high horse like he was not slowly poisoning himself with Morphling over and over?

Highbottom deserved to pay for his disrespect. His vile insults. His unshakable confidence. Who allowed him to wander around as if he was half the man he was when he supposedly proposed the Hunger Games? He was reduced to an aging short man with no ambition.

He did not deserve the power granted to him if he did not desire to use it.

Persephone sighed as her gaze followed the distant figure of the man. "That Morphling messes with his mind so much, I almost feel bad."

"Why?"

The tone in his voice almost shocked Persephone. He spoke of Highbottom as if he hated him—as if he did hate him. But how could Coriolanus not hate the man who threatened him constantly, withholding the Plinth Prize and demeaning him?

"His addiction is horrible." She bit her tongue before she mentioned the fact that she knew his secret loathing for the Hunger Games. "And he never seems happy. Always suffering. Who couldn't pity him for his poor life?"

One answer: Coriolanus could not.

The boy resisted the urge to roll his eyes and plucked the rose from his blazer to twirl in front of him. "Is it not his fault for his addiction?" Coriolanus saw a flash of the future he dreamt with the girl. Persephone was decorated with a yellow rose in her hair and a draping sundress adorning her figure.

When he shifted his gaze to the girl, he discovered her eyes already on his. Her cheeks burned deeply, realizing she was caught admiring him. "May I?" The boy asked, gesturing to her hair. He scolded his emotions for reacting to the way her face flushed.

His knuckles grazed her cheek with the slightest touch, unfailing in running a shiver down her spine. Persephone took the chance to admire the boy she knew from her youth. His blue eyes, cold as snow until they met hers, his blonde hair, the way he protected her, his ambition, every little detail.

She fell for his parted lips, his charm, his occasional smile, the furrow in his brows, the way he looked at her, all of it.

"How does the bruise feel?" Coriolanus pulled her out of her haze. "From the Peacekeeper?

The girl could have melted at the way his brows drew together with concern. "It's been getting better. Hardly noticeable since I've been taking good care of it. I wonder what happened to him after he was dragged away."

He hummed in agreement, though he had not registered her words completely. His fingers brushed any loose strands of hair around her ear and tucked the rose just above it. Yellow was a pretty color on nobody but her. His nature would destroy hers, just as Highbottom accused before.

"You're beautiful," Coriolanus murmured before he could stop himself. His mind would scream that he only baited her further until he hooked her on completely, but deep in his heart, he knew it was a lie. It was a painful truth he refused to accept—Persephone was as beautiful as an angel and twice as compassionate.

A sliver of him felt guilty for his plan to take advantage of her for the power she offered.

As his gaze flickered to her rounded lips subconsciously, Persephone could only blink. The words were caught in her throat. Did he really look at her like he just discovered what love was?

But as he never shifted his attention from her eyes or lips, as his hand settled to cup her cheek with a light touch, thumb smoothing over the hint of a bruise, something told her none of what Reaper claimed was exaggerated. Maybe Coriolanus did not let on the full truth, maybe his love seeped through his charm and bathed in her hopes, but the connection between them was real.

His thumb traveled down to her lips along with his gaze. No matter how much he believed all of his infatuation was an act to lure her in, he could not deny the way he craved the sensation of her soft lips on his.

Coriolanus decided it was better to believe all his love had a greater purpose—that it did not make him weak.

Every bone in his body screamed for him to seize his chance. To feel the grace of her warm lips on his. To hold her gently each night. For her to be his only priority, his only love.

A thundering boom of someone slamming their feet down on the bleachers was quick to steal Persephone's attention away. Her head snapped in the direction of the young boy, no doubt a couple years younger than the Seniors, who whispered an apology with a pink face.

Her gaze lingered on the floor for a moment, prolonging a blink to slow her rapid heart rate. Persephone caught her breath, hitched from the moment his touch settled on her face, then looked back up at the boy. Something shifted in his eyes, causing him to drop his hand without noticing the way she leaned further into his touch for just a moment more.

How foolish of him to let his emotions get in the way of the bigger picture. Coriolanus scolded himself for becoming entranced by, how Highbottom described her perfectly, an elegant swan.

Two hearts danced a song of cold snow and burning fire.

It was hard to ignore the pounding in his chest. "When are you leaving for home?" Coriolanus asked her, cringing at the stupid question his mind pieced together.

"I'm not sure." Persephone responded, disappointment evident in her voice. She must have dreamt all of it for him to treat her so poorly within an instant. "My father worries for my safety since the bombing in the Arena, especially when I have to walk home alone in the dark. But if anything happens to Reaper, I must be here as his Mentor."

"Right." He agreed, then his interest piqued once he recognized his chance. "What if you weren't alone walking home? Your father does like me, does he not?"

She understood his intention within the moment and placed a gentle hand on his chest in refusal. "No, Coryo, you don't have to walk me home, it's okay-"

"I have to make sure you're safe," Coriolanus clasped his hand over hers, "for me and your father, I need to walk you home." He had no intention of admitting he only desired to stake his claim over her publicly and spend a little longer in her company.

Just as she parted her lips with the words in her throat, Persephone's eyes were caught on his heavy eyebags. "Have you slept, Coryo?"

He brushed off her concern. "No, but I'm fine-"

"No, you need to rest." She assured him, then glanced up at the screen. "I promise I'll wake you up if anything important happens, but you have to sleep."

He hated the way he succumbed to her persuasion with ease from the help of his drowsiness. Coriolanus rested his head without complaint and fell unconscious like a light, embracing sleep almost immediately.

For the next few hours, Persephone let herself slouch in the empty auditorium. She glanced a few times at the screen and more at the boy next to her, resting soundlessly. A part of her regretted allowing him to sleep instead of her and even furrowed her brows at the fact that she decided to stay, but she knew she had to.

If anything were to happen to Reaper, she wanted to be the first to know. If she were busy walking home to not see something important as a Mentor, she would never forgive herself. Persephone doubted she could sleep anyway, her worry and hallucinations of Arachne's blood would keep her awake for too long.

Instead of releasing her thoughts to run wild in her mind, she set her head down on her bent arms in front of her and faced the sleeping boy next to her. Persephone found comfort in watching Coriolanus with the wrinkle between his brows faded away. He looked peaceful.

She wondered if he could find peace with her, too.

Persephone often found herself piecing together a potential future since she befriended the boy. They were 11 and Dunamis Ignis found that she was far too old for private tutors, that he recovered from his wife's death and could part with his daughter for once.

When she first arrived at the school, surrounded by many other students her age and above, Persephone found her lips shut and brows permanently knit together. She was anxious and worried, circled by strangers with curious expressions.

It was until she caught a glimpse of blonde hair and blue eyes. Persephone was doomed from the start.

Her eyes grew heavy and fluttered shut, the image of his blue eyes the last thing she saw.

"Miss Ignis." Persephone jolted awake, blinking to wake herself a little more. Staring back were two heterochromatic eyes on a madwoman. Doctor Volumnia Gaul stood before her, gaze piercing into her soul. An uncanny shiver racked the girl's spine.

"Doctor Gaul?" She rasped out. How long was she asleep for? "Did something happen to Reaper?"

The woman leaned down further, a calm yet angry demeanor washed across her face. "Unless you can put a leash on your deluded classmate, he might as well be dead as far as you're concerned."

Persephone's gaze averted to the large screen once Gaul retreated back, eyes widening at the sight.

Sejanus was in the Arena.

"Sejanus?" She whispered, brows furrowed with worry and confusion. The boy was crouched over what was left of Marcus.

"Bread crumbs." Doctor Gaul clarified, then turned back to the sitting girl. "I believe sustenance for a fallen comrade on his final journey, a District 2 superstition." She rested her hand on the small donation screen perched on the desk with flared nostrils. "I'll work on finding the Peacekeeper he bribed to get him in and cut out their tongue. In the meantime, I need someone to get him out right now."

She did not fail to send a wave of fear through the girl. Persephone inhaled sharply and glanced over at the boy next to her, stirring from his sleep at their voices. "Shouldn't you send Peacekeepers? Why me?"

"Only to have him bolt and hide like a rabbit with soldiers?" Doctor Gaul's gaze lingered on the boy. "For some unknown reason, your classmate seems to remain closer to you than your Mister Snow. Is this because you agree with his radical ideals?"

Everything was about status. Persephone knew she had to manage expectations, to cover her tracks as a District sympathizer even if they watched the tapes from surveillance cameras at the zoo. "No. I believe the Games are a brutal, but effective way in controlling the Districts."

Lies through her pearly white teeth. A natural talent fit for Capitol life.

"What you lack in brute strength, you follow with persuasion. You must get him out." Doctor Gaul clarified and only leaned closer, a darkness lurking behind her eyes. "Felix Ravenstill and Gaius Breen are fighting for their lives in the hospital, Miss Ignis. I will not have these rebels make a further mockery of my Games. Anyone sees us lose control of this Arena, and might as well be sounding a horn to the Districts to revolt."

The only thing keeping Persephone together in front of such pressure was her straight posture, the only thing constant she had ever known. She must keep her composure as if she had not cried for the Districts mere hours ago.

That moment, Coriolanus chose to interrupt and wake up. "Doctor Gaul, what if I get him out? He trusts me as a friend and I can defend us."

"Mister Snow," she directed her attention to the boy, "do you choose to be friends with this radical? You want him to end the Games tonight?"

Persephone did not miss the glance he gave her, as if cautious with his next words. "It'll look a lot worse if the tributes kill both him and someone like Persephone. Most of the Capitol adores her, she's a sweetheart. If I'm not there, they could die."

"So don't let them." Doctor Gaul whispered in his ear with a hushed voice. The girl watched his eyes widen, filled with his ambition and only tempted Persephone to know the words exchanged even further.

"I once asked you an important question, Miss Ignis, you must answer me again." The woman's fist balled up in anticipation. Her cold, calculating eyes dug deep into her consciousness and nested there. "In this world, are you a sheep or a wolf? Powerful or powerless?"

She pursed her lips. A Capitol sweetheart, loyal to Panem's greatest glory, only had one answer—even if it was not true for her. A disguise. "I'm a wolf amongst sheep, a Capitolite. Powerful among powerless."

The hint of a smirk painted Doctor Gaul's lips. "Prove it." And the girl could almost sigh in relief. "I'll freeze the feed for an hour." The woman announced as Persephone took a worried glance at Coriolanus. I estimate that's all we have until the people notice. Use your voice, Miss Ignis, it is a powerful weapon. Get your classmate out."

Elegance and power—the symphony of a swan on fire.