—The Tributes—

Persephone walked into the large building crawling with students and their parents with her arm around her father's inhaling whiffs of his cologne. He smelled of cedarwood every waking moment, never forgetting to dab the slightest bit around his neck and wrists as his staple scent. She knew her father was around when his smell filled her nose.

The Ignis girl struggled to keep her body calm, hands shaking by her side and under the man's arm. Her legs felt weak with her nerves. Persephone was scared of her father's reaction when they would not call her name for the Plinth Prize. She knew it would never be her—she did not stand out as well as Coryo did. He was always in his element around other people and excelled too well on paper.

If it was anyone else to win, she would settle for him.

Controlling her breaths and putting effort to not trip on the stairs up to the doors, Persephone took a quick glance at her father. Dunamis remained calm—at least, externally. He looked collected and exuded charisma, someone a rich citizen of the Capitol would approach to talk about their victory over the Districts and their disdain for the Plinth family's origin.

She needed to mimic her father heavily. Get it together.

With one final, deep breath, Persephone let all her anxiety leave her body just as her father guided her into the building. Her emotions fizzled away and left behind a blank slate to rebuild herself for the next hour.

Persephone Ignis, golden child of Dunamis Ignis. A respectable young woman who was about to be the runner up for the Plinth Prize. Flawless and intelligent, calculated yet compassionate. A proud offspring of her father.

"Persephone." Why, she'd recognize that voice anywhere she heard it. The girl's facade faltered as she attempted her best to ignore the way her heart pumped rapidly once again for another reason. Persephone stopped her steps, as well as her father, to turn around and catch a glimpse of the guaranteed Plinth Prize winner.

"Coriolanus." She greeted professionally, though she knew under more casual circumstances she would use Coryo and he Perse. "My, do you look mature. Tigris's doing, I presume?"

The man quickly caught onto her use of sophisticated language and the arch of her back by her perfect posture. Coryo understood the role she played in the moment. If she wanted to act perfect, he would mirror her behavior. "Yes, of course. Only the best for such an important day. Have you red lipstick on? What a lovely color, very suitable for your attire. Walk with me?"

Coryo took a glance at her father first to receive his nod of approval. It came with a proud smirk on the Ignis man's face, as if he was content with his perfect example of a daughter associating with a respectable student tied to the Snow name.

Dunamis unlinked their arms and put a hand over his daughter's. "I am to speak with the Plinth family, make conversation and roam afterwards. Be your best, my dear."

"Of course, Dad." She nodded along, suppressing a smile at unsupervised company with the boy.

Once the older man walked away without glancing back, Persephone's eyes snapped back to Coryo's. "No, but I really do have to know. Did Tigris dress you today? I've been meaning to speak with her about her aptitude for fashion."

"Well, the outfit was purely mine," he mused, "but she altered this shirt."

"So that is why you don't look so normal." Persephone hummed, feeling the shake in her hands come back as he stared deeply into her eyes. He kept his lips parted, yet refused to utter a word as pressuring eye contact ensued. She felt her cheeks warm up a tad too hot before she spoke. "Remember, once you win the Plinth Prize, don't forget me among generals and advisors as you rise the ranks to President."

"You jester too much, Perse." His lips turned up, before he offered his hand out. "Walk with me, Darling, let's catch up with the others." Coryo refused to miss the way her cheeks flushed at the name he used. He enjoyed her blush, each moment giving him a rush of power. Coryo hadn't understood yet the difference between love and obsession.

Perhaps a mix of both.

Persephone linked their arms together, as she had done with her father prior, but felt a spark of intimacy between them. With her father, it had been done out of duty. With Coryo, it felt natural. She liked it more when she brushed shoulders with him every so often and the way she felt his presence merely close to her.

"How are you this morning, Perse? How is your father doing?"

She smiled lightly, as she had practiced in the mirror thousands of times to perfect her image. "I'm just a little nervous about who the Plinth Prize is awarded to. I do hope it is not Arachne, she's too mouthy and egotistical."

"Full of herself." Coryo added humorously.

"Precisely." Persephone nodded with a genuine grin this time. "My father is content. I suppose he is proud enough now. I think the only other person he believes deserves the Prize is you. If you win over me, he will accept my loss."

"Do you not hope it will be you?" The boy was inclined to ask, though thankful for her rationality. Moments when others were too optimistic of their odds made him grimace and irritated. "Winner of the Plinth Prize, Persephone Ignis."

"Don't let my hopes get too high, Coryo." She teased him back, facing him with her arm still loosely linked with his. Persephone felt his overwhelming stare once again. "May the best man win."

"Or woman," he added with a smirk.

Persephone rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to speak again when she spotted the Plinth family behind the boy. Remembering her father's wishes for her to be a perfect example, she knew she had to part ways with the boy for the moment. "I'm sorry, Coryo, but I need to make conversation with Sejanus and his parents."

Coriolanus nodded along and slid his hand down from her arm to her hand, holding it like a piece of glass before he let it go.

"Good luck." She bid him farewell and turned around to walk away.

Letting his eyes trail her figure, Coriolanus let himself think for a few moments. She had excellent posture, a feature he quickly noticed the moment he met her, and a nice body. Her dark hair fell around her face in a perfect manner, and her eyes never held any alternate intentions or false kindness. They were either blank with a hint of peace or easy to read.

And Coryo did not refuse to take notice of her outfit. The Ignis family was known for their symbol of a flame, as shown with the pattern to the scarf around her neck. Snow was supposed to fear fire, heat that melted snow down. However, he could not deny the attraction she carried, the alluring temptation he noticed only affected him. Like a poison with one victim.

He knew she felt the attraction, too. The way she was willing to do just a little more for him than the rest of Panem. He held power over her—such power he could use to manipulate her and control her. Before he could do so, he had to rid himself of the interest he found in her. Once he did, she would be a useful asset for his future.

Persephone Ignis would make a perfect wife for him.

As Coriolanus moved on to shake hands with a few adults and talk among some spoiled, two-faced classmates, Persephone greeted the Plinth family kindly.

"Hello, Sejanus," she smiled softly at the kind boy, "Mr. and Mrs. Plinth. How are you doing today?"

"I'm good," Mrs. Plinth answered for herself, eyes lighting up when she saw the girl come to talk to them. She, as well as the Plinth family, knew of the Capitol's distaste for their origins to District 2 and only favored their money. Over the time Persephone grew to be friends with Sejanus, the more he and his parents understood she had no ill intentions and only wished them the best.

Sejanus cut in before he answered her question. "May I talk to you for a moment, Perse?"

She furrowed her brows at his direct advance, but still agreed. "Yes, of course."

The boy took her arm and gently led her away from his parents and toward the group of students Coryo had been talking to and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Don't tell anyone else, but there is no prize."

Persephone snapped away from his grasp and frowned deeply, brows furrowed with confusion. "What?" She asked him in a harsh whisper. "What does this mean for the gathering today? What is going on?"

She could not ignore the way her shoulders loosened at the fact that no Plinth Prize was being awarded that day. If she did not win, it would be because there would be no winner. Something that could not be blamed back on her. Despite the loss of potential glory, Persephone truly had little to lose with or without the Prize.

When Sejanus made a move to walk toward Coriolanus and the group of sneering classmates, the girl stopped him abruptly. "Wait, I don't think you should go over there. They're probably talking negatively about you or your family and-"

"It's fine, Persephone." Sejanus assured, offering her a proud smile. "I don't exactly care about them or their snobby opinions. Nothing they can say will hurt me." He then extended his hand out to guide her. "Shall we listen to their gloating?"

The Ignis girl nodded politely and rested her hand atop his until they made their way to the group.

"–If I hear one more time how immoral these Hunger Games are, I'll put him in the Arena mys..." Festus trailed off as he turned around and caught sight of Sejanus. Persephone received odd looks from the other few classmates complaining about superficial things and averted her gaze. Instead, she locked eyes with Coriolanus and felt her cheeks heat up with embarrassment. She dropped her hand from the Plinth boy's and adjusted her posture, the arch of her spine distracting Snow just a little more.

He could not deny her perfection—only if her fair treatment for Sejanus among the other Capitol children was ignored.

"Sejanus," Festus greeted out of courtesy, "You made it to the Reaping for once."

His jab had no effect on Plinth. "And you made it to graduation, Festus, we're both shocked."

Persephone took a glance at Coryo next to her and stifled a laugh, battling her smile with a frown. She ducked her head in an attempt to not be their target to pick on next.

Luckily, Arachne switched the subject. "Spill it, who won the prize?"

"Oh, no, I'm not gonna ruin my father's big day. No one here actually likes him, but they do love his money." Sejanus took another bite at the spoiled Capitol-born kids after a moment of pause. "You know what that's like, don't you, Arachne?"

"Funny." She mocked with a frown as her face twisted with disgust.

Then, as the fanfare of the Capitol began to play and every student filed to a seat, Coriolanus turned to the Ignis girl next to him. "Come with me, we should grab seats in the front for the best view." As she looked down at his arm out to link with hers, Persephone knew she should, by default, take a seat in either front rows of the elevated chairs for the graduates to be seen the best by everyone else. Her father would want her to be the center of attention—to show her poise with a name everyone should remember.

"Precisely." She agreed, lightly grasping his arm for him to push through the busy crowd. For a moment before he began his way to their designated seats in the front, Coriolanus admired her neck. Untouched, flawless, and yet another thing he would involuntarily fixate on whenever she was near or when he thought about her.

And once they made it to the platform, the man pulled his arm away to pull off his satchel before he settled, letting Persephone take a spot next to him with her legs in an elegant manner—slanted to the right, hands clasped in her lap to hide its nervous tremors.

For a reason she could not understand, she felt something much worse than the lack of a Plinth Prize coming her way. Persephone looked over as she heard a distinct mumble from Sejanus to Coryo, most likely telling the boy of his father's changed plans.

Her attention was brought back to the front podium when she heard a manic giggle fill the room. Perse knew who it was before her: Doctor Volumnia Gaul, the Head Gamemaker clad in a chaotic purple dress and cold, calculating eyes. And before anyone else could whisper more hints in her ear, she was suddenly very sure something with the Hunger Games had replaced the supposed glory day of a Plinth Prize winner.

"How tantalizing to see all your shining young faces on this auspicious day." Even her voice elicited a shiver up the Ignis girl's spine. Persephone took a quick glance over at Coryo with a slightly worried look in her eyes. "I am Doctor Volumnia Gaul, your humble Head Gamemaker in charge of the War Department and all its affiliated concerns. I've broken free of my laboratory today," she added with a smile, "to examine you, the leaders of the next generation. I won't be around forever after all," she mused with another giggle. "And now to the end, I am honored to introduce to you the creator of the Hunger Games themselves, Dean Casca Highbottom."

And now a real shiver of anticipation spread through her body. What were they planning? What could Sejanus not tell her other than the fact that the Prize would not be shared today? She craned her head around to the short man across the large room, to where everyone's heads turned.

Highbottom cleared his throat, most likely after downing a vial of Morphling—no doubt due to his addiction to the drug. "Select students, faculty," he turned around flamboyantly, "and of course, Doctor Gaul. I have summoned you all here today for the 10th Annual Reaping Ceremony, in which we choose two children from each District to throw into the Capitol Arena to fight to the death in the Hunger Games."

Persephone could hear the distaste in his voice as he talked about the Games he created, as well as his somewhat slurred speech—it could have been from his boredom or drugs.

"I can't believe they still allow him to speak in public," Clemensia whispered from beside her, to which she nodded along. The Dean was far from fit to continue his public speeches. He needed to be sober with clear thoughts—and that never occurred.

"And here sit," Highbottom stood in front of the elevated podium, "our own 24 top prospects all waiting to hear the results, hard stacked in this prestigious institution, eager to learn who's won that Plinth Prize, no doubt." The man pursed his lips, allowing Persephone to mull over the possible alternatives to the Prize if it ceased to be given. "In the golden future, however, I am here to tell you that there has been a change this year. One final assignment to prove your worth."

Persephone's head raised, chin pointed up as she already worked out ways she could sway the Plinth Prize to herself. She just needed to follow what her father told her and choose the most logical options once given any time of decision.

"Because the esteemed citizens of the Capitol have grown bored of the Games and simply aren't watching anymore."

Bored? When she watched the kickoff to last year's games, she threw up at the vulgar nature of the tributes and the blood spilled within the first ten seconds. She never made it to see the end.

"If the Games are to continue at all, we need an audience." Highbottom joked, still lacking the average passion in a successful project that most creators felt. "So, Head Gamemaker Doctor Gaul stepped in to incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair, starting with you." The short man opted to stare directly into Persephone's eyes when he found her in the front row and narrowed his brows. A deep look of grief and regret had been noticeable for a moment before he continued his speech. The Ignis girl took another short glance over at Coriolanus, who held the same confused face for alternate, yet the same reasons. "The Plinth Prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades, but by who is the best Mentor in the Hunger Games."

Arachne mumbled an "excuse me?" in disbelief, turning a few heads but not including Persephone. Was she tasked to teach and guide one of the tributes selected and make them survive? Did it depend on who had been paired with who? Certainly those paired with a tribute who carried a natural aptitude for survival had the upper hand than someone with a weaker tribute. What could be determined as fair with the selectings?

"This is a brand new role." Highbottom made his way over near Persephone's seat, still staring deep into her eyes as if he was trying to find something within her. The girl squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze, which caught the attention of the Snow boy next to her.

And suddenly, Coriolanus had the urge to hurt Highbottom for his extra attention, no doubt unsettling Persephone. With one final look at the girl, he opted to bite his tongue and wait until he had a justifiable reason to throw the first punch at the short man.

"As the Reaping progresses live, I will allocate each District tribute a Capitol Mentor behind the scenes, one who must- just persuade them to perform for the cameras."

So it was not at all about survival, but dramatics.

The Hunger Games did not want fighters, but performers.

Festus interrupted Highbottom with a foul taste in his voice. "Obviously, the best Mentor will be the one whose tribute wins the Games?"

"What if I get a pathetic little runt girl from one of the poor Districts like 8 or 12?" Arachne bit sharply, annoyance laced deep in her words. "They're just gonna die in two minutes like last year and the year before."

"Your role is to turn these children into spectacles, Miss Crane," Highbottom corrected her complaining, "not survivors. Victory in the Games is only one of our considerations. Your entire future rests on this last project." His eyes lingered on Persephone until he turned his back to walk away, then came back with one final note. "Oh, and I must tell you that anyone caught cheating to give their tributes an unfair advantage will just have no future at all."

The fanfare from the televisions above blared as the Reaping Ceremony commenced.

"Oh, here we go." Highbottom took a seat on the steps before Persephone and Coriolanus, though she paid no mind due to her anxious waiting for the tribute assigned to her. If she knew what to do with her tribute the moment she saw them, she could craft a plan to make them socially loved—therefore win the Plinth Prize for its glory.

"Let the Reaping Ceremony begin!"

And Persephone held her breath.

The short man before her called out every name, nearing too close to the end of the tributes. But the youngest girl pulled, Wovey, the Ignis girl could not get that tribute out of her mind. Such a young girl going into a game of slaughter. Persephone would need to look away when she dies, no doubt.

Most, if not all the tributes picked, had no specific talent or stage presence. They lacked something needed to be a marvel, someone who would be a favorite. Milk them of their compassion and take their hearts when they die in the Games. The girl bit her tongue anxiously as the tributes narrowed down to only District 11 and 12.

A hand slid into hers in her lap where she had been nervously clenching her fists, ignoring the pain of her nails digging into her palms. Persephone looked over to find Coryo staring blankly up at the screens with a blank, irritated expression. He hadn't gotten a tribute yet, either.

And he still found it in himself to hold her hand with comfort.

However, Coriolanus was just digging her grave deeper and deeper.

"11, boy, Persephone Ignis."

She snapped out of her thoughts and studied the boy tribute as he appeared on the screen. He had strength, no doubt from his muscles. He had a hard look on his face, one that showed he was angry to be pulled to the Games. Compared to some of the other tributes, the boy, Reaper, was not a bad choice. In fact, Persephone swore up and down she would crack him and piece together a plan to dazzle the Capitol with his strengths.

And then Reaper threw a packed punch at the Peacekeeper next to him.

Persephone lept from her seat with shock, standing up abruptly as if she could help with anything. As much as she could not tell him now, he just signed his own death sentence with his blood. The Capitol will refuse to love a tribute who hurt a soldier serving Panem.

She could kiss the Plinth Prize goodbye with her last breath.

Reaper Ash, what the hell are you getting me into?

As the camera panned elsewhere, the last glimpse of 11's boy tribute was him being detained harshly and getting dragged away from the crowd. She felt Coriolanus take her hand once again, after she dropped it to stand, and tugged it.

"Perse, sit down."

And when she followed his order, compliant to his word, Coryo felt a proud surge of power over her that made him hungry for more.

If he could get rid of the weakness in his knees when they touched skin and his elevated heart rate, he would.

But the show was not over yet. Coriolanus still needed to be assigned a tribute. As each tribute was assigned to a student, it suddenly became clear of who he was left with. Persephone looked over at the boy and found him clenching his jaw with anger and his face cold.

"The runt girl, District 12, belongs to Coriolanus Snow."

He held a blank face so nobody could see his urge to strangle Dean Casca Highbottom until he turned purple.

"What is that dress?" Arachne judged with a whisper. "Is she some sort of clown?"

As the tribute girl, Lucy Gray Baird, made her way slowly through the aisle, another boy tried to talk to her from the crowd, which she ignored. Persephone found her behavior peculiar. Alluring. Almost like a true performer. She hid her hand behind her back with something in it and swiftly slipped the object into a red haired girl's dress.

The girl screamed and writhed, following with Coryo abruptly standing from his seat as the Ignis girl had done before. Persephone covered her open mouth with her hand, curiosity and shock running through her veins.

As the girl with the blue dress wiggled around and dropped to the ground with the man at the microphone yelling for help, the distinct pattern of a snake slithered out from her dress. Another shock came just as quick. When Lucy Gray, gloating with pride, walked up the steps to the stage, she was slapped across the face by the mayor of 12.

Now Persephone's jaw dropped and she could almost feel Coryo's anger for the most dramatic, rebellious tribute of the Reaping now belonging to him.

A voice from the crowd of ineligible 12 children began to sing—sing. And Lucy Gray, from her spot on the ground, continued the song as she stood up and took her voice to the barren microphone. She sings nice, Persephone had to admit.

Like a songbird playing a message with music.

"YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!"

And then the crowd of students and Capitol citizens alike burst out into enraged shouts with her vulgar behavior and profanity. When Persephone looked over at Coriolanus, he smiled for a moment with her redemption. Her flair was just what he needed to make her stand out. But how was he supposed to redeem her after she screamed at the Capitol?

As the rest of the crowd began to shuffle out, she stood up next to Coryo and whispered to him softly with a hand on his shoulder. "She has the most potential of them all." He looked over to find the Ignis girl with a soft, comforting smile. "You've got the fastest ticket to the Plinth Prize right now, that's for sure."

"Thank you." He didn't really mean it.

"No problem." And she really did.