short-ish chapter this time but be ready for the next one

—The Truth—

"Watch over Lucy Gray for me," Coriolanus muttered to Persephone as he slowly backed away from the screen. He heard the term "a rainbow of destruction" before in Doctor Gaul's lab with the snakes. If she were to let them loose, hell would ensue.

"Wait-!" She attempted to reach out for him, her fight against tears overwhelming her. Persephone drew in shaky breaths and only wished the boy could exist beside her in comfort. "Coryo, please stay—what's happening?"

"I need to do something!" And he ran up the stairs before she breathed another word.

His disappearance could not have been at a worse time. Persephone tried to slow her heartbeat and failed by the minute, her useless inhales followed by empty exhales. Her stomach churned wildly, bile rising up and filling her mouth from fear.

What was planned? What did she mean when there may not be a victor left?

Would Reaper be okay? 

Persephone approached the Games with the silent hope in her heart that Reaper would survive. He had a high chance with his physique and skill, strength against the other tributes. She was held together with a mere dream that he would walk away from the Games with his life.

A foolish idea.

Since the first time Persephone heard whispers of Volumnia Gaul, a flicker of fright occupied her mind. The first moment she encountered the woman, pitiful attempts of masking her alarm present, Doctor Gaul without fail made her feel uneasy.

Those evil eyes seemed to see through everything. They almost haunted Persephone, as if one day the woman would direct her cruel power to her and pick her apart.

And now, sprouted from her intuition, Persephone understood the fact that none of the horrors would stop until Reaper Ash was dead.

Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, suppressing every gag crawling up her throat. Fear consumed every inch of her body, reflected by her trembling hands and clouded mind. Fear was a foe—an enemy. Her vision blurred. Her head spun. Her head felt dizzy.

Persephone would have collapsed, swaying from her disorientation, if it weren't for a short man who called her name.

"Miss Ignis." Dean Highbottom felt her mother's name on his tongue. "I suggest you sit down if you are to lose your balance."

She whipped around and stared down at the man as her chest rose and fell. In her mild mental episode, her interest piqued at his kind demeanor and suggestion. Persephone was partially reluctant to step toward her desk with the high possibility of stumbling and appearing a fool to her peers.

When the man noticed her feet planted in place and her wide eyes, Casca offered her his outstretched hand to guide her. In that moment of her gaze dropping down, mulling her options of whether or not to accept his aid, her face morphed into someone else's.

In his lapse of reality, Leucothea stood before him in all her beauty. Her makeshift dress and imperfect makeup, as well as her lack of the flawless presence she carried in her later years, were the important indicators that this was a version of her before her great status. Before Dunamis Ignis.

A time before she sunk her claws deep into Capitol society.

Persephone appeared just as reckless as Leucothea in her youth. The girl rested her hand on top of Highbottom's and took weary steps to her desk. He never let go, certain to guide her with a slow pace and catch her if she fell.

Once she settled into the seat and removed her hand from his, Persephone squeezed her eyes shut to hide the burden of her sympathetic tears. She was utterly failing to fulfill her role of perfection tasked by her father—no part of her could allow herself to break down in the public eye.

Behind closed doors was the only moment she would weep for someone District and not Capitol.

"This is no place to cry, Miss Ignis." He instructed her, then lowered his voice as he leaned closer to her ear. "They have ears everywhere, I suggest you carefully select your words. Lies should be your only companion."

And her brows furrowed, initial worry fading as a new confusion replaced it. "What are you talking about?"

"If there is one dire rule, it is to never shed a tear for any of the districts-"

"What are you saying?"

Highbottom paused his words and pulled away from her ear to meet her gaze, which had grown significantly colder. "There are ears everywhere. Not just the Arena, but the zoo. You think your little rendezvous after the bombing was undocumented?"

And her blood froze cold.

"I spliced the feed to cover your tracks of not only meeting your tribute, but what you admitted in that conversation. I've managed to convince Gaul in the Arena that you only spoke to persuade Sejanus and not the truth, but she's grown suspicious."

Persephone's head snapped around to find Doctor Gaul in the crowd of people, but Highbottom pressed his hand against her face and kept her gaze straight.

"If you are to sympathize with the districts, you must be careful." He glared into her eyes and let his unspoken words slip through. "More careful than your mother."

"What about my mother?" Persephone interrupted as her words bit into his skin. "And you're one to talk, your regret for the Games is painfully obvious. I'm surprised they haven't caught on yet, considering you lack all pride in the murder of children."

"And you think you're so smart?" She was smart, but he was smarter. Years of experience led him to the role he played in the present. He despised the Games, yet embedded his disdain carefully—he planted the ideas into the minds of others and could only hope they would sprout. "I see the way you can hardly stand watching murder, let alone take your eyes off the screen when your tribute is shown."

"No, I don't-" Every part of her wanted to deny all of it. To save her skin. To escape Highbottom's dangerous knowledge.

"There is no fooling me, Miss Ignis, I've heard your true feelings." His breath hit her ear as she squirmed under his threatening power. "If you are to stop these Games, to save future District children, act in the shadows. Never get caught."

"Why are you telling me this?" Persephone leaned away from him and twisted her face in confusion. She still attempted to convince herself he only spoke so radically due to his Morphling addiction.

"I've sat in on discussions over the Plinth Prize winner. Your name has come up multiple times due to the way your tribute trusts you, but Doctor Gaul has grown skeptical of your intentions. She's been voicing the possibility of your ulterior motives. If she is capable of convincing the others, not only will you never see the Plinth Prize, you will be hanged for treason."

She was drowning in fear. Persephone glanced around rapidly, scanning for any person who looked at her just a little longer than necessary to identify their suspicions. A sneaky feeling in her stomach boiled, whispering that Highbottom spoke in the tongue of truth.

Every time her heart beat, it pounded in her ears. Her mind was ravaged with despair, her gaze growing blurry. But her head spun so violently she could feel her body ready to convulse due to her paranoia.

Highbottom continued. "And that boy, Coriolanus Snow, is one you must exert extra caution around. Never let a soul know of your hate, Miss Ignis. That is how your mother survived so long in the Capitol until she let her foolish behavior run wild during the Dark Days."

"What is your fascination with my mother, High-as-a-Kite Bottom?" Persephone spat at the man, cloudy thoughts clearing at the sound of Coryo's name. He saw the shift in her eyes—the greatest sign that she was in too deep. She sunk into snow and would not realize until it suffocated her, too late to crawl back out. "Why are you telling me everything? How do I know you're not lying?"

"That boy will be the death of you, Persephone!" He grew desperate to show her Crassus Snow's son's true colors. She was too fragile, too significant, to fall for the boy's trap. "You love him too much, it's too strong. You're just like your father, you won't see anything else!"

"And you're just a crippling addict." She retorted, gaze hardened as she shook her head at him. "You're lying. You don't know anything about Coryo or my father."

"Your father was so in love with your mother, he let her persuade him. He did everything for her. All of it." Persephone was only pleading in her mind for the man to deconstruct his vague descriptions. "And Mister Snow is far too similar to his father for me to let you fall into his trap."

"Stop with the bullshit, tell me the truth for once!"

"The truth?" Highbottom could almost laugh at her ignorance. Her face was all her mother's, but her personality was derived straight from her father. "I've spoken no lies. Fire and snow will never coexist. If you don't cover your own tracks in the future with your radical ideas, you will be digging your own grave—and following in your mother's footsteps of her inattentive behaviors during her last few years of life is a poor, stupid decision."

She remained silent, his words just barely registering in her mind. During their whole interaction, she only wanted Coriolanus by her side to protect her, to glare at the man and whisk her away from his wrath. Persephone was still fuming, studying the way he continued to hide something greater. "You're still not being honest, I thought I asked you for the truth."

His tongue poked his cheek as he glanced around to check for any unwanted attention. In a way, Leucothea was just as desperate. In another way, a youthful Dunamis had been twice as naive to see the truth. Their greatest flaws were inherited by their daughter, who was blinded by love and rage.

Rage was dangerous—love was fatal.

A deadly, potent weapon when combined.

"Here's the truth, Persephone, a very hidden secret: as much as she was a Capitol sweetheart, a white swan, your mother was District," Highbottom took a small step back and reached into his pocket for another vial of Morphling, "and your father loved her so much, he let her destroy him."

As Casca Highbottom downed the small bottle, he could only imagine the way Persephone Ignis would follow her undying love for Coriolanus Snow to the grave. A swan on fire consumed by snow. Which would wither first?

Coriolanus had not yet succumbed to his cruel nature and Persephone had yet to find her own spark. Somehow, Casca could almost clearly envision their intertwined future. Of fire and snow, he thought to himself, holding onto the hope that her mother's manipulation would grow more prevalent.

The only thing that could save Persephone was herself.