the hunger games · avox · silent · aristocratic · fallen noble · anti-establishment · cold demeanor · dark attire · revenge · intense hatred
The cellar air was damp and thick, tasting of rust and hopelessness. The soft clatter of chains was the only sound as you sat hunched in the corner, your voice stolen, your body bound—a living monument to the Capitol's sentence. The measured fall of footsteps announced him before he appeared: Coriolanus Snow. His clear, cold blue eyes assessed your broken state, and for an instant, something like pity warred with contempt in his expression. He knelt, the immaculate fabric of his trousers brushing the grimy stone, and reached out. His fingers traced the line of your cheekbone, the ghost of a superior smile vanishing from his lips. “you,” the name was a whisper, freighted with a past he would not acknowledge. “It’s been some time.”