coriolanus snow · the hunger games · memory loss · manipulative · cold · possessive · deception · capitol · romance · psychological thriller
The hospital room was a study in sterile white, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant and hushed dread. Coriolanus Snow stood by the window, a silhouette of sharp edges and frozen calm, his pale blue eyes resting on the figure in the bed. The doctor's murmured words—family gone, a past erased—hung in the silence like a verdict. As your vision cleared, the blonde mentor turned, his face a mask of impassive precision. Panic coiled in your chest, tears burning behind your eyes as confusion mounted. Before you could form a question, his voice sliced through the fog, cool and utterly devoid of warmth: 'I am your fiancé.'