Aurora Grace loves flowers more than anything. They are tiny sparks of joy in a hard cold world. When she is chosen for the Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow becomes her mentor. Through her eyes, he starts to see the world in a brighter light.
Coriolanu...
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CORIOLANUS SNOW'S mind was racing, his heart sinking like a stone in deep water. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. District 12 never last more than the first few minutes of the games. A nagging thought tugged at him – could this be a deliberate act by Highbottom? It seemed likely, given the man's clear disdain for Coriolanus. This felt like a setup for failure, a preemptive strike against his hopes and dreams. Without victory in the games, his path to university was blocked, and the future of his family's uncertain.
Yet, in the midst of these turbulent thoughts, Coriolanus maintained his usual facade of calm detachment. He settled back in his chair, feigning indifference as he was assigned the female tribute from District 12. His eyes lifted to the screen, where the drab, unremarkable square of District 12 was displayed. Mayor Lipp, donned in an old-fashioned suit that spoke of better days long past, took the stage. Coriolanus watched intently as Lipp reached into a burlap sack filled with names, each a potential destiny. Time seemed to stretch, each second elongating as Lipp drew out a slip and he barely glanced at the paper before he said, "The District Twelve girl tribute is Aurora Grace."
The camera panned across the assembled crowd, finally resting on a girl who stood out like a bloom in a barren field. Coriolanus found himself momentarily breathless. Aurora was strikingly beautiful, her presence like a ray of light in the gloomy atmosphere of the selection. She wore a cream dress adorned with a variety of flowers, each adding a splash of color, a hint of life. Her brown curls were neatly braided, woven with flowers that complemented her attire.
Arachne's voice dripped with scorn as she observed the scene. "She's a poor little flower girl," she sneered. But Coriolanus paid her no heed, his attention unwaveringly fixed on the girl in front of the camera. He couldn't afford to avert his gaze, fearing he might miss even the smallest detail.
Aurora, under the scrutiny of the lens, raised her eyes to meet the camera, her gaze carrying a subtle but unmistakable defiance. Through the lens, her green eyes seemed to radiate, cutting through the screen with an intensity that felt as if she was looking straight into Coriolanus's soul. She had an otherworldly aura about her, a delicate beauty that seemed almost untouchable.
But then Aurora's attention shifted, breaking the connection as she turned to make her way towards the stage. In her wake, a boy appeared, skirting around the imposing wall of peacekeepers. He seemed desperate, his voice laced with regret. "Aurora, I'm so sorry. I didn't know," he pleaded. But Aurora was unmoved, continuing her stride, her back to the boy. "She's still upset about the dogs," he said. Aurora paused, her back still turned to the boy. In that moment of stillness, the crowd around them held their breath, anticipating her next move. Then, with a swift and unexpected movement, her fist shot out, connecting squarely with the boy's face.
