A SNAKE HIDDEN UNDER THE SKIN OF A MASTERMIND
She reads people as if they're books.
She used people as if they're objects.
She manipulated their minds as if they're games to her.
She had the whole Panem in the palms of her very hands.
So when she...
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Days before the announcement.
—— SNOW ASKED FOR MANY things when it comes to his victors. Some ended up tragically used for their bodies and forced them into prostitution. Some lived their lives luxuriously and were used as public and political figures to represent him. But unlike some, Irene was used for a different story.
To Irene, the real world was still her battlefield just as the arena once was. Her ability was exploited by him. Snow used her to learn people's secrets and reported them back to him. She observed them and noted everything down in her mind, thanks to her photographic memory. She threatened those who threatened Snow and killed those who planned to even lay one finger on him.
She was his puppet as much as the others were. Their loved ones were threatened to be taken and tortured if not comply to him.
Today, he's holding a dinner party at the presidential palace, and invited the majority of the capital as well as the victors from previous games. He'd claimed to want to see everyone he'd 'adored' in one place, but really, he just wanted to have his favorite weapon and set her on a mission to gather some intels for him.
Of course she'll go though not for him, but for the free booze.
Dressed in light blue off the shoulder dress with a lacy bodice, her hair styled simply in soft waves and in a half updo. A Small amount of glitters were painted on the base of her collarbone, and her shoulders as well as on her cheeks. Her escort, Violet Locke, had suggested for her to wear something more 'showing' to shine in the capital, but Irene wasn't feeling it, so the woman just let it go reluctantly.
At least the lace on the bodice that beneath her breast was see through enough.
As she strolled through the entrance to the garden where the dinner party was held, Irene was well aware of the stares she received — the lustful and erotic gaze from both men and women and envy. Ever since she'd won the 66th annual hunger games, Irene had grown out of her meek, scrawny 13 year old body to a more divine appearances. Whether it was the shape and size of her body, her warm yet cold shade of skin, or any qualities of her that made her stood out, Irene was simply perfect.
Perfect to be the Capital's favourite. To be the golden girl among its people. To be the princess of Panem.
Irene Portwell was a perfect soldier and figure in their eyes, and no one could deny otherwise.
She'd came from a little girl who started the game with little sponsors to having twice than every victor combined. From the little girl who used to play mind games and puzzles just for fun, to a soldier with ability to be exploited.
