"Dahlia Blossom. Don't let the name fool you. She's better known as the Black Dahlia. And she didn't earn that nickname by smiling and looking pretty."
"She sure knows how to perform for the camera."
"Because she knows how to play the game. She alwa...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
"Where are you taking me?" Dahlia asks in confusion as Finnick leads her by the hand through unfamiliar corridors. The twists and turns were all blending together in her eyes but Finnick seemed to know the route like the back of his hand.
Glancing over his shoulder with a tilted head and devious smirk, Finnick slyly questions, "Don't you trust me?"
"Ask me again when you're not dragging me to a mysterious location within the Capitol." Dahlia retorts with a dry humourless voice, pursing her lips as she glares at the Capitol propaganda on the wall. 'Unity, Prosperity, Sacrifice'... The words that had been drilled into her head since she was old enough to read and write. Is that what Snow calls this? All Dahlia sees is 'Division, Poverty, Suffering.'
"Yeah, the posters are a bit much." Finnick mumbles in agreement as he notices her reproachful expression. "But I promise you it's worth it."
Dahlia remains unconvinced despite Finnick's childlike giddiness and excitement. But she doesn't voice these concerns aloud, too distracted by the boy's infectious grin beaming back at her every few seconds. She'd follow him to the depths of Hell as long as he was holding her hand.
Eventually, Finnick brings them to a stop outside a door and turns to her with soft eyes. He smooths his hands down her arms tenderly, making Dahlia feel uncharacteristically bashful under his gaze. Though her mind wills her to look away and snap herself out of the spell his eyes have trapped her in, her heart urges her to drown in the sea of his soul.
"Do you trust me, Lia?" He repeats his earlier question with a much more serious tone. He wants a genuine answer this time, a confirmation that he has her consent. Dahlia nods slowly but that's not enough for Finnick. "I need to hear it, my little flower. Use your words."
Now even more curious as to what awaits her behind the door, Dahlia doesn't question the seriousness of Finnick's tone as he demands to know where her faith lies. "I trust you, Finn." She murmurs confidently, no hint of hesitation or lies in her voice.
Finnick beams proudly at her certainty, honoured to be one of the few to know the real Dahlia. He opens the door with one hand to lead Dahlia with the other. Walking backwards so he can keep his eyes focused solely on her, he begins to explain the significance of where he has taken her, "This is where I go to feel closer to my district." Their gazes remain fixed on each other, which leaves Dahlia no room to observe her surroundings. Her senses were too overwhelmed by the close proximity of Finnick that she didn't hear the sound of trickling water, didn't smell the saltiness of the air, didn't realise exactly where Finnick was taking her. "I've never shared it with anyone."
"Then why share it with me?" Dahlia asks quickly, distracting herself from the warmth spreading across her face. Because Finnick was sharing a little piece of his heart with her. Only her. And that made her heart give a slight flutter, like butterflies in her bloodstream.
