Schoolgirl 𓆸 Coriolanus Snow

Seventeen.

But as she glanced at Coriolanus, his resentful expression etched on his face, she realized that her nonchalant response had failed to address his concerns. Perhaps she had underestimated the depth of his feelings, the possessiveness that lurked beneath his stoic exterior.

Tonight, she found herself in solitude. As the tributes interviews took place, the entire crowd was engrossed in front of their televisions or present in the audience downstairs. Despite Coriolanus' plea for her to join, Tempest understood that Reaper had no desire to participate in the interview, leaving her with no reason to be there.

Tempest couldn't help but roll her eyes when the nurse mentioned the possibility of her needing to walk. After all, she hadn't been able to walk for days. Her legs were tightly bound with gauze, except for the fabric around her knees which was left loose, allowing a glimpse of the raw, red flesh beneath. The sight was enough to make anyone cringe, but Tempest had grown accustomed to the pain and the grotesque appearance of her legs. 

She was dressed in linen pants and a matching shirt, both in a cement grey color, while everyone else wore gowns. It was as if her attire was a constant reminder of her difference, her inability to conform to the norm. The hospital staff had explained that her legs were covered to hide the ghastly injury, to spare others from the unsettling sight. But Tempest couldn't help but wonder if it was truly for her own sake or merely for the comfort of those around her.

Tempest felt utterly exhausted by everything. Being confined to a hospital bed, receiving sympathetic looks from her former rival, enduring her father's intense gaze, and being surrounded by a sterile, bleach-scented room. It was becoming unbearable for her, and she could feel her sanity slipping away in this confined space.

As the sun had disappeared beyond the vast expanse of the universe, she reached a breaking point. With determination, she pressed the call button and firmly declared, "I'm heading downstairs."

Despite her excruciating pain, the nurse encountered her in the hallway. She struggled to maintain her balance, clutching onto the walls and shifting her weight from one leg to another, desperately searching for some relief. "I can bring you a wheelchair," the nurse offered with genuine concern. The other women in the hallway cheered at the suggestion, but Tempest stubbornly refused. Determined, she forced herself to continue limping down the corridors, ignoring the pain and pushing forward.

It was a daunting task for her to calculate the precise amount of time it took to traverse the labyrinthine corridors and finally arrive at the grand doors of the Academy auditorium. The winding hallways seemed to stretch on endlessly, each turn leading her further into a maze of uncertainty. Yet, despite the uncertainty, she pressed on, her determination unwavering. 

As she pushed open the heavy doors, a cacophony of disruptive hacking sounds assaulted her ears, emanating from the microphone on the stage. It was unmistakable - the girl from district eleven.

It seemed like she had finally regained her stability, or perhaps her legs had become numb. Tempest found herself rooted at the entrance of the auditorium. On both sides of her, there were two rows filled with faces, some familiar and some unfamiliar.

Lucky Flickerman couldn't help but exclaim, "What an incredible performance!" However, it was evident that he didn't find it endearing at all. Dressed in a stylish blue suit with rhinestone accents, his hair perfectly styled with a touch of coppery powder, Lucky's mood was undeniably cheerful. "We're about done for the night, with just one final interview. Please welcome, from District Tw—-"

"Wait!" a commanding voice cut through the air, halting him in his tracks. Instantly, a wave of murmurs swept through the crowd, a mix of bewilderment and mild indignation at the unexpected interruption.