𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡

epilogue

As Coriolanus Snow stepped into what was once Cordelia Sinclair's room, he was met with a jarring sight that pierced through the facade of familiarity. The room, once a reflection of Cordelia's vibrant personality, had been transformed into a nursery, a silent testimony to the passage of time and the shifting tides of fate. The walls, once adorned with Cordelia's dreams and aspirations, now echoed with the anticipation of another life, devoid of her presence.

In the eerie silence that enveloped the room, Coriolanus couldn't help but feel a pang of disquiet gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. The absence of Cordelia's name, like a whisper lost to the wind, hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the void left in her wake.

As he made his exit from the Sinclair home, Coriolanus found himself haunted by the specter of Cordelia's disappearance. Turning to his circle of friends for answers, he was met with a chilling silence that spoke volumes. Festus, Persephone, Hilarious—once good friends—now averted their gaze, their indifference a stark contrast to the urgency of his questions. It was as if Cordelia had been erased from the fabric of their collective memory, her existence relegated to the realm of forgotten whispers and unanswered questions.

Seeking more answers, he approached Tigris, whose lips parted to reveal a tale shrouded in secrecy. Weeks after the games ended, Cordelia had made a decisive choice, one that echoed with the weight of uncertainty and exile. With an air of resignation, she had chosen to leave the capitol behind and run off to the districts, her whereabouts veiled in mystery.

Yet, as the tendrils of rumor unfurled, a stark reality emerged. Cordelia's departure had not only fractured the delicate veneer of her family's reputation but had also sparked a wildfire of shame and disgrace. In the eyes of her parents, the stain of her actions ran deep, a festering wound that refused to heal. Blinded by the suffocating grip of societal expectations, they recoiled from the specter of their daughter's transgressions, their shame rendering them immobile, paralyzed by the weight of their own humiliation.

In a bid to expunge the lingering vestiges of Cordelia's existence, Agnes and Robert embarked on a somber ritual of erasure, purging their lives of any trace of her presence. With hearts heavy with sorrow, they consigned her belongings to the flames, each flicker of the fire consuming the remnants of a life once cherished. In the silence that followed, the echoes of their actions reverberated, a mournful lament for a daughter lost to the unforgiving embrace of the districts.

Tigris harbored a certainty so profound it seemed to echo in the depths of her soul: they had gone to President Ravinstill, begging him to expunge Cordelia's name from every conceivable record. The weight of their plea had hung heavy in the air as Ravinstill, with his enigmatic allure, wielded his influence to eradicate Cordelia's presence from the annals of their world. School records, news articles, official documents—all meticulously purged of any trace of her existence. And from that moment onward, an eerie silence had descended, shrouding Cordelia's name in a veil of whispered oblivion. No lips dared to utter it, no tongues dared to form the syllables that once defined her identity. She became a specter, a phantom haunting the corridors of memory, her essence vanishing into the void of collective forgetting.

And in a few years, there would be a vague memory that the Sinclair's had a daughter, and that would be forgotten as well.

Coriolanus reveled in the sweet taste of victory, a triumphant smirk playing upon his lips as he surveyed the landscape of his conquests. Every obstacle, every adversary that had dared to challenge his ascent, now lay vanquished in the wake of his relentless ambition.

Sejanus Plinth, the embodiment of defiance and resilience, now lay cold and lifeless, a mere memory of the threat he once posed.

Lucy Gray Baird, the elusive songbird whose presence had stirred whispers of rebellion, had vanished into the shadows, her absence a testament to Coriolanus's cunning and ruthlessness.