"My darlings, the monsters aren't there in the arena. They're already here."
—Drusilla Snow to her children

Drusilla put her plate down and headed towards the reporter who looked no longer than a fresh grad student out of the university's journalism course trying to get the latest scoop noticing the recorder in her hand that she slid behind the plates.

"Quite the ambitious journalist we have here," Drusilla murmured, her smile wide and warm as she drew closer. The reporter froze under her gaze, her wide eyes betraying her fear and awe.

"I—I can delete it!" the journalist stammered, her face paling as she fumbled nervously. "Of course, if you'd prefer, I'll delete everything!"

Drusilla tilted her head, the soft cascade of her dark hair brushing her shoulder as she feigned surprise. "Oh dear, no. Why would you do such a thing? You're simply doing your job, aren't you?" Her voice was as smooth as silk, and the edge of her lips curled into an almost maternal smile.

The girl blinked, her mind clearly racing as she tried to reconcile the intimidating figure she'd just witnessed with this newfound, disarming kindness. "I—yes, I mean, I am. I'm just trying to cover the story."

"Of course you are," Drusilla replied soothingly. "But out of curiosity, tell me, what headline were you thinking planning to run with?"

The young journalist hesitated. She bit her lip nervously, eyes flicking toward her recorder, then back to Drusilla's unreadable face. "I... well, I'm not quite sure yet. I overheard—"

Drusilla gently placed a hand on her shoulder, her touch as light as air, but the gesture made the girl go still as a statue. "Oh, don't be shy. You overheard a rather scandalous moment, didn't you?"

The journalist swallowed, her voice a whisper now. "Yes, Senator Pausanias Kipsbrawn, he... he was trying to... flirt with you."

"Flirt with me?" Drusilla let out a lilting laugh, one that was both bemused and calculated. "Is that what you think?" She watched as the girl's eyes darted around, trying to gauge if she had misinterpreted things. Drusilla's laughter faded into a thoughtful hum, and then she leaned in, lowering her voice just enough to make the conversation feel private.

"Well, you're not entirely wrong. The senator did make an attempt, though a feeble one, didn't he?" Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Poor thing. He's always been more focused on trying to undermine Coriolanus than actually being a competent leader. It's quite tragic, really."

The journalist blinked, hanging on her every word. "I... I hadn't considered—"

Drusilla cut her off gently, her voice slipping into a softer, more sympathetic tone. "Oh, darling, of course you hadn't. But that's why you're here, isn't it? To get the real story. The truth. And if that truth is that Pausanias Kipsbrawn, one of the Capitol's so-called rising stars, is attempting to cozy up to the future fiancée of Coriolanus Snow, then who are we to hide it?"

The girl's eyes widened in realization, the puzzle pieces snapping together in her mind. "So... so you think... that could be the headline?"

Drusilla leaned back, folding her arms lightly. "I think the people of the Capitol deserve to know the truth about their leaders, don't you?" Her smile never faltered, but there was a glint in her eye now, something dangerous and undeniable.

The young journalist nodded quickly, her earlier fear melting away, replaced by the heady rush of opportunity. "Yes, yes, I think you're right! They should know that Senator Kipsbrawn... that he was trying to advance on you, Capitol's princess, and at a party no less."

"Exactly." Drusilla's voice was a melodic purr, wrapping the journalist tighter into her web. "Imagine how scandalous it would be if it came out that Pausanias wasn't only failing at his job managing district affairs but also trying to disrespect Coriolanus by making such an inappropriate move."

The girl flushed, clearly envisioning the splashy headline, the attention it would bring her. "That would be huge. People would be talking about it for weeks!"

"Indeed," Drusilla said smoothly, stepping away now, having already planted the seed. "And just think, my dear, you would be the one to break the story. A career-defining piece, don't you think?"

The journalist nodded fervently, her mind already spinning with excitement. "Be sure to get the details right, won't you? The Capitol loves a good scandal, but they adore accuracy even more."

"Of course!" The girl promised, her hands trembling as she retrieved her recorder. She rushed off.

Drusilla watched her go, her smile fading into something more calculating as she picked up her glass of champagne.

⎯⎯⎯

Ever since Coriolanus had risen to the ranks of Head Gamemaker, everything about the Hunger Games had begun to shift. Once merely a somber reminder of the Capitol's grip over the districts, the event had transformed into a national spectacle, a twisted celebration that earned its own public holiday— a day marked not just by bloodshed, but by pageantry and fervour. The Capitol thrummed with excitement, its citizens eager for the latest developments.

As the three-day countdown to the Games commenced, anticipation crackled in the air like static electricity. But it wasn't the tributes or the arena designs that commanded the public's attention. No, it was a scandalous article penned by a nobody, fresh out of university, that had seemingly crafted the piece of the century.

The article, which had spread like wildfire through the Capitol, was not merely a recounting of events. Headlines blared from every screen declaring: Kipsbrawn's Fumble: The Senator Who Tried and Failed to Win the Heart of Capitol's Princess!

Coriolanus leaned back in the control room, a sense of pride swelling within him as he watched the reaction unfold on multiple screens. Flickering images of Drusilla's radiant smile juxtaposed with Kipsbrawn's embarrassed face were broadcasted across Capitol News, the sensationalism reaching new heights. Lucky Flickerman's voice echoed in the background, a raucous blend of disbelief and excitement as he dissected the article with his signature flair.

"Can you believe the audacity of Kipsbrawn?" Lucky exclaimed, his gestures exaggerated. "This is not just a personal mishap it's a political faux pas that will resonate throughout Panem! Who does he think he is, flirting with Coriolanus Snow's future bride at such a pivotal moment? The man has no sense of decorum!" The audience laughing hysterically in response 

The article had captured the very essence of the Capitol's hunger for drama, and Drusilla had brilliantly turned the spotlight onto herself, while dragging Kipsbrawn's reputation into the mud. She was a master of manipulation, weaving her narrative with precision, ensuring that not only was she celebrated, but that any shadow cast on her would immediately reflect poorly on her competitors.

"The scandal is delicious, isn't it?" Lucky continued, leaning closer to the camera as if to share a secret with the audience. "We have a power struggle unfolding before our very eyes, with Drusilla emerging as the heroine of the story, while Kipsbrawn fumbles through the ashes of his career!"

Though he never cared for Lucky's attempts in theatrics, Coriolanus grinned at his exaggerations that further raptured the audiences in the latest story. In the private office of his room, he practically slumps and massages his temples from finalising the transportation of the tributes to the new sleeping quarters till the games.

A holographic screen flickered into existence, the Capitol's sleek technology offering a brief comfort in its efficiency. The calling symbol spun for a few moments before connecting and appeared the brunette, standing in her kitchen, sleeves rolled as she kneaded dough. The glow of the screen cast a soft light on her features, accentuating the sharp lines of her face and quiet concentration

"Morning, dear," Drusilla hummed, not looking up immediately. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Not yet, my love." Coriolanus smiled, though the dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.

Drusilla glanced up at him then, her keen gaze softening slightly, though not without a hint of reproach. "You should at least get two or three hours of rest before the next meeting. I need you sharp, especially if you plan to run the Games and manage the Senate. My father will be joining us for the celebration of the games to see how you are."

He chuckled softly, her concern warming something deep inside him. "You're right, as usual. I'll rest after the transport's finalised. Thank you, Scilla dear."

"Of course," she replied, a teasing glint in her eyes as she continued working the dough. "So, I've been on the news lately, have I?"

"You have," Coriolanus grinned, shifting in his chair. "Lucky seems to think you're already 'Mrs. Snow'—he was quite liberal with his storytelling. And it seems the public has embraced the title."

Drusilla's laugh was light, but there was a knowing edge to it. "Well, it seems I've skipped an important step then. Shouldn't you be proposing properly before your dear Flickerman marries us off on national television?"

Coriolanus smiled, his tired eyes gleaming. "I've never been one for theatrics, you know that. But I'll make it up to you. Perhaps in a manner more fitting for Panem's future president and his brilliant fiancée."

Drusilla rolled her eyes in a teasing manner, pausing for a moment before she wiped her hands on a towel and stepped closer to the screen. "President Ravinstill isn't gone yet, Coryo. He still has his claws deep in Panem."

There was something sharper in her tone, a reminder of the power dynamics that surrounded them both. 

"Ravinstill's time is coming to an end," Coriolanus murmured, his voice low but confident. "We both know that. And when it does, we'll be ready."

Drusilla arched a brow. "Do you think Pausanias Kipsbrawn will just step aside when that happens? He's not exactly subtle in his intentions." She might as well poke a bit of fun for herself if she was to be married to him.

Coriolanus' smile faltered slightly at the mention of the senator. "He's a distraction. His brand of politics is outdated— he's clinging to Ravinstill's dying legacy. The people want something new, something more than tradition. They want stability, power, and... order."

"Perhaps," Drusilla replied, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But you underestimate how much the old guard clings to its comforts. Pausanias may not have the vision you do, but he has influence—and a following among those who fear change."

"And you, my dear?" Coriolanus asked, his voice softening. "What do you think of him?"

Drusilla's lips curved into a slow smile, her expression unreadable. "I think he's exactly what the Capitol needs to see fall. But I'll make sure it happens on my terms."

Coriolanus chuckled, a note of admiration in his voice. "I'd expect nothing less from you."

As the conversation settled into a comfortable silence, a knock came from the door of Coriolanus' office. His posture stiffened instantly.

"Head gamemaker Snow," came a voice from behind the door. "President Ravinstill is asking for you."

Coriolanus shot Drusilla a quick glance. "Duty calls," he murmured. "I'll speak with you soon."

"Go, Corio. Play your part for now," she said, her voice smooth as ever. "But remember, the real game is still being played. And we're always watching."

He nodded, the weight of their shared ambition heavy between them, before ending the call. The Capitol's corridors awaited him, filled with power struggles and intrigue. But as Coriolanus rose to his feet, he knew one thing with certainty—he and Drusilla would soon rise to claim what was rightfully theirs. The future of Panem was already in their hands, and all that remained was to make it official.

⎯⎯⎯

Death wasn't supposed to be something foreign to her. At least that's what she kept telling herself. Drusilla had always felt like death had always lingered like that odd familiar stranger. She had seen enough blood. Drawn enough blood to convince herself that she didn't care who she killed or watched be killed. But children? The epitome of the future and the innocent fight to the death? Perhaps her old friend had reminded her she was still walking that grey line between neighbour and stranger. 

The cannon went off six times in the newly updated arena. Since when death became commercialised that Capitol kids were able to watch it and laugh excitingly? A twisted world she had become a part of. 

As promised the games went on for longer. It lasted for almost five days. A new record Coriolanus updated her proudly that she revolted at. 

"Ma'am are you satisfied with your hair?" the stylist snapped her out of her thoughts as she eyed at the slick back ponytail with her baby hair gelled in elaborate curls and adorned in pearls.

"Yes," she smiled gratefully at the two as she got up, instantly presented with a matching burgundy handbag to her dress trench coat. "Thank you."

Guided with security to the car, the journey to Heavensbee Hall at the academy was hoarded by hundreds of citizens trying catch a glimpse of Drusilla. Thought by, unfortunately, Coriolanus who believed that her presenting the winning tribute's mentor with a trophy and flowers whilst also escorting them by car to the game making centre was good publicity on both ends. Bullshit she called it, but Drusilla hid her eyes rolling back with a smile as per usual. 

Escorted by security guards, specifically hand-picked by her father and approved by Coriolanus, she strode forward, her movements sharp, deliberate, the crowd parting before her. Her focus was already inside the academy.

As they entered the grand hall of Heavensbee, the echoes of murmurs from the gathered elites bounced off the marble walls, Drusilla's eyes were drawn to the last two student mentors, seated near the front of the hall—young, nervous, and trying hard to appear otherwise as if they were in the arena themselves. 

She admitted, the fight between the two tributes— a muscular girl from eleven and a sharp-minded boy from three, was intense as they were practically forced to meet each other in the centre as Coriolanus from the crown of his gamemaker facility ordered that floor around them began to crumble. 

It was then from girl from eleven, in the final minutes of the games that she managed to with his sword slice the abdomen of the boy as he dramatically fell down into the pit with a loud bang as the cameras transitioned to multiple angles of him bleeding out. 

Drusilla felt numb. Her mind flashing back to the memories of all those bodies. His body. Her thoughts were soon lured out of the loud cheering of the Academy students cheering loudly around the victor's mentor, a relieved looking girl that held a prideful grin and was wiping tears from her eyes. 

As if she had fought the boy from district three herself. 

"Ma'am," One of the security guards leaned towards her, with a finger pressed on his earpiece. "It's time," he then signalled for an avox to brings in a large trophy and flowers.

Cheering for the death of twenty-three innocent children. Forced to fight to the death.

"Congratulations, my dear," Drusilla shook her hand with practiced grace and awarded her the trophy.

Aunt Esme always called the districts barbaric, but since when did watching twenty-something children fight to death on live television not considered barbaric? 

⎯⎯⎯

Drusilla had three distinct memories of her father. The first one was when just how much fear he had struck into people's faces at the mere presence of him. She remembered how at the age of nine her father had brought her to a public execution with her brother as a freshly graduated officer. Her eyes still remembering the way that man begged for death than rather look into her father's eyes once more. 

The second was when her father found out about her relationship with her district lover. That for once in her life she finally felt fear that she never felt before from him. It was no longer fearing him as a daughter but fearing him as prisoner those to an officer. Then she remembered the way he looked at him. Looked at him like how he corrupted his most prized horse. 

The final one was when he found out when her brother eloped with a district girl. Though he never cared much of their relationship at first thinking it was a mere fling, the way he almost killed his most prized son was her final straw of living in her father's shadow. 

"That lowborn creature again..." he muttered bitterly in the car. "She's pregnant."

"Papa did you at least congratulate her or Auggie?" Drusilla rolled her eyes and went back to readjusting her lipstick in the small reflection of her pocket mirror.

"Why would I celebrate the birth of another low life spawn⎯⎯"

"Papa!" 

"The responsibility falls on you now. He's damned our blood with his spawn. You must convince Coriolanus to undergo a health examination for precaution. Though I doubt any given any physical nor mental faults, given his father of course, we must ensure your children are healthy. Of course we will need to ensure he's fertile to⎯"

"Papa, please it be. We aren't even married yet!" For fucks sake we're not even at the dinner yet. 

"Auggie suggested that she move here. For safety reasons. Introduce her to society."

"Very well," Drusilla sighs not wanting to further the discussion and continued to distance herself by gazing out the window. 

⎯⎯⎯

Those eyes. Those fucking same damn eyes. Drusilla couldn't help but look into the girl's eyes that shared the same kindness and fear that he did. Why did they have to reap her? Just why? She gazed at her from across the room backstage after the crowning ceremony. Why did she look so familiar?

The girl, tousled with thick brown curls and eyes stained with bloodshed then turned her attention to her after the crowning ceremony. Both their eyes locking into one another. 

The girl, began to walk to her, a peacekeeper trailing close. For the faintest moment Drusilla saw the ghost of Hunter in her place that had made her breath hitch. 

"Drusilla?" the girl snapped her out of her thoughts. Drusilla's eyes trail to a familiar birthmark that peeks out of the sleeves of her ceremony dress that was far too tight for her to breathe in.

"Oh Panem.." her eyes widen looking at the sixteen-year-old. It was Hunter's baby cousin. The last time she saw her was when she was barely ten. "Elodi⎯⎯" her throat tightens and those same brown eyes softening.

Elodi falters to smile. She looks at the girl⎯⎯, more like lady, she once knew up and down adorned in materials she's only dreamed of seeing in the flesh. When she was younger, she had always admired Drusilla's beauty⎯⎯, her warmth. The way she was always wrapped in soft linen clothes when she visited. But now⎯⎯, now she barely recognised her. Tightened and chained in a thick trench coat and dress that was the same colour she beat her opponent to death with. 

"You're one of them now," she scoffs. 

"I⎯⎯," but Drusilla falters to get a word out. She wasn't wrong... no she wasn't like them... right?

"It should have been you who died that day," she sneers before spitting at the tip of Drusilla's heel.