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mrs5sn0w · 10 months ago

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Serenade of Shadows

I : A Dance of Shadows -> II : Whisper of Deceit -> III : A Symphony of Heartbreak -> IV : Fractured Reflections -> V : Shadows of allegiance -> VI : Echoes of Decent

Series Masterlist

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

warnings: Arranged marriage, HEAVY ANGST, unrequited love, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers

Reader's surname : Flare

Time frame: Before, during and after tbosbas

Synopsis: In the events of Panem's political dynamics and the 10th annual Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow and her find themselves entwined. Standing at the brink of an enforced union, 6 years later, their mutual trust unravels amidst a damaging misinterpretation, prompting Coriolanus to believe the wrong. As the glacial barriers guarding his emotions begin to melt, a revelation of profound feelings unfolds, initiating a sprint against time for redemption.

The air was thick with unspoken tension as the First Lady, confronted President Snow about the revelation made by Mrs. Crane. The coming days brought a heavy shift in the Capitol's political landscape as she embarked on her plan to modify the Hunger Games and expose the Crane couple's illicit dealings.

---

The preparations for the 16th annual Hunger Games were in full swing, and the first lady was at the forefront, orchestrating the changes she envisioned.

The air in the control room hummed with anticipation as she outlined her modifications to the Game Makers.

"I want these Games to be more intense, more unpredictable. We need to give the districts a show they'll never forget,"

she asserted, her eyes ablaze with a newfound determination.

The head Gamemaker, Octavius, raised an eyebrow but nodded in agreement. "Very well, Mrs Snow. We'll implement your changes."

As the arena was transformed into a nightmarish landscape, her influence was evident in every diabolical detail. The once calculated brutality of the Hunger Games took a macabre turn under her direction.

The night before the Games, the Capitol gathered for the traditional pre-Games banquet. She was adorned in a dress that mirrored the ominous atmosphere she had cultivated, took the stage. The cheers from the Capitol citizens echoed through the grand hall as she began her speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed citizens of the Capitol, thank you for joining me tonight. As your First Lady, I have taken it upon myself to enhance the grand tradition of the Hunger Games. This year, you will witness a spectacle like never before. I've modified the Games to push the limits of survival and test the resilience of our tributes. May the odds be ever in their favor."

The applause that followed was thunderous, but Coriolanus Snow, watching from the shadows, felt a pang of unease. He had underestimated the extent to which she would go to assert her influence.

---

The night after her speech and the modifications to the Hunger Games, tension hung in the air of the Presidential Mansion. Coriolanus Snow, unable to contain his frustration and anger, confronted her in their private chambers. The conversation quickly escalated into a heated argument.

Coriolanus, his voice laced with disdain, accused her,

"You've turned the Games into a bloodbath ! What were you thinking ?"

She was undeterred as she met his gaze with determination.

"I'm doing what needs to be done, Coriolanus. This is the Capitol's game, and I'm playing it better than anyone expected."

He scoffed,

"Playing it? You're reveling in the bloodshed! You think this is power? This is madness!"

"Madness or not, it's the reality of our world," she retorted, her words a counterpunch to his condemnation.

Coriolanus, fueled by frustration and a sense of superiority, underestimated her resolve.

"You're nothing more than a pawn in this game. Your modifications won't change a thing. You're not capable of understanding the true nature of power."

She was stung by his words but shot back, "You underestimate me, Coriolanus. I understand power better than you ever will. This," she gestured to the opulence surrounding them, "is just a façade. True power lies in the ability to shape the narrative, to control the minds of the Capitol."

His laughter was mocking. "You think you can control anything? You're a naive idealist. Your little modifications won't change a thing. The Capitol will continue to thrive, and you'll be nothing more than a forgotten First Lady."

The words cut deep, and she, despite her resolve, felt the sting of his disdain. Yet, she refused to back down.

"You may think I'm naive, but I'm not blind. I see the rot within the Capitol, and I refuse to be a silent spectator. I will change things, with or without your approval."

Coriolanus, unyielding, dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

"Change? You don't even understand the concept. This is the way things have always been, and this is the way they'll always be. Your feeble attempts at change are nothing more than a momentary disturbance."

In the midst of their heated argument, she was undeterred by Coriolanus Snow's verbal assault as she seized a moment to confront him about his own role in the brutality of the Hunger Games.

"Why are you so pressed, Coriolanus? Isn't this what you wanted?" her voice, though tinged with anger, carried a genuine curiosity.

Coriolanus, momentarily taken aback by her question, retorted,

"I wanted control, not chaos! There's a difference between maintaining order and descending into senseless brutality."

She countered, her tone cutting through the tension,

"But you've always admired the Games for their brutality, haven't you? You've reveled in the suffering of others. This is merely an extension of your own desires."

Coriolanus, unwilling to admit his own culpability, deflected,

"This isn't about me. This is about the Capitol, about preserving our way of life."

Her gaze bore into him, her eyes challenging his evasion, she scoffed.

"No, Coriolanus, this is about you. You've always been fascinated by the Games, by the power it gives you. You can't distance yourself from the very brutality you championed."

A tense silence settled between them as Coriolanus struggled to find a response. While she refused to back down, she continued,

"You can't play the victim now. You wanted a spectacle, and that's precisely what I'm giving the Capitol. You can't stand the reality of your own desires staring back at you."

Coriolanus, his composure slipping, snapped,

"This isn't what I wanted. You've taken it too far. You're jeopardizing everything."

"Jeopardizing what, Coriolanus?" she questioned, a note of frustration in her voice.

"The illusion of control? The carefully constructed façade of Capitol ideals? You can't blame me for embracing the very darkness you've always admired."

Their verbal sparring continued, each accusation and retort revealing the cracks in their marriage. The grandeur of the Presidential Mansion became a witness to the unraveling of a relationship built on political convenience and masked desires.

In that charged moment, Coriolanus Snow found himself confronted not just by the changes in the Hunger Games but by the undeniable truth of his own desires. The power he had sought now manifested in a form that challenged even his own convictions. His wife, unapologetic in her pursuit of change, stood as a reflection of the consequences of the very brutality he had championed. The intricacies of their relationship, once carefully hidden behind political maneuvers, were laid bare in the battlefield of their private chambers.

The argument reached its climax as her frustration collided with Coriolanus's arrogance. Hurtful words were exchanged, each sentence a dagger that severed the fragile threads holding their marriage together. The room echoed with the intensity of their discord.

"You're incapable of understanding anything beyond your thirst for power," Coriolanus sneered.

Her eyes ablaze with a mixture of anger and hurt, shot back,

"And you're incapable of seeing anything beyond your own reflection. This marriage is nothing more than a political transaction to you."

The wounds of their verbal sparring ran deep, leaving a chasm between them that seemed insurmountable. The realization that they were on opposing sides of a battle, not just politically but emotionally, cast a shadow over the grandeur of the Presidential Mansion.

---

The Hunger Games arena became a grotesque stage where the First lady, his unexpected tether to humanity, faced an imminent, brutal demise.

In the grim arena, her delicate frame seemed fragile against the brutal backdrop. The poison, a sinister creation of Coriolanus Snow, introduced an insidious element to the already perilous games.

Coriolanus Snow's heart clenched as he watched her lift the poisoned chalice to her lips in the arena. A chilling fear gripped him, and he couldn't contain his desperation.

"No, don't drink it!" he pleaded, his voice echoing unheard in the arena's cruel expanse.

too late.

As she consumed the toxic drink, the effect was swift, a cruel dance of life slipping away.

The poison's tendrils took hold, and a cascade of reactions unfolded within her. A subtle tremor betrayed the onset of its deadly influence. Her gaze, once vibrant with determination, now flickered like a fading ember. The poison worked its way through her, a silent assassin claiming its victim.

Unaware of the treacherous nature of the drink, she looked toward him, a trusting gaze that stabbed him with guilt.

"Coryo, what is this?"

In that moment, fear etched lines on his face as he struggled to find words.

"It's poisoned, y/n. Drop it ! Please!"

A flicker of realization crossed her eyes, and the glass slipped from her trembling hands, crashing to the ground. The poison, however, had already claimed its place in her system, and an unspoken horror hung in the air

Every step she took became a struggle, the arena's terrain now a treacherous adversary. The poison's cruel progression manifested in her weakening limbs, each movement a testament to the inescapable grip of impending doom.

The tributes, initially mere pawns in the Capitol's game, sensed the shift in dynamics. As she faltered, they closed in like vultures, seizing the opportunity presented by her deteriorating state. The once defiant first lady, now weakened by the poison's relentless advance, faced the impending threat of the tributes' brutality.

In the cruel ballet of the arena, her demise unfolded with a tragic inevitability. The poison, a manifestation of Coriolanus Snow's malevolence, became the instrument of her tragic end,

His wife, weakened by the poison's relentless advance, managed a feeble smile while stuttering,

"do you hate me that bad ?"

"I didn't want this"

"I just wanted....the Coryo i knew back" she gently caressed his cheek while blood came out from her mouth, coughing the crimson red liquid out.

His heart ached.

The arena, once a grand stage for political machinations, now bore witness to a personal tragedy. In that moment of shared terror, the boundaries of power dissolved, leaving behind only the raw emotions of a man who had unwittingly set in motion the demise of the woman he had never intended to love.

Her skin grew colder beneath his touch, each passing moment stealing away the warmth he had come to associate with her. The vibrant life that animated her seemed to wane, replaced by an unsettling chill that permeated the very air.

His fingers, once intertwined with hers, now registered a subtle but undeniable drop in temperature.

He could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat slowing, each thud echoing a painful countdown. The heartbeat, once a steady cadence that resonated with life, now played a haunting melody of departure. It was as if time itself conspired against him, dragging out the inevitable moment of separation.

In that dream-induced reality, the fear of losing her intensified with every passing moment, a visceral force that gripped him in its merciless jaws. It wasn’t just the loss of a piece on the Capitol’s chessboard; it was the unraveling of a connection he had fiercely denied.

In the disorienting aftermath of Coriolanus Snow's harrowing nightmare, the dimly lit room bore witness to the lingering echoes of his distress. The air was thick with tension as he gasped for breath, still caught in the clutches of the haunting visions that had unfolded within the recesses of his dreams.

Coriolanus Snow woke with a start, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. The remnants of the dream lingered, casting a shadow over the reality of the dimly lit room.

His breaths were ragged, and he could feel the wet trails of tears on his cheeks. In the disorienting transition between the nightmare and wakefulness, he whispered to himself,

“y/n…”

The room seemed to close in on him, the weight of the dream still clinging to his consciousness. He wiped away the lingering tears, the vulnerability of the nightmare etched in his expression.

As he gathered himself, the echoes of her imagined demise reverberated in his mind. He couldn’t shake the visceral emotions, and the tears that escaped his eyes were a testament to the tumult within.

“Why does it hurt so much?” he murmured, a question left hanging in the air, unanswered.

Sensing his palpable distress, she rose from her position on the sofa, sprang into action. The soft rustle of fabric accompanied her swift movements across the room. Her usually composed demeanor gave way to urgency, her eyes reflecting concern as she approached him.

"Coryo," she called out softly, her voice a soothing cadence cutting through the lingering echoes of the nightmare. Her measured steps brought her to his side, where she knelt down with a graceful ease, a silhouette against the dimly lit room.

Reaching out, she gently placed her hand on his trembling shoulder, a gesture of reassurance and comfort. The warmth of her touch aimed to ground him in the reality that surrounded them, a stark contrast to the surreal horrors he had experienced in the dream.

"It's just a dream," she murmured, her voice a delicate melody attempting to calm the tempest within him. Her words were spoken with a tenderness that hoped to dissolve the lingering fear that had wrapped itself around his consciousness.

Coriolanus, still caught between the realms of dream and wakefulness, turned his gaze toward her. The dim light accentuated the concern etched on her face, the lines of worry contrasting with the usually composed features.

"I saw you die in the arena," he confessed, the vulnerability in his voice revealing a facet of himself he rarely exposed. The weight of the nightmare clung to him like a shroud, and she, perceptive to his unspoken turmoil, continued to provide solace.

Her eyes, pools of understanding, met his, and she whispered,

"It wasn't real. I'm right here."

With a graceful movement, she enveloped him in a comforting embrace, her arms a sanctuary against the residual fear that lingered in the air.

As she held him, the room became a haven, shielded from the phantoms of the nightmare. her touch was a balm, an anchor grounding him in the present.

The soothing repetition of her words became a mantra, gradually dispelling the haunting images that had plagued his subconscious.

Coriolanus, his voice a mixture of relief and lingering unease, responded,

"I don't know why it scared me so much. It felt too real, I hate you but I'm scared of losing you."

Her embrace tightened as she whispered,

"Fear doesn't always make sense. I'm here with you, safe and sound. The nightmare can't hurt you."

He nodded, the weight of the nightmare gradually lifting as her words sank in.

"I just... I couldn't bear the thought of losing you," he admitted, the admission hanging in the air.

"Then is it so hard to love me back?" she uttered, the words hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge. Coriolanus, taken aback, felt a pang of discomfort. The question pierced through the layers of his stoicism, and for a moment, the vulnerability he rarely displayed surfaced.

His gaze, usually unwavering, flickered with uncertainty. The weight of her inquiry lingered, and as she held him in that fragile moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting his response.

She did not get a response from him but Snow began to confront a truth he had fervently avoided—the fear of losing the woman who had become an unintended anchor to his existence. As she held him, the barriers that had once defined their relationship crumbled, and the night unfolded with a raw honesty.

In that vulnerable moment, Coriolanus Snow, usually composed and stoic, let down his defenses. As he kissed his wife, there was a rawness to the emotion—an unspoken language that surpassed the political complexities of their relationship.

His lips, once reserved, now conveyed a longing that echoed the fears and vulnerabilities stirred by the haunting nightmare. The kiss held a passion that spoke of a connection beyond the Capitol's facade, an unexpected bridge between two souls navigating the intricate dance of power.

She who felt the intensity of his kiss, reciprocated with a tenderness that transcended the lingering unease. The dimly lit room bore witness to this unspoken exchange, where the weight of nightmares was replaced by the warmth of a shared moment—a moment that hinted at the complexities of love and longing in the tumultuous world they inhabited.

The lingering echoes of the nightmare were replaced by the warmth of genuine emotions, as if the haunting specter had unintentionally ushered in a new chapter in their shared existence, marked by the scars of anguish and the fragile threads of a newfound connection.

yet, she remained oblivious whether he would end up loving her or not.

Taglist : @randomgurl2326 @princessloveweird @rosewine-5 @cookielovesbook-akie @qoopeeya @corpsebridenightmare @bl0ndelilac @unclecrunkle @puredreamagination @lofhdfn

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