Chapter Text
“Yes.”
The word left her breathless lips before Lucy Gray even realized she had spoken at all. A single second of fragile silence stretched over the assembly like an invisible, silver thread, hanging hesitantly over the gaping mouths and gleaming eyes. Then it snapped, cut short by the thunderous roar of gloved hands clapping together and painted lips shouting congratulations over congratulations. Lucy Gray barely heard them, her eyes focused only on Coriolanus Snow’s gentle, widening smile and the small spark of triumph in his gaze.
His fingers closed on the ring nestled comfortably on its red velvet cushion, lifting it carefully in front of his face, letting the cameras zoom in eagerly on its golden, polished surface. Lucy Gray watched without a word, frozen, the black screens ravenously eat the image of her wedding ring, feeding it to millions of invisible eyes while she simply stared at it. The ring was beyond beautiful, a work of perfect craftsmanship she imagined few were able to make in the Capitol. This was something that Coriolanus had planned a long, long time ago. When had he envisioned the gleaming piece of jewelry laced around her fingers, still bruised and cut from her time in the arena?
Something churned uncomfortably in her stomach at the thought, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. The cameras flashed, blinding her with dozens of little lightning suddenly slicing through the room. The congratulations had turned into an incoherent mess of overjoyed shouts and garbled screams of overexcitement. Lucy Gray bristled slightly, forcing herself not to stare at the flowing wave of neon, tacky eyeshadows and dripping mascara. The people of Panem were celebrating, shrieking their happiness loudly in her ears as though they were the ones to receive that ring. How dare they spill, with their screeches and cries, in a moment that was supposed to be profoundly intimate between two lovers? How dare they force their joy on her as though she had always been a part of them?
Lucy Gray watched, still frozen, her brand-new fiancé slip the ring with great care over her finger, not even hearing Lucretius’s enthusiastic congratulations. She looked at the ring where a snake and a bird had been carved together, with scales and feathers sculpted in such thin details that it was impossible to tell where one began and where the other ended. The lean body of the snake and the frail wings of the bird melted into what one could only assume to be in a passionate, almost suffocating, embrace. They were two and they were one, soaring together toward unknown but assuredly bright horizons.
That was what Lucy Gray thought with a dull ache in her chest as Coriolanus held her hand to his eyes, gazing lovingly at his work. She had spent the last weeks of her life scrambling into an arena reeking of fear, vomit and blood. She had seen a sick little girl’s eyes glazed with death, thick foam leaking through her best friend’s screaming mouth. Her mind had been years away from the idea of a wedding or even a proposal. It was something she had always pictured, in her girlhood, as quiet, a moment safely shielded away behind the trees of the forest, where the birds would sing gleefully and the flowers rustle gently while her imaginary lover would put a simple ring over her finger.
Not this farce where clownish painted faces screamed in her ears, with the greedy cameras devouring the ring sealing her lifetime bond of love with the man she has chosen with their black, empty eyes.
Lucy Gray tried to understand Coriolanus, she really did. She had no idea what the Hunger Games had done to him. She desperately tried to put herself in his place, imagined him dirty, scared, alone, running around an arena refusing to give him the slightest chance to get out safe and sound. She imagined the fear, acrid and prickly, the constant anxiety, the lingering worry, the boiling panic. She imagined it all, and yet she couldn’t push the pang of dull disappointment sinking its claws in her chest as she stared at the ring. She had been something to secure, to put aside like a small thing on a shelf, a colorful but fragile vase that might fall over at any moment. Lucy Gray was strong. She knew it.
She just wished Coriolanus would see it as well.
No matter how much she pushed the thought away, the fact remained that Snow had stolen her moment. The gentle melody of the birds weaving between the trees, the gleeful heads of the flowers rustling in the wind were now to be a fantasy, never fully fleshed out, never accomplished. She would never share the joy of receiving her proposal with the peace she had always felt so deeply safe with in the forest. That moment, so carefully crafted and imagined, would remain forever lost, a mere dream fading in the back of her head.
Lucy Gray finally looked up and met Coriolanus’s eyes. She looked at his bright, earnest smile, the true happiness and pride glimmering in his irises. Their icy blue seemed to have melted, temporarily replaced by a warmth she wasn’t sure she understood the length of.
Lucy Gray smiled. The crowd was still roaring.
Their shouts exploded into animalistic, strangled cries when her hand snaked on Coriolanus’s neck, gently pulling him into a tender kiss. She felt him stiffen against her lips, genuinely surprised, but he soon returned the kiss, stroking her hair with careful delicateness.
The farce was complete.
“You didn’t tell me.”
The words were quiet in the deafening silence following their exit from the stage. Coriolanus looked at Lucy Gray, an amused smile dancing on his lips.
“Well, that is kinda the point of a proposal, don’t you think?”
Lucy Gray nudged him slightly in the ribs, refusing to smile at his joke. He was definitely in a lighter mood than her, apparently completely blind to the slight sourness of her expression.
“I know that, idiot. No, I mean… We never, you know… talked about it before.”
She glanced at him, hesitant. Coriolanus’s smile faded, and he took her hand.
“Of course. Because our futures were too uncertain for that. But I’d be so happy to be called your husband. I just couldn’t wait.”
Lucy Gray’s chest fluttered with warmth at the words, but she kept her serious mask on.
“Aren’t you happy too?” Snow asked, and Lucy Gray couldn’t ignore the rising alarm in his voice.
“I am happy. I really am. It’s just…”
She took a deep breath. Normally words came to her easily. Retorts bounced on her tongue, jokes whirled out of her mouth, but right now Lucy Gray struggled to properly voice her worries without hurting her fiancé’s feelings.
“We came here to end the Games, y’know? Of course I’m happy to be married, but it just feels… so soon. A… A distraction.”
She hated the way the words lingered, hesitant, careful, almost breakable. Coriolanus’s face softened, the worry fading entirely from his features, and he leaned in to kiss her hair.
“What do you mean? It’s a great opportunity. How do you think people will react when they see a man from the Capitol and a woman, a victor no less, from District 12 together? This wedding is a perfect union between the two. It means harmony.”
Lucy Gray stared at Snow, stunned. It was true. She had never pictured it that way, but now that she thought about it… There might be a slight chance for people to warm up to the Districts. It was thin hope, and perhaps a naïve one, but it was hope nonetheless. It was hope Lucy Gray had clung to in the arena, and so it was hope she would put her faith in. She understood the logic in her fiancé’s words and her mind wondered, briefly, about the way Coriolanus viewed the world, saw strategies in events, crafted meaning in random actions. It amazed her and scared her, too. There was a calculation about it, a cold logic that severed through emotions. Lucy Gray liked the idea of her wedding giving hope, inspiring, but it felt too impersonal. What was supposed to be the happiest moment of her life would be reduced to a trade, prettily adorned, but a trade all the same, without even having guaranteed results.
“You think it’s that simple?”
“Give it time,” Coriolanus assured, still smiling. The confidence in his voice, the one he had when he had guided her through that death trap, told her that yes, there would be a chance. Lucy Gray smiled faintly.
“Let’s hope so.”
“It’s too tight.”
“It’s not! Don’t move!”
Tigris could only be described as a tornado of pink and white tulle as she whirled around Lucy Gray, fumbling at the folds of her dress, picking at the brooch holding her hair. Despite all of Lucy Gray’s gentle reassurances, Snow’s cousin refused to slow down, basically holding all the stress Lucy Gray should have been feeling. Lucy Gray smiled, watching the expert fashionista toss around gloves, search among scarves, pull asides tights.
“It’s a beautiful work, Tigris.”
“Could be better,” Tigris huffed, head almost disappearing in the chests overwhelmed with fabric and cloth.
Lucy Gray sighed. She knew she would be unable to pull Tigris out of the crazed frenzy she had sunk in since hearing the news of the wedding.
“You’re too calm for a bride,” Tigris said, throwing a glance, half-humorous, half-disapproving, over her shoulder at Lucy Gray before plunging in the chest again.
Lucy Gray’s smile faded. She looked at her reflection, at the wedding dress that Snow had picked for her, at the brooch that had been chosen to go along with it.
The dress was beautiful, of course. As white as the purest snow, it curled lovingly around her body, slithering along the natural form of her flesh to showcase her figure, leaving only her shoulders exposed. Its beauty laid mostly in its simplicity which allowed the bride to shine on her own, with only a few flowers of lace being sewn directly on the edges of the bustier, flowing along her dark skin.
Only a golden wing, greatly detailed, was used as a decoration, draped over Lucy Gray’s shoulder, lingering over her bustier like a ribbon of gold. The dress was perfectly cut, simple, straight to the point, announcing her role clearly to anyone that would look.
It wasn’t her, though.
Lucy Gray couldn’t find herself in this stranger looking at her in the mirror. The dress had been made with great care, and Lucy Gray sensed Tigris’s love in each of the patiently sewn patterns and folds, but it felt empty. Hollow. Like a mold she had been poured into, even though she would never admit it to Tigris. Lucy Gray regretted bitterly the messy, chaotic waves of yellow and pink and orange blooming around her like a wild flower. She could remember each time the fabric of her mother had hugged her lovingly, had kissed her goodnight in the cage she had been kept in.
This dress was empty. Lucy Gray would never be able to make it hers, to fill it with emotions the same way her mother had done with her own, before passing it on to her. It would remain empty, a piece of fabric to be discarded as soon as the wedding, as the public trade of her union would be concluded.
Lucy Gray kept it on, though. First, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse a present Tigris had crafted with such obvious care. Second, there simply wasn’t any time. She had no idea how Coriolanus had managed to do it, but the wedding had been pushed in a whirlwind of preparations to the nearest date Coriolanus had set his eyes on. There was no way to undo the massive excitement sparked all over the Capitol by the massive publicity Lucretius had gladly spread.
The day finally came.
Lucy Gray felt nothing as she held on to Tigris’s hand, guiding her gently toward the end of the venue where her soon-to-be husband awaited patiently, hands folded over a perfectly tailored white suit. Only a golden wing was draped over one of his shoulders, curling neatly over his heart, sparkling just like his golden hair under the lights. Lucy Gray smiled faintly. Just like the ring, they were one, melted together.
It looked beautiful. Exceedingly so.
The arch of flowers curling above Coriolanus. The music lulling the guests into the mood. The smiles plastered on everyone’s faces. The constant rain of petals.
Yet it was all fake.
Plastic leaves. Fake flowers, with heads dangling toward the grounds. The slight hitches in the music, ground out by hidden speakers. The lips painted in violet and gold and blue and green that looked stupidly, ridiculously over-the-top, completely in contrast with the simplicity the wedding Lucy Gray wanted the wedding to have been held in. The fake petals reeking of fresh plastic falling on her head, sticking in her locks.
A sea of unknown faces grinned at Lucy Gray as she walked. She couldn’t spot a single familiar face, not one. All her loved ones had been left at home. There hadn’t been time, Coriolanus had explained apologetically. It was too late to bring them to the Capitol, and besides, the inhabitants of Panem wouldn’t be ready yet to welcome them. Lucy Gray understood. Lucy Gray loathed it. She wanted her family there. She imagined the Covey’s faces, as warm as the sun, their smiles shining brightly, their happiness radiating through the crowd. She craved their rawness, their uniqueness among this sea of plastic.
She felt Tigris give a gentle, hidden squeeze to her arm, and Lucy Gray pushed back her tears. She held on, head high among the guests of honor, the cameras that kept following her wherever she went. Snow was smiling, too. He gladly took her hands in his gloved ones and Lucy Gray’s chest tightened, feeling suddenly distressed at her inability to feel his skin. She longed for something true.
The vows were delivered, quick, efficient. They were a blur of words to Lucy Gray who held on desperately to Coriolanus Snow’s assured, confident face, a face that spoke of a happy future she couldn’t bring herself to really believe in right now. She tightened her hold on his hands, unwittingly, and he brushed his thumbs over her skin, once, twice.
“I do,” Snow said, and Lucy Gray’s whirlwind of distress was suddenly cut by his clear voice.
She smiled, listened to her own vows, those she had not written, those who had been deemed acceptable enough for the public. She thought about her goal, the end of the Games and clung to that image, that future she so desperately wanted to be true.
“I do,” she finally said.
Snow smiled. He leaned in and Lucy Gray focused on his lips pressing against hers.
For better or worse, they were united, forever.