The Fracture of Perfection · Y/n story by @loulouu

The chandeliers hung like frozen tears of light, casting their glow across the white marble of President Snow's residence. Y/n stood in the center of the foyer, her posture a monument to the months of training — chin level, hands clasped, breath measured.

???

voice booming through the door HONEY, I'M HOME!

The handle twisted. The lock didn't stop it. Nothing stopped it.

Y/n's Father

arms thrown wide Well, well, well. Look at you. All polished up like a little doll.

He stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. The echo of it rang through the hall like a gunshot.

Y/n's Father

Snow really did a number on you, didn't he? circling her slowly Posture's good. Real good. But I gotta say — he stops, tilting his head — you look like you're sucking on a lemon.

Snow remained motionless by the archway. His expression hadn't changed. But his fingers tightened, just slightly, against his lapel.