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MY LITTLE DOVE.

(chapter one,  a mask: power vs rich)

the snow penthouse, 2248.

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DOROTHY SNOW SAT AT the table as she lamented over her existence. In-front of her was a bowl of boiled cabbage and shredded potatoes, the smell of poverty and penury filling her nose as she jabbed at it with a fork. She swore that she would never have to eat the revolting food and broth ever again, but here she was. Dorothy didn't want to eat the dish, but to prevent her stomach from growling during the Reaping ceremony, she had to. It was one of a long list of precautions she took to hide the fact that her family, despite living in the penthouse of the Capitol's most sumptuous apartment building, was as poor as someone from District Twelve. A mask if you will, a mask that showed richness, but was actually poor underneath. The great Dorothy Snow, eighteen-years-old, had nothing to live on except her beauty and knowledge.

"You better eat that up," said Coriolanus Snow as he put a fistful of cabbage into a pot of boiling water. "Unless you do want to endure the teasing from our peers."

"Well, if you can find a suitable shirt then maybe I would," she responded with a snarky look.

Coriolanus came rushing to Dorothy earlier this morning, saying that his Reaping shirt was not in his room and that their cousin was nowhere to be seen. Tigris probably gave up on the dirty, old shirt and took one final venture to the black markets in attempt to find Coriolanus something else to wear. Dorothy didn't mind this, for she had found a suitable dress that went to knee-length in the back of her wardrobe. It was a fainted, deep blue that had a small bow tied at the back. It was in good condition, considering the state that the family was in and she didn't mind wearing the old thing to the Reaping.

During daily use, the Academy provided the uniforms that the students required, but for today's ceremony, however, students were instructed to be dressed fashionably, but with the solemnity for which the ceremony was filled with.

"At least you found something to wear," said Coriolanus as he salted the cabbage. "I have nothing."

"You can just wear the dress pants if you're in that much of desperation."

"Yes, what a good idea," Coriolanus spoke sarcastically. "I'll turn up half-naked to the Academy."

Dorothy smirked at him as she took a tiny bite of the cabbage and potato, squirming at the taste, but nevertheless, carried on eating.

From deep in the apartment, she heard the recording of the Capitol anthem, "Gem of Panem," turn on. Her grandmother's shaky soprano voice joined in, bouncing off the walls as Dorothy rolled her eyes.

Gem of Panem,

Mighty city,

Through the ages, you shine anew.

As it always had been, she was painfully off-key and slightly behind. For the first year of the war, she'd played the recording on national holidays for five-year-old Dorothy and Coriolanus and eight-year-old Tigris in order to build their sense of patriotism. The daily recital hadn't begun until that black day when the district rebels had surrounded the Capitol, cutting it off from the supplies for the remaining two years of the war. She would always remind the children that they hadn't surrendered, that they were still powerful despite the fear and pain of the war.

We humbly kneel

To your ideal,

The notes she could never quite hit came...

And pledge our love to you!

Dorothy and Coriolanus winced slightly as their grandmother's shrill voice shook the apartment. There were still two verses to go.

Gem of Panem,

Heart of justice,

Wisdom crowns your marble brow.

Dorothy wondered if people from down the street could hear her grandmother. Their penthouse was just a microcosm of the Capitol itself, bearing war scars of the continuous rebel attacks. The twenty-foot-high walls were scattered with cracks, ugly black strips of electrical tape held in place the broken glass of the arched windows that looked out over the city, and the mouldy ceiling was dotted with holes from missing chunks of plaster. Throughout the war and the decade that followed, the family had been forced to trade or sell many of its possessions, so much that some rooms were entirely empty and closed off whilst the others were plain with the odd furnishing here and there. It was during the winter that several elegant, carved wooden pieces and several volumes of books had been sacrificed to the fireplace to keep the family from freezing to death. Dorothy had always noticed the look on Coriolanus's face when they watched the bright pages of their picture books — the ones that they would pore over with their mother — reduced to ashes caused her heart to break for her twin.

Dorothy had always thought what life would be like if she was someone else. She could imagine her classmates going through their massive closets, slipping in a newly tailored suit or a highly expensive dress made from silk. She would always wonder how long she and Coriolanus could keep up with this charade.

You give us light.

You reunite.

To you, we make our vow.

Her mind drifted to Tigris as she ate more of her 'meal'. Had she gone to far extents just to get Coriolanus a shirt? He could just call in sick or go to the ceremony in his uniform shirt, though that would be highly disrespectful. Perhaps Tigris had gone to ask help from her employer, Frabicia Whatnot. Tigris had forgone the University when she'd graduated from the Academy to pursue her dream of becoming a designer. She was supposed to be a designer, though Frabicia used the woman as more as a slave, requiring her to give foot massages or clean clumps of her long, magenta hair from the drains. Tigris never complained, however, just pleased to be finally working in the fashion business. 

Gem of Panem,

Seat of power,

Strength in peacetime, shield in strife.

Dorothy watched as Coriolanus opened the refrigerator, finding the scraps of potatoes that she had left over. The twins were incredibly close, even during the times of the war where friendships were tight. Of course, they weren't as close as the Ring twins where they had the same obsessions and dressed the same. No, the Snow twins weren't like that at all, despite their personalities being almost identical. They were taught from an early age that power was everything, that to have power, you must become what you can't be. Of course, they believed those words, yearning for power ever since. Tigris had always reminded them that power isn't everything, but maybe it is.

Protect our land

With armoured hand,

She pushed the bowl away from her as she put her head in her hands, closing her eyes with a sigh as their grandmother's voice squeaked out the final verse.

Our Capital, our life!

She was a crazy, old women, still trying to cling to the power that they had lost. Dorothy loved her anyways, but she'd lost touch with reality long ago. Almost every meal, she'd rattle on about the Snow's legendary grandeur, even when their fare consisted of cabbage or watery bean soup with stale crackers. She would always say how glorious the twins's future would be. "When Coriolanus is president..." she often would say. "When Dorothy becomes rich and famous...". Dorothy would always thank those above that the elevator was broken and her arthritic knees prevented her from going out much.

"Brighten up, Coryo," said Dorothy as she lifted her head up to look at her twin, who was jabbing at his cabbage with a wooden spoon. "Tigris is going to be back soon."

"Should I call in sick?" Coriolanus asked as he looked at her suddenly. "You could fill in for me."

"I don't think Satyria would like that very much," spoke Dorothy. Coriolanus didn't listen to her as he picked up the phone.

Satyria Click was the twins's communications professor, the one who had campaigned for Coriolanus to receive one of the twenty-four mentorships in the Hunger Games. Dorothy was, of course, one of Satyria's favourites, but she had always favourited Coriolanus more than her, him being her teaching aide. Dorothy, however, was campaigned by the history professor, Crispus Demigloss. He was an excitable man, Dorothy being his favourite student, preferring her over her older brother.

As Coriolanus was about to speak, the front door scraped open.

"Coryo! Dottie!" Tigris cried out as the twins flew out of the kitchen, almost knocking her over, but she was too excited to reproach the two. "I did it! I did it! Well, I did something." Her feet did a rapid little run in place as she held up a hanger draped in an old dress bag. "Look, look, look!"

Coriolanus unzipped the bag and stripped it from the shirt. Dorothy had seen the shirt before and this didn't even match up to what it looked like. The thick linen was not the yellow of age or the original white, but a cream colour. The cuffs and collar had been replaced with black velvet and the buttons were gold and ebony cubes, each with two tiny holes drilled through for the thread.

"You're brilliant," Coriolanus said earnestly. "And the best cousin ever." He hugged her with his free arm, holding the shirt out of harm's way. "Snow lands on top!"

"Snow lands on top!" Tigris crowed. It was a saying that had gotten the three of them through the war, when it was a constant struggle.

"Tell us everything," said Dorothy, knowing she would want to, loving to talk about clothes.

"Where to begin?" Tigris said as she gave a breathy laugh and threw up her hands.

Tigris began to explain how she improved the shirt, Dorothy smiling at how enthusiastic she was, but she looked tired, deep lilac circles under her golden brown eyes.

"Was that this morning?" Coriolanus asked Tigris.

"Oh, no, yesterday. Sunday. This morning, I — Did you find my potatoes?" The two followed her into the kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator and pulled out the pan. "I was up until all hours making starch from them. Then I ran down to the Dolittle's so I could have a proper iron. Saved these for the soup!" Tigris upended the mess into the boiling cabbage and stirred it around.

"When was the last time you slept?" Dorothy asked, concern laced in her voice.

"Oh, I'm fine. I ate the potato skins. They say that's where the vitamins are anyway. And today's the Reaping, so it's practically a holiday!" Tigris said cheerfully.

"Not at Fabricia's," said Coriolanus. Nowhere was a holiday. Reaping day was terrible in the districts, but not much of a celebration in the Capitol either. Like Dorothy and Coriolanus, most people took no joy in remembering the war.

"Stop worrying! Here, Coryo, you better hurry up and eat! Dottie, did you?" Tigris asked Dorothy and she placed some soup in a bowl, placing it down on the table when she nodded.

Dorothy rushed to her room and so did Coriolanus when they noticed the time. Dorothy quickly picked up her brush, her white hair sitting just below her shoulders in luscious waves. She quickly put on her fainted, deep blue dress and crammed her feet into (also fainted) black heels that barely fit her, but she could manage. 

Dorothy turned to the mirror, gazing over her appearance. She wasn't as plump as she should've been for someone her age, mostly due to the amount of food she wasn't getting and whilst she looked like a sack of bones, the prettiness of her face made up for it. And due to the poverty state she was in, Dorothy was just under the average height for a Capitol teenager. But she had the most perfect posture.

She took a deep breath before stepping out of her room to find Tigris and Coriolanus in the living room. Tigris squealed as she run up to Dorothy and embraced her tightly yet carefully as if one movement could mess up her whole appearance.

"You look gorgeous! So simple yet beautiful! Come see, Grandma'am!" That was a nickname coined by little Tigris, who'd found 'Grandma' and 'Nana' too plain for someone so powerful and imperial (back in those days).

Their grandmother appeared, two freshly-cut red roses cupped lovingly in her trembling hands. She wore a long, black, flowing tunic, the kind that was so popular before the war and so outdated, with a pair of slippers with curled toes that had once been part of a costume. Strands of her thin, white hair poked from the bottom of a rusty velvet turban. This was a once-lavish wardrobe, a sign of a diminished power.

"Here, here, put these on. Both fresh from my roof garden," she ordered.

Dorothy reached for one of the red roses, taking it gratefully into her hands as she thanked her. As Coriolanus went to reach for one, a thorn pierced his skin. Blood welled and he held out his hand to keep it from staining his gorgeous shirt. Their grandmother seemed perplexed.

"I only wanted you two to look elegant," she told him.

"Of course, you did, Grandma'am," said Dorothy quickly as she placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. "And we shall. It's just a spot of blood, that's all."

She and Tigris led Coriolanus into the kitchen, thanking their grandmother.

"Puncture wounds never bleed long," Tigris promised Coriolanus as she quickly cleaned and bandaged his hand whilst Dorothy snipped away at both of their roses, preserving a bit of greenery and pinning one to his shirt carefully. She placed the other behind her ear, moving strands of her hair out of the way.

"It does look elegant. You know what her roses mean to her, Coryo. Thank her," said Dorothy.

And so he did. They both thanked them and sped out the door, down the elaborate flights of stairs, though the lobby, and out into the Capitol streets.

The front door opened onto the Cross, an avenue so wide that eight chariots could ride down it side by side in the old days when the Capitol had put on parades of military pomp for the crowds. And displays like those were something Dorothy and Coriolanus always watched as young kids, hanging by the apartment windows. But then the bombers arrived and the block was practically impassable, though now, the streets were clear, but rubble still laid in piles on the sidewalks with the buildings looked scarred.

The Capitol was still healing from the war, but Dorothy and Coriolanus always thought that the rubble had been left there to remind those what they had endured. It was to remind the citizens that the Hunger Games was a punishment for the districts, for what they had done. But they did not need rubble to remind them of their pain. The grumbling of a stomach and the wails of losing a loved one kept the memory fresh. 

The twins stayed silent as they walked through the streets, turning onto Scholars Road. Just after the war, the two would take walks around the avenues to see the damage done. Of course, Tigris hated that idea, but the twins had minds of their own. Eighteen-years-old, of course they were going to have minds of their own. They had survived through the war, they were currently surviving starvation. The Snow twins were perhaps the most strongest out in the Capitol.

They did not have it easy like some of the other families. They had to keep their poverty a secret, which was considerably hard considering their state. It was hard to silence their grumbling stomachs, to hide the stench of potatoes and cabbage, to hide their anxiety that someone would eventually find out about their  lives. And it had always come close with Dean Casca Highbottoms' eyes always narrowing whenever he saw the twins despite his morphling addiction. But if he were to reveal the truth, nobody would believe him. But he had the power and power was a very strong thing. 

⇢ ˗ˏˋ matz 🎧 !

— most lines will be taken directly from the book 'the ballad of songbirds and snakes' due to it sitting on my lap