"Do you know who I am?" The words left the smirking, blood red lips of a girl many knew as a broken princess, a being with the innate sense of insanity but to whom no one could avoid being drawn. Even if they despised her family name, what they stood for, she was a different sort of darkness.
The boy with tired eyes barely bothered to return her gaze, or wonder the reason for her sideways smile. Considering the possibility that the question was rhetorical, he remained silent.
Still appearing cheerful and oblivious to his almost ghostly expression, the girl lifted his chin with her forefinger. "You certainly know who my grandfather is. Our great president!"
Eyes wide and features seeming to awaken, the boy still does not speak, more hesitant and with more reason to be than before.
The girl giggles softly, biting her lip. "You look so precious when you're surprised. I never know I'd have a chance to see that expression in person."
Staring at him for a moment, almost as if waiting for him to respond, she strokes her thumb down his cheek, caressing him as if he was a favored pet, existing solely to be admired.
"My name is Rosaline, so I'm a flower princess. Certainly not named after some root scavenged by peasants." She smirks and watches his hands ball into fists. 'Good boy...', she thinks to herself. "You hate her now. That evil girl who hurt you."
She brushed her fingers lightly over his left fist, and he spread his fingers obediently, allowing her to clasp them together with her own.
"Don't worry, my sweet boy. You're mine now." She purred the words softly, acting as if they were comforting, as they actually might have been intended to be.
Before the boy notices Rosaline's movement, her lips are pressing delicate kisses across his jaw. He shut his eyes, light blond eyelashes draping from closed eyelids, as if he were an intricately crafted doll.
It was almost an instinct for him to submit under circumstances like this, even before his mind had been scattered by the venom, memories damaged beyond repair. Years before it had been a slap in the face by his mother, a dose of extended silence from the one her thought he loved. He had taken it all with a grain of salt. Comparatively, Rosaline's lips were nothing he could complain about, so he let the girl give him gentle affection. She was just a little girl, a fifteen year old broken girl. That was his assessment so far. And in many ways, he was correct.
He wasn't scared of this child, like some around her were, and he held no grudge against her. This had to be a girl that didn't know any better, hadn't been taught that even people of his low status weren't pets. So he felt a bit sorry for her.
Opening his eyes, he smiled softly, pushed her face gently from his in a motion too fluid to be one of rejection, and looked into her eyes, blue meeting blue.
"It's very nice to meet you, my princess." He replies kindly, not seeing any reason to be cruel and insult the fragile child.
Rosaline giggles softly, and it sounds almost innocent, drawing a wider smile from her prisoner. She tilts her head, looking at the boy thoughtfully.
"Oh Peeta... I'm so glad you're mine..."