Prologue II


Monarch : /ˈmɒnək/

(mon-ark)

a sovereign head of state, especially a king, queen, or emperor.

"the reigning monarch"


Celestia Snow

~17~

Capitol

"Which way?" It sounds dark coming from my mouth. Blunt, emotionless, all evidence of fear having dropped away. All I feel now is determined, determined to see my Grandfather alive and well, sitting up in his hospital bed laughing and joking with the nurses. Who am I kidding? If he was capable of doing that, he still wouldn't do anything of the sorts. The nurse that I demand show me to my Grandfather looks quite taken aback, apparently never being used to such an authoritative seventeen-year old girl before.

"Uh, just down this hall, last door on the right," she stammers, leaping out of my way as I stride past her. I shouldn't be acting this way, I'm being so cold and hostile, it's as if I'm. . . becoming my Grandfather. The thought makes me shudder, and I think back to only yesterday, when he had been asking me about my thoughts on last years' victor, Ryus Griftyte from District 2. I would prefer to retain my anti-games ideology if I can.

Unfortunately, such a thought means so little to me right now, and as soon as I consider it, I find it at the back of my mind. I'm too determined to see my Grandfather alive. As I get closer to the door, it becomes quite apparent which room my Grandfather is located. Who else would have four guards waiting outside of the room? The sight is slightly comforting, as it causes me to know that he is being protected to the fullest. However, I really don't have time to put up with their shit right now.

"Move, now," I command them. I expect disobedience, reasons as to why they cannot do such a thing, for why they would not be allowed to let me in. However, the response is one I've never seen used before, for anyone other than my Grandfather.

"Yes, of course your greatness," they simultaneously mutter, bowing their heads and kneeling on one knee. My mouth drops open out of surprise, as I'm completely shocked by their actions.

"W-wait, what? What did you call me?" I ask, my voice so high it could pierce glass. Before they answer, the door opens, revealing the pristine white room inside. I feel a hand press lightly against my shoulder, as one of Grandfather's personal advisors guides me into the room.

"We are pleased to have you arrive Miss President," the woman gushes. My eyes widen in heavy disbelief.

"Hold on, President? And who are you?" I demand.

"Hollander Rhine, your greatness," she informs me.

"That's enough. . . Hollander. I would like to speak to my Grand-daughter," a weak and scratchy voice requests. Both of our heads immediately turn to the source of the voice, with Hollander nodding her head and taking a step backwards, and myself becoming overcome with joy. My heart beats heavily, as my eyes light up in pure relief. President Snow, sits up against the bed. His face appears sallow and worn, with heavy bags underneath his cold grey eyes. He looks tired, fatigued, but still perfectly alive.

I notice the tubes that have been plugged into his arm, and it turns my stomach into a churning mess. Regardless, I swiftly make my way over towards him, carefully embracing his frail frame into a hug. Normally, our hugs last two seconds at most, yet today I cannot bring myself to let go. Ten seconds into the hug, I feel him attempting to part ways. I release his body, stepping back and giving him a weak smile. I try to show him that I'm strong, that I'm soldiering on, but I know he can read through my facade. He has always been very good at reading people emotions.

"You're concerned," he whispers, his voice not capable of raising any louder. I don't even attempt to deny it.

"Of course I am, you collapsed right in front of me! How else should I be taking this?" I exclaim.

This causes him to smile, a twinkle of appreciation evident in his eyes.

"That warms my heart Celestia," he responds with a chuckle. My eyes widen when the chuckle turns into a heavy cough. The hacking cough is covered by a handkerchief, which he hastily tries to stash away before I can see the contents. Unfortunately, I spot the crimson blood staining the fabric.

"You're coughing up blood," I say quietly, solemn faced as I attempt to mask my concern once again. He sighs, leaning his head back against the soft cushiony pillow.

"Indeed I am," he responds sadly.

"Grandfather, what is wrong? Are you going to be okay?" I ask. He breathes heavily, taking a moment before answering my question.

"As of now, I am okay. It won't remain that way for long Celestia, I will wither, die away, and eventually I will perish." The words sound so evil, and daunting, I find it hard to come up with an appropriate response.

"Way to sugar coat things," I attempt to sound humored, but it doesn't really work. He nods sadly, before waving his hand in a way that suggests he wants me to come closer to him. I take a couple of steps forward, so that I am directly next to him. He hands me a delicate sheet of paper, one with countless words in a very small text, with his own signature at the bottom. I cannot help but produce an expression of confusion.

"What is this?" I ask softly.

"Read the top of the sheet," he replies. As my eyes scan over the words, they become a complete blur, mainly due to my mind spinning out of absolute shock.

"You're. . . passing on the Presidency, to me?" I stammer. I look at him horrified, with his expression being surprisingly calm and understanding.

"I know this is a big responsibility thrust onto you Celestia, but it's absolutely necessary that I pass it on to you now," he reasons. My mouth opens and closes, as I am panic stricken to the fullest extent.

"I-I can't be the President!" I cry out doubtingly.

"There is no other option Celestia. I am no longer healthy enough or capable enough of running this nation any longer. I will be bed bound for the rest of my days, so I must hand it off to you," he informs me.

"Why me?!" I ask alarmed.

"Because you are my Grand-daughter, you are of my bloodline, and you must continue the Snow legacy," he says softly, beaming proud. All I can emit is a small choking noise.

"I know you are capable Celestia, you are strong, intelligent, independent, you will do both Panem and myself proud. I'll be alongside you, every step of the way," he almost whispers. I look at his weak, dopey face, my own being full of worry and dread. Me, running Panem. Responsible for keeping the District's in line, for controlling the Hunger Games, for keeping the Capitol happy. In the span of 24 hours, I've suddenly had the responsibility of running a country thrust onto me.

"I just need you to sign here, Madame," Hollander comments, pointing at an empty line at the bottom of the document. A crimson red pen rests at the base of the sheet, taunting me, egging me on. I sigh, before I reluctantly pick up the pen. I can't let Grandfather down; he is depending on me.

I hastily jot down my signature, causing him to close his eyes and lean his head back against the pillow.

"Make me proud," he mutters, as someone attempts to lead me away.

"Hold on! I want to spend time with him!" I snarl at the individual with their hand on my shoulder.

"Madame President, he needs time to rest. There is the media outside, looking for a statement from yourself," she informs me.

"M-media?" I stutter.

"Yes Madame," Hollander confirms. My eyes become large circles, as I am taken down the hall, surrounded by all of these foreign guards and advisors, that I have never even met. As the President, Grandfather always kept me out of the media. He would have any reporters killed if they so much as mentioned me. Now, he cannot do that. Now, I have to face the country, my country.

As soon as I exit the front doors of the hospital, I am bombarded by countless flashes, completely blinding me for a short moment. I am forced to shield my eyes from the bombarding occurrence of flashes, that make white dots pop up repeatedly in my vision. Somehow, despite my impaired state, Hollander manages to guide me to a relatively open area, complete with a microphone and all. Is this why they stalled my visit to my Grandfather? So they could set this up?

"It is time, whenever you're ready Madame, we are ready to address the entire nation," Hollander manages to communicate to me over the thundering noise of the media's questions. It's as if her words just go in one ear and out the other, it does not fully hit me that I am about to address the entirety of Panem as President Celestia Snow. All her words do is earn one thought from me.

But I'm not ready for this.


Author's Note:

Here we have the second prologue chapter! Trust me, the actual chapters will be way longer than this, I'm just trying to give samples of my writing capabilities. We will be seeing a lot more of Celestia throughout the story, but in order for the story to start, we need submissions!

There are plenty of spots to submit to, as none are off the table until I make it official. If you are not sure on submitting because you aren't confident on my updating or if I'll finish, I swear to you now that I am committing myself to finishing this story. So please submit and we can get this going!

(Fun fact - As President Snow's Grand-daughter was never named in the book, the films have provided her with the name Celestia, which I have implemented into this story.)