Coriolanus stepped out of his apartment building and walked along the Corso. It was more of a strut, really; he kept his back straight and his head held high, not caring who saw him or what they thought of him. He was back in the Capitol, after all, a student at the University, and a former mentor to the most recent victor of the Hunger Games.
Plus, he was a Snow. And Snow lands on top.
His leather bag with everything he might need for his first day at the University was clutched in his left hand. His right hand was in his pocket, giving him an air of nonchalance.
In his pocket, Coriolanus felt a slip of paper. He pulled it from the cavity in his jacket and recognized the handwriting immediately: Lucy Gray's.
How did this get into his pocket? He had erased her from his heart and removed her from his mind. How was she still finding ways to creep into his life?
Against his will, Coriolanus' hand unfolded the paper further and smoothed it out so he could read it. It was no use trying to resist the urge; his eyes scanned the page and drank up the hastily-scribbled note.
When I met you, something stirred in my heart
More than intrigue, or admiration, or lust
And so I wondered: could this be the start
Of a lifetime of happiness, love, trust?
I was sure you felt the same about me
We shared with each other our hopes and dreams
You always answered me, kept the talk lively,
But when you spoke, I just enjoyed your schemes
Others see your charm and charisma, too
They admire you and sing your praises
What goes on in your mind? They haven't a clue
Somehow, they can't see your other faces
But I know the truth; though you're hypnotic
You're toxic, you're cold, and you're psychotic
It wasn't a note at all, but a sonnet. A poem for love, Coriolanus thought bitterly. And yet both the poem and its subjects found themselves no longer basking in love, but festering in bitterness and confusion.