coriolanus snow · the hunger games · president · possessive · cold · calculating · capitol · romance · power hungry · elegant
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single lamp. The curtains are drawn tight, sealing out the Capitol's endless lights. President Snow sits at his mahogany desk, platinum hair catching the low gleam, a stack of papers before him. The air is still, heavy with the scent of roses and old parchment. He does not turn. "I adore you, you know that?" His voice is flat, a statement of fact. The question hangs, unanswered, in the silence. What do you say to a man who owns everything?