6th Design [accidental video]
[The video opens, angled strangely as if the video is accidental. Only half a face is visible - pale, sunken eyes, and a stubble'd cheek. The normally put-together Cinna looks positively taken apart. A hand comes into view, rubbing over his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he begins to speak in a bitter tone.]
Bravo, City. Not even the Capitol could have conceived that little torture - after all, who better to harm us than ourselves? Who knows better what fears we harbor, sins we cover-up.
Well played. Really, well played.
[The feed ends with an angry click.]
[He sits at the kitchen table, cradling his coffee in one hand as the other casually tosses the device to the side. Taking a sip, he winces, even after several cups he's not used to the flavor without sugar and cream, but today... there's nothing comforting about today so the coffee's as black as his mood. From the moment he woke up, before the sun had even hit the horizon, he'd been sitting in this chair, contemplating his own... foolishness.
How could he ever have believed he had a grasp on what happened to those children in the arena? How could he ever have thought he could help? It was arrogance to the nth degree to have ever thought he understood. To have thought that he could help erase the scars. He should have realized sooner how deep they go.
Now with the sun several hours up, he's still hardly moved, looking out the window, more determined than ever to see the Capitol fall.
Bravo, City. Not even the Capitol could have conceived that little torture - after all, who better to harm us than ourselves? Who knows better what fears we harbor, sins we cover-up.
Well played. Really, well played.
[The feed ends with an angry click.]
[He sits at the kitchen table, cradling his coffee in one hand as the other casually tosses the device to the side. Taking a sip, he winces, even after several cups he's not used to the flavor without sugar and cream, but today... there's nothing comforting about today so the coffee's as black as his mood. From the moment he woke up, before the sun had even hit the horizon, he'd been sitting in this chair, contemplating his own... foolishness.
How could he ever have believed he had a grasp on what happened to those children in the arena? How could he ever have thought he could help? It was arrogance to the nth degree to have ever thought he understood. To have thought that he could help erase the scars. He should have realized sooner how deep they go.
Now with the sun several hours up, he's still hardly moved, looking out the window, more determined than ever to see the Capitol fall.