The night of the tribute parade always had a special glow in the Capitol. The avenues glittered with golden lights and hologram reflections danced on the facades of the buildings. Coriolanus Snow watched from his private balcony, a glass of wine in his hand, as the floats moved forward with their doomed youths, dressed according to the absurd extravagance of their districts.

“A perfect illusion” he murmured, sketching a faint smile. “Beauty, spectacle, hope...All disguising the true purpose of these games.”

The citizens of the Capitol cheered, fascinated by the image of the tributes. They were so easy to distract, to manipulate with a flash of fireworks or a well-rehearsed smile. Snow swirled the cup in his hand, letting the crimson liquid swirl slowly.

“Every year the same thing...and every year it works.”

He looked up at the tributes, some terrified, others feigning bravery. There were always a few who thought they had a chance, who thought they could defy fate. Snow let out a low, dry laugh.

“Naive.”

He took a sip of wine and narrowed his eyes. It would only be a few days before the sands closed in on them. The show had only just begun.