Chapter Text
The murmurs of maids and stylists, the sounds of measuring tapes and clothes were simply a part of Ophelia's daily routine. She only wore clothes that the highest ranking Capitol citizens wore, and her face was powered ever so delicately with the most expensive makeup in Panem.
"The Capitol's own sweetheart," people called her. Her stylists worked so meticulously to ensure that Ophelia was as perfect as the public saw her. Anyone who had truly known her, though, would know that Ophelia was far from perfect and pristine as her family made her to be.
Ophelia was loud and rebellious. She challenged her family and their beliefs rather often. Her outbursts had been so much so, that she has a personal publicist with her at all times. Every move, every twitch, every blink, every breath she made was under a microscope at all times.
The Capitol's Golden Child, echoed within Ophelia's labyrinthine mind daily. Perfect. A Lockheart is perfect. Ophelia reminded herself.
Finally, her stylist, Valencia, took a step back and gasped. "It's perfect!" She exclaimed. "The Capitol's Golden Child!! It's genius!" She continued.
The maids and co-stylists murmured among themselves in agreement with Valencia. "Ophelia, come girl, you must see the magic I've worked." Valencia ushered her to the mirror cheerfully.
Ophelia's eyes fixated on herself in the mirror. Her blonde hair was curled, and pinned to one side of her head with a gold and diamond barrette. She stood in a long, shimmering, golden gown that stopped just before her feet. The dress was haltered by her neck and it was sleeveless. It was shiny, comparable to foil the chefs use.
Ophelia stood in white heels that had diamonds shaped into flowers on the toe. She wore gold and diamond dangling earrings to match. Her makeup was done natural like normal, but she had gold shimmer on her eyelids, and pinkish-red lip gloss.
Ophelia looked like a million bucks, but she hadn't quite felt like it. She didn't feel real in her body. This isn't who I am, Ophelia thought.
Ophelia's thoughts were interrupted by her door opening. Irene, her manager, came trotting in, her high heels clinking on the wooden floor. Irene's crimson red hair was styled how it typically was, similar to Ophelia's.
"She looks perfect and lovely," Irene commented, gently touching Ophelia's chin. Ophelia flashed a quick, soft smile at her, trying to remain on Irene's good side. "Well, she's lovely and ready. We must go."
Irene grabbed Ophelia's wrist, rushing her out of her room and down the stairs to the foyer.
Today was the day Ophelia had been dreading. A nervous pit had formed in her stomach. The official press statement announcing her arrangement to be engaged to Mr. Coriolanus Snow, the President of Panem.