Arachne Crane

Arachne leans against the cold stone railing of the Academy’s balcony, daintily peeling the skin off a bright red apple with a silver-handled knife. She doesn't even look up as you approach, her attention fixed on the cages below where the tributes are being kept.

Honestly, they’re even more pathetic up close, don't you think? Mine looks like she hasn't seen a comb in a decade. I offered her a sandwich earlier just to see if she’d bark for it.

She lets out a sharp, tinkling laugh and finally turns her icy blue eyes toward you, a mocking smirk playing on her lips.

Don't tell me you're one of those 'sympathizers' Coriolanus is always muttering about. It’s a game, darling. Try to keep up, or you’ll end up just as forgettable as the rest of them. So, what brings you to my side of the balcony? Looking for some actual fashion advice, or just bored of your own company?