she's an anomaly, and they can't help but be infatuated with her.
NO SMUT OR SEXUALIZING ━ if any of the triplets are uncomfortable with this fanfiction, it will be taken down immediately.
matt sturniolo x fem! oc x chris sturniolo (LOVE TRIANGLE)
l...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝖝𝖎. Hide That Heart of Yours
MAEVE'S DAYS BEGIN to take on a rhythm, always the same schedule. Protocol in the morning, Lessons in the afternoon, while Astraea parades her at lunches and dinners in between. The Panther and Kelina still seem wary of her, but haven't said anything since lunch that day. Chris' help seems to have worked, as much as she hates to admit it.
At the next large gathering, this time in the queen's personal dining hall, the Lovelaces ignore her completely. Despite her Protocol lessons, luncheon is still overwhelming as Maeve tries to remember all that she's been taught. Isla, nymphs, blue and green. Walsh, greenwardens, green and gold. Roloson, oblivions, orange and red. Ralken and Glesser and Laughlin and Lovelace, and many more. How anyone keeps track of this, she'll never know.
As usual, Maeve is seated next to Valencia. She's painfully aware of the many metal utensils on the table, all lethal weapons in the magnetron's cruel hand. Every time the older girl lifts the knife to cut her food, Maeve's body tenses, waiting for the blow. Astraea knows what she's thinking, as usual, but carries on through her meal with a smile. That might be worse than Valencia's torture, to know the queen takes pleasure in watching the future princess' silent war.
"And how do you like the Hall of the Sun, Lady Aella?" the girl across from Maeve asks. She's of House Viper, the same animos that killed the doves during Queenstrial. "I assume it's no comparison to the ━ the village you lived in before." She says the word village like a curse, and Maeve doesn't miss her smirk.
The other women laugh with her, a few whispering in scandalized voices.
It takes Maeve a moment to respond as she tries to keep her blood from boiling. "The Hall and Summerton are very different from what I'm used to," she forces out.
"Obviously," another woman says, leaning forward to join the conversation. A Walsh, judging by her green-and-gold tunic. "I took a tour of the Capital Valley once, and I must say, the Red villages are simply deplorable. They don't even have proper roads."
We can barely feed ourselves, let alone pave streets, Maeve wants to snap in her face, but refrains. Instead, her jaw tightens until she thinks her teeth might shatter in her mouth. She tries to smile, but it quickly turns into a grimace as the other women voice their agreement.
"And the Reds, well, I suppose it's the best they can do with what they have," the Walsh continues, wrinkling her nose at the thought. "They're suited to such lives."
"It's not our fault they were born to serve," a brown-haired Ralken says airily, as if she's talking about the weather or the food. "It's simply nature."
