Anomaly ━━ Matt vs Chris Sturniolo¹

𝖝𝖝𝖎. Red Queen

[ tw: (very brief) mention of suicide, violence ]

𝖝𝖝𝖎. Red Queen

BACK IN HER ROOM, Maeve rips the ruined dress from her body, letting the silk fall to the floor. The king's words reply in her head, peppered with flashes of this terrible, cursed night. Weston's eyes stand out through it all, a brown fire burning her up. She has to protect him, she has to save him, but how can she? If only she could trade herself for him again, her freedom for his. If only things were that simple anymore. Cedric's lessons have never felt so sharp in her mind: the past is so much greater than this future.

Cedric. Cedric.

The residence halls crawl with Sentinels and Security, every one of them on edge ━ for good reason. But Maeve has long since perfected the art of slipping by unnoticed, and Cedric's door is not far away. When she opens his door, without bothering to knock, she's unsurprised. Despite the hour, he's awake, poring over books. Everything looks the same in here, as if nothing happened. That is, until she notices the bottle of brown liquor on the table, occupying a spot usually reserved for tea.

"In light of recent events, I would think our lessons have been canceled for the time being," he says over the pages of his book. Still, he shuts it with a snap, turning his full attention on Maeve. "Not to mention it's quite late."

"I need your help, Cedric."

"Does this have anything to do with the Sun Shooting? Yes, they've already thought up a clever name." He points to the dark video screen in the corner of his room. "It's been on the news for hours now. The king's addressing the country in the morning."

Maeve remembers the fluffy blonde newswoman reporting the capital bombing almost two months ago. There were few injuries then, and still the marketplace rioted. What will they do now? How many innocent Reds will pay?

"Or is this about the four terrorists locked in the cells of this structure?" Cedric presses on, measuring her response. "Excuse me, I mean three. Damon Vesper certainly lives up to his reputation."

"They're not terrorists," she replies calmly, trying to keep herself in check.

"Shall I show you the definition of terrorism, Maeve?" His tone is sharp, stinging. "Their cause might be just, but their methods . . . besides, what you say doesn't matter." He gestures to the video screen again. "They have their own version of the truth, and that's the only one people will hear."

Maeve's teeth grind together painfully, bone on bone. "Are you going to help or not?"

"I am a teacher and somewhat of an outcast, in case you haven't noticed. What can I possibly do?"