war has begun, and if they're not careful, a fatality will tear them down.
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 T...
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𝖝𝖝𝖝𝖛. A Trade of Crowns
Maeve
MAEVE'S LAUGHTER echoes down the eastern walls and over the dark fields. She doubles over, hands pressed against the smooth parapet, gasping for breath. She can't control it. True laughter, the deep kind from the pit of her stomach, takes over. The noise is hollow, harsh, and dusty from disuse. She laughs until her ribs hurt and she has to sit down, putting her back against the cold stone. It doesn't stop, and even when she bites her lips closed, little bursts still make it through.
No one can hear her but the patrols, and she doubts they care about a single girl laughing alone in the darkness. She's earned the right to laugh or cry or scream as she sees fit. Little pieces of her want to do all three. But laughter wins out.
She sounds deranged, and maybe she is. She certainly has an excuse, after today. People are still clearing bodies from the other side of Corvium. Matt chose his crown over everything she thought they were fighting for. Both are still bleeding wounds no healer can fix. Wounds she has to ignore right now, for her own sanity. The only thing she can do is put her face in her hands, clench her teeth, and fight her infernal, idiotic laugh.
This is complete and total lunacy.
Valencia, Matt, and Maeve, all headed to Montfort. What a terrific joke.
She said as much in her message to Weston, still safe back in Piedmont. He would want to know about everything, as much as she could say. After she convinced him to stay behind (with the help of Nick), it's only fair to keep him in the loop. And of course, she wants him in the loop. She wants someone else to laugh with her, and curse over what's to come.
She chuckles darkly again, tipping her head back against the stonework. The stars above her are pinpricks, dimmed by the city lights of Corvium as well as the rising moon. The stars seem to watch, looking down at the fortress city. She wonders if Reva Rivers' gods are laughing with her. If they even exist.
She wonders if Kol is laughing, too.
The thought of him chills her blood, killing whatever manic giggle she has left. That wretched, prophesizing newblood is out there somewhere, having escaped them. But to do what? Sit on a hill and watch? Let his eyes tick back and forth as they all kill each other? Is he some kind of game master, content to nudge them into position and play out whatever future he chooses? If it were remotely possible, Maeve would try to find him. Force him to protect her and the others from lethal fate. But that's absurd. He'll see her coming. Kol can only be found if he wants to.
Frustrated, she scrubs her fingers over her face and scalp, letting her nails drag across her skin. The sharp sensation brings her back to reality, little by little. So does the cold. The stone beneath her body loses warmth as night wears on. The thin fabric of her uniform does little to keep her from shivering, while the sharp, solid edges of the wall are hardly comfortable. Still, she doesn't move.
