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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝖑𝖝𝖎𝖎𝖎. Done With Crowns
Maeve
MAEVE STILL ISN'T used to the purple hair.
It isn't as garish as Marzia's, at least. Maeve only let Emira dye certain strands, so her entire head isn't colorful. She twists a spare lock around her finger, staring at the purple as she walks. Strange as it looks, it gives her a small burst of pride. She's an electricon, and she's not alone.
After the first attack on Archeon, Chris and his loyal advisers took up a campaign of collapsing or flooding the immense tunnel system beneath the city. They concentrated heavily on the southern edges, where the tunnels were more numerous, all of them leading to the ruins of Naercey at the mouth of the Capital River. Dawson originally suggested striking out from the abandoned city, but Cyrus and Maeve knew better. Chris destroyed that, too, rooting out the Scarlet Guard's stronghold while obliterating whatever remained. He was inspired by the Guard as well, constructing tunnels of his own in addition to an escape train. Maeve can't be certain, not this deep or ayer this long underground, but she thinks they'll link up with the train line eventually.
Her inner compass spins, searching for true north in vain. She and the others have to rely on Guard intelligence, what they know of the tunnels. And they have to rely on Chris. Stupid as it is, he's their last best hope for getting as far into the city as they can. The combined force of Montfort and the Scarlet Guard is too big to simply strike from the air, or the river, or the ground. They have to do all three.
Of course Maeve is stuck scrabbling in the darkness, walking for hours beneath several tons of rock and soil.
Chris cuts a harsh silhouette, backlit by their lanterns. He's still wearing the simple uniform the Montfortans gave him when they locked him up. Washed-out grey pants and shirt, the fabric too thin and the cut too big on his frame. It makes him look younger than he is, more gaunt and drawn than ever before.
Maeve hangs back, using Cyrus as a human shield between her and him. His own guards are close at hand as well, an even mix of Reds and newbloods. Tristan walks close by, too, never breaking his concentration on Chris.
On Maeve's right, Weston and Nick shuffle along, their steps a bit stilted to keep pace with hers. The former notices her staring and pulls a tight smile.
Maeve tries to return the gesture. Weston almost died in New Town. She remembers the feel of his blood spraying across her skin. The memory fills her with a numb fear.
She can tell Nick feels the same, by the way he's ever so slightly in front of Weston, prepared to protect should something happen.
