Blood Curse - Red Queen Fan Fiction

Final Chapter

A/N: Thanks to all who made it to this point. You're awesome for bearing with me, my silly ideas and my writing for a year. Love you^^

Trigger warning: self harm

Maven POV

I'm drowning in dullness. I'd like to say fighting it is the hardest part but the more it overwhelms me, the more I fight myself instead. It's the easiest occupation since I've been doing that for too long, likely my whole life. Scratching my skin? Done. Ripping my cubicles? Done. Chewing off my fingernails? Done. My newest focus is on the measly beard under my chin, certainly no fashionably full beard, but present enough to be a major nuisance if left untended. Which it is, so I tug at the hairs all the time, sometimes successfully tearing out a few. It can't look pretty, of course, but I have no mirror no see myself. That's the problem. Cal's allowed me an electrical shaver, finally convinced it would've no razors to cut myself with, but a mirror is still off-limits. So he took the offer of the shaver back. Oh, great. Instead he shaves me himself on the days he visits me, by my request. It doesn't make him come more regularly.

To be honest, I hate the way he's taken it away from me, the possibility to maintain my appearance. It'd mean nothing for anyone to see me here but it'd mean something to me. Yet I receive only the most basic things, as long as they can't hurt me. In Cal's perception. What does he know of the ways I hurt myself? It's ridiculous and delusional, but that's how he is. He doesn't want me to harm myself but the way locking me into a cell damages me is a just punishment?

Well, that's one way of reasoning. I can understand it, in a certain regard. And don't I deserve it? I don't even have to live under silent stone as I had Mare do. I know how the stone pained and withered her away yet I either didn't care or took rejoice in it. It makes her weak, then she needs me, I thought when in truth, I couldn't bear to look at her half the time.

Now I hide from the world behind a broken frame. The frame is myself, as it is only reasonable to cage me in more than one layer. Yet I hold on to all I have in my little world as it's my only buoy. It's why Cal isn't afraid of my fire. The cell is fireproof, and I won't destroy my bed, books, clothes or table. Mother had never let me transfer my anger on things, never allowed me to show. It happened still, on occasion, and I still remember her chastisements afterwards, for that and for every other failing.

I cannot not notice the irregularity of Cal's visits. He likes to bring me breakfast, sometimes he stays for dinner – if I can call it such – in the evenings. Sometimes he doesn't come for days and I fight the urge to talk to the attendants instead, aware it'd be no joy for them, certainly believing only lies and conspiracies leave my mouth or expecting my frustration to lash out against them. But deep down, I know pride keeps me from interacting with them, the humiliation of having no one to talk to but mere employees who revile me and have no other choice.

Then again, when they leave after bringing whatever I've needed and am granted to receive, while I've avoided looking at them, I feel ashamed for behaving that way. What was Thomas if not a "mere employee" and yet so much more?

I have too much time at hand, too much time to consider every little choice of mine. First Mother "spared" me such contemplations, then the duties of a king shoved them far away. Now, I suppose, it's my punishment to spend time with myself. Until Cal arrives in my cell, forcing a smile and talking of all and nothing while setting up the board to play our game.

He remains all I have and that makes me afraid. I can't deal with that. I never could, and I'll only drag him into an abyss with me.

Our conversations, including his reports from the outer world, are so casual, you wouldn't realize we were involved in them, as if lessening our current influence would also affect our former one. It's so like him, and cute actually. Maybe he thinks it's easier for me this way since I, in my prison, can't change anything. Maybe he doesn't grasp the concept of punishment by captivity after all, though. But it's new to all of us. He hasn't spoken a meaningful word to me since he saw me again, just waking from unconsciousness after Iris knocked him out. He was shocked I didn't killed him, when I was broken down myself, clasped to tightly in my defeat to act. He was thankful for my mercy, believing he found his little brother again. Now it's only a matter of time until he rues his mercy bitterly.