Anomaly ━━ Matt vs Chris Sturniolo¹

𝖝𝖎𝖝. The Sacrifices of Revolution

[ tw: shooting ]

𝖝𝖎𝖝. The Sacrifices of Revolution

IT TAKES HOURS to paint and polish Maeve into the girl she's supposed to be, but it seems like just a few minutes. When the maids stand her up in front of the mirror, silently asking for her approval, she can only nod at the girl staring back at her from the glass. The girl in the mirror ━ every inch Maeve, not Maeva ━ looks beautiful and terrified by what's to come, wrapped in shimmering silk chains. She has to hide her, the scared girl; she has to smile and dance and look like one of them. Be one of them. Be Maeva. You are Maeva. With great effort, she pushes her fear away, taking in a deep, rattling breath. Fear will only get her killed.

Chris waits for her at the end of the hall, a shadow in his formal uniform. The charcoal black makes his eyes stand out, vibrantly blue against pale white skin. He doesn't look scared at all, but then, he's a prince. He's a Silver. He won't flinch.

He extends an arm toward her, and she gladly takes it. She expects him to make her feel safe or strong or both, but instead his touch reminds her of Matt and their betrayal. Last night comes into sharper focus, until every breath stands out in her head. Luckily, for once, Chris doesn't seem to notice her unease. He's thinking about more important things ━ and she should be, too.

So she tucks the memories of last night deep into the back of her mind, focusing instead on the prince next to her. Chris is her anchor tonight ━ he has to be.

"You look beautiful," he says quietly, nodding down to her dress.

She doesn't really agree with him. In her opinion, it's a silly, overdone thing, a complication of purple jewels that sparkle whenever she turns, making her look like a glittery bug. Still, she's supposed to be a lady tonight, a future princess, so she nods and smiles gratefully, whispering a small "thank you" back to him. As the words pass, she can't help but remember that her lips, now smiling for Chris, were kissing his brother last night.

No. No, no, no, no, no. Don't think about Matt. Not tonight. Not right now. You're with Chris.

"I just want this to be over," she mutters, her mask cracking momentarily.

"It won't end tonight, Maeve. This won't be over for a long time. You know that, right?" He speaks like someone much older, much wiser, not like a barely nineteen-year-old boy. When she hesitates, truly not knowing how to feel, his jaw tightens. "Maeve?" he prods, and she can hear the tremors in his voice.

"Are you afraid, Chris?" Her words are weak, a whisper. Unlike his, they show how young she is ━ a simple seventeen-year-old girl. "I am."