Fatality ━━ Matt vs Chris Sturniolo²

𝖎𝖎𝖎. Look What You Did

[ tw: torture, death, violence ]

𝖎𝖎𝖎. Look What You Did

Maeve

MUSIC DANCES IN THE AIR, undercut with the sweet and sickening bite of alcohol as it permeates every inch of the magnificent throne room. The group of them steps out onto a landing elevated a few feet above the chamber floor, allowing a grand view of the raucous party ━ and a few moments before anyone realizes they're here.

Maeve's eyes dart back and forth, on edge, on defense, searching every face and every shadow for opportunity, or danger. Silk and gemstones and beautiful armor wink beneath the light of a dozen chandeliers, creating a human constellation that surges and twists on the marble floor. After a month of imprisonment, the sight is an assault on Maeve's senses, but she gulps it in, a girl starved. So many colors, so many voices, so many familiar lords and ladies. For now, they take no notice of her. Their eyes don't follow. Their focus is on one another, their cups of wine and multicolored liquid, the harried rhythm, the fragment smoke curling through the air. This must be a celebration, a wild one, but for what, Maeve has no idea.

Naturally, her mind flies. Have they won another victory? Against Matt, against the Scarlet Guard? Or are they still cheering my capture?

One look at Valencia is answer enough. Maeve has never seen her scowl this way, not even at herself. The magnetron's catlike sneer turns ugly, angry, full of rage like the Deuveux can't imagine. The future queen's eyes darken, shifting over the display.

Valencia descends from the landing, and the Salems force Maeve to follow. The stairs lead them directly to the dais, another elevated platform high enough to denote its ultimate importance. And, of course, a dozen Sentinels stand upon it, masked and armed, terrifying in every inch.

Maeve expects the thrones she remembers. Diamondglass flames for the king's seat, sapphire and polished white gold for the queen's. Instead, Chris sits upon the same kind of throne she saw him rise from over a month ago, when he held her chained in front of the world.

No gems, no precious metals. Just slabs of grey stone swirled with something shiny, flat-edged, and brutally absent of insignia. It looks cold to the touch and uncomfortable, not to mention terribly heavy. It dwarfs him, making him seem younger and smaller than ever. To look powerful is to be powerful ━ a lesson Maeve learned from Astraea, though somehow Chris didn't. He seems the boy he is, sharply pale against his black uniform, the only color on him the bloodred lining of his cape, a silver riot of medals, and the shivering blue of his eyes.

King Christopher of House Sturniolo meets Maeve's gaze the moment he knows she's here.

The instant hangs, suspended on a thread of time. A canyon of distractions yawns between them, filled with so much noise and graceful chaos, but the room might as well be empty.