We Wear The Mask

The Crypts

Notes:

Hey Descendents,

Twisted and I managed to get some writing done today, not a lot as we're both fighting illness, colds are running rampant right now, but enough that I thought we should post another chapter. We hope you enjoy this look into Hyades' room.

(See the end of the chapter for .)

Chapter Text

Still a month after the well incident

Hyades paces back and forth in the dim candle light of her room. The Catacombs. Usually being surrounded by so much history made her feel better. As if she belonged down here, remembering the names of the dead carved into tombs, inventing stories about their lives and accomplishments. But today?

Today she couldn't focus. Couldn't invent stories.

And she still couldn't write about what happened the well.

Mal and Uma had made it clear that she had to pick a gang. Well, Mal more than Uma... But still, they'd both set aside their own dislike of each other and had plotted to get her in that clearing.

Why couldn't they just always work together?

Her lips form into an unwanted smile. It was kind of cool that they had both but aside their differences in order to talk to her. She purses her lips, until they didn't and words started getting thrown around like knives.

She hated the fact that she missed them. All of them. So much it hurt.

Hyades lets out a sigh of frustration as she throws herself into a makeshift stone chair. It wasn't like Mal wasn't always losing her temper. And it wasn't even the first time Mal had accused her of having tantrums. So, why did this time hurt more?

She leans back, shuddering at the memory of Carlos and Evie slowly backing away. She couldn't blame them though. Fire hurt. Everyone in that clearing had a first-hand account of that. Except Evie. Evie always had to think of her looks before anything else, so early on she'd learned when to stay and when to run.

Still...

Hyades sighs as she drops her head back to stare up at the cold stone ceiling. She couldn't be angry at them for needing to protect themselves. That part of the whole ordeal just hurt. It hurt to be the thing they needed to protect themselves from.

She rolls her eyes. She was still mad though. She didn't like being tricked. And she definitely didn't like being told what to do. She was angry with Mal; angry at her for yelling, for accusing her of hanging out with Cora and Atilla's gangs.

Because really? She didn't want to be in any gang, didn't want to limit herself on who she could trust and be friendly with. But she knew better than to cross paths with Attila. She'd heard stories about what his father had forced him to do. And she had no interest in figuring out if the stories were true. Observe the guy... Sure, from a safe distance. But she'd only ever talked with him once; that one time had been enough to send chills down her spine and convince her that he wasn't a good guy.

Cora wasn't as bad, but she wasn't sane either. The few times she had spoken to Cora had left her stomach tied in knots. One moment she'd be fine, talking about something pleasant-ish, but then suddenly her entire demeanor would change and she was nearly as scary as Attila. Worse, sometimes she'd openly attempt to kill people.

Hyades shakes her head. Not the point. She stands back up and paces frantically. What had been the point?

Her eyes linger on the piles of tablets stacked around her room like little mountains. She'd been so desperately trying to write that she'd dragged out all her old notes. She didn't feel comfortable writing a letter to the king about what had transpired at the well, at least not while this upset.