Maeve is queen-no, was queen-of the viper shifters.
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Twenty-three year old Maeve Silverbone is the next royal in line for the serpent throne. She's relentless, a perfect tracker, and one of the top warriors in her division; essential qualities to...
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❛ A sunflower soul with rock n' roll eyes. Curious thoughts & a heart of surprise.❜
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She played with the Raskinia Opah between her fingers, sitting on the wooden bench with nothing but her black raincoat in the night. The water in the fountain in front of her continued to run as Maeve stared at it, contemplating whether to follow a child's tale.
The copper coin in her hand weighed her down as she thought of what would come tomorrow. The crown that sat so idly on her father's head would be hers to command, the burden of her clan resting on her shoulders as she carried herself to the throne. She would be tied, once again, bound by responsibility and duty towards a people she loved to be with.
But she didn't want to rule. Maeve Silverbone didn't want the throne, nor the crown. It was just another problem, another reason to not be free.
Then again, who would rule if it were not her? Her cousin wasn't a direct descendant of the Silverbone bloodline, so she wasn't even allowed to sit on the throne, let alone rule it. All of her brothers and sisters had been killed those many years ago, so there was no one to continue the famed Raskinia legacy but her.
Maeve stood up silently and walked over the uneven bricks towards the cream-colored fountain illuminated by the streetlights. Her boots were silent as she slipped her hand into the warm pockets of her coat. The rainwater pouring on her from above cascaded down her shoulders as her hat shielded her hair and eyes.
Ah, a mere replica of the original Fountain of Hope, she thought, inspecting the architecture. Her sharp eyes analyzed the engravings, extremely precise as Maeve recalled what her clan called it. Kríni tis Elpídas; the Fountain of Hope. She could use some hope right now.
In the glowing street light, Maeve could see the hundreds of coins laying on its floor, the constant rippling water turning it into a flurry of silvers and browns. She could just imagine the children begging their parents for spare change and eagerly running up to the edge of this landmark, watching the coin as it sank to the bottom with not so much as a sound. They would be mesmerized as she had once been, to see the colors as they dazzled in the hot Raskinian sun.
