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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❛ The heart wants roots yet the mind wants wings. Watch stars glide as the souls of time sing. ❜
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A scream twisted and crawled up her throat. There was no draft. No wind. Nothing Maeve could use to fly as the air whistled in her ears. The ground was getting closer every second as she struggled to straighten her leathery wings. They whipped around as well, twisting in painful ways as she tried straightening them out. Maeve leaned on one side and suddenly, she was flipped around, now staring at the grey rocks that seemed to be hurtling towards her at a dizzying speed. Instead of her wings in a mess, Maeve's wings were straight but she still wasn't soaring. There wasn't any draft to catch on to.
She stared at her fate—a jagged rock that would slam into her in a few seconds. Maeve could imagine her death in the headlines.
Coronation or Catastrophe?
Raskinian Viper Queen dies before sitting on the throne.
Twenty-three-year-old princess murdered like the rest of the family.
Death raptures the Silverbone legacy.
Maeve felt the cold brush of a draft on her cheek. She was rapidly falling towards the ground with no way to stop her from becoming a pancake and the jagged rocks didn't look any softer as they did from above. She was about to resort to closing her eyes and resigning to her fate when she realized—
YOU IDIOT! Her inner mind screeched and instinctively, storm clouds gathered over her, rumbling with thunder and rain. Maeve focused her power, bending the howling wind and positioning it right under her to gather the air. If she did this quick enough, she wouldn't be a scaly pancake.
The chords on her neck stood out as Maeve gritted her teeth. She vaguely heard a cry of resistance as her hands crackled with power and her wrist snapped upward.
Wrong move.
The air forced her off balance and Maeve twisted, landing on her left shoulder as it smashed onto the rock, a sickening crack echoing around her and she rolled, fire radiating into her chest and neck. She tumbled through the leaves and bushes, closing her eyes and shielding her face the best she could as the thorns and twigs grasped the opportunity to scratch her. It wasn't until she was gasping for breath on a path of moss and leaves near a running river that she stopped rolling.
