Fatality ━━ Matt vs Chris Sturniolo²

𝖛𝖎. Another Lie

[ tw: violence ]

𝖛𝖎. Another Lie

Maeve

THE CARDS are carefully typed, outlining what Maeve must say. She can't even look at them, leaving them lying on her bedside table.

She very much doubts she'll get the benefit of maids to make her up into whatever Chris imagines presenting to the court. It looks like an arduous task, buttoning and zipping herself into the scarlet gown. It has a high collar, trailing hem, and long sleeves to hide not just Chris' brand on her collarbone, but the manacles still attached to her wrists and ankles.

No matter how many times she escapes this elegant pageantry, she seems doomed to play a role in it. The dress will be too big when she finally gets it on, loose around the arms and waist. She's thinner there, no matter how much she forces herself to eat. Based on what she can glean from her reflection in the window, her hair and skin have also suffered under the weight of silence. Her face is yellowed and sunken, sickly-looking, while red rims her eyes. And her dark brown hair is rattier than ever, tangled to the root. She braids it back hastily, working the knotted strands.

No amount of silk can change what she looks like beneath Chris' costume. But it's no matter. She'll never wear it, if all goes to plan.

The next step in her preparation makes her heart pound. She does her best to look calm, for the cameras in her bedroom at least. They cannot know what she's about to do, not if it's going to work. And even if she manages to fool her guards, there's another rather large obstacle.

This could kill her.

Chris did not put cameras in her bathroom. Not to protect her privacy, but to placate his own jealousy. She knows enough of him to realize he won't let anyone see her body. The added weight of Silent Stone, the slabs set into the walls, is confirmation. Chris made sure guards would never have a reason to escort her in here. Her heart beats sluggishly in her chest, but she pushes through it. She has to.

The shower hisses and steams, scalding hot as soon as Maeve turns it on full blast. If not for the bathroom Stone, she would have spent many days enjoying the singular comfort of a hot wash. She must work quickly, or let herself be smothered.

She pushes the showerhead, angling it away from the tub and onto the bathroom floor. The water pelts against white tile, drenching it. The spray hits her bare feet, and the heat shivers her skin, gentle and inviting as a warm blanket.

As water seeps out beneath the bathroom door, she works quickly. First, she puts the long shard of glass on the counter, well within arm's length. Then she reaches for the true weapon.