war has begun, and if they're not careful, a fatality will tear them down.
NO SMUT OR SEXUALIZING ━ if any of the triplets are uncomfortable with this fanfiction, it will be taken down immediately.
matt sturniolo x fem! oc x chris sturniolo (LOVE T...
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𝖑𝖝𝖝. Not a Word
Maeve
BEFORE SHE OPENS HER EYES, he's the first thing she thinks of. And how he wouldn't speak to her last night. He saw her; she knows he did. He was out on the balcony just the same, looking at the stars and the mountains.
And he didn't say a word.
The ache hits Maeve like a hammer to the chest. So many possibilities blur through her head, too fast for her waking mind to fathom. And they all come back to his silhouette, a shadow against the night sky as he walked away. He didn't say a word.
And neither did she.
She forces her eyes open, yawning and stretching for show. Emira worries about her enough. She doesn't need Maeve's heartache added to her list of concerns. They still share a room, at the nineteen-year-old's request. Maeve hasn't tried sleeping alone in months and doesn't intend to start now.
For once, the younger girl isn't fussing over her. Instead, Emira is standing over her sewing supplies, contemplating them with a stern glare.
"Has the thread offended you somehow?" Maeve says around a true yawn.
Emira turns to glare at her. "I'm getting a head start," she explains. "The gala will take up most of my time, what with Greyson and Archer and you and Cyrus and half the people I've ever met begging for something to wear."
In spite of herself, Maeve grimes She knew Emira wouldn't really leave Greyson out in the cold. She's all bark, no bite.
"Fine, tell me how to help," Maeve says, swinging her feet out of bed. The wood floor is cool beneath her toes, and she immediately sets to hunting down the socks buried in her blankets.
They aren't moving to their permanent home for another week or so, but Emira already insists on packing. Or rather, on rearranging the meager amount of what's already packed.
Emira hums as she shakes her head. "You're not exactly known for your skills in organization."
Maeve sputters, but Emira doesn't bother to argue. She simply points to her older sister's mismatched socks. One is green and threadbare; the other is thick black wool. Maeve's mouth shuts with a click of teeth.
"Besides," Emira continues. "You have your own things to worry about, and a much busier schedule than I do. I don't envy your meetings," she adds, nodding to the messy pile of papers at Maeve's bedside.
Maeve fell asleep reading the overview of the delegation arrangements and agenda, her head spinning with details on Montfort trade, Scarlet Guard movements, the Nortan reconstruction, and the inner workings of the alliance. She tries not to think about it now. She doesn't need a headache this early in the day, though she'll certainly have one by the end of the first meeting this morning.
