𝗕𝗟𝗨𝗘 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗟𝗗 , the walking dead

[53] the fallen one

THE FALLEN ONE
*trigger warning : violent and grahpic content*
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MAEVE HAD BEEN COMPLETED DEPRIVED, once her wounds were healed enough that she no longer needed to be monitored—Negan had her thrown in a cell. It was small, smallest room she's ever been in, and dark. Not completely pitch black thanks to the smallest and dimmest light on the ceiling too high for her to reach, it flickered occasionally—leaving her in darkness for a few very long seconds before turning back on.

After having back to back panic attacks due to the small and dark space, Maeve was completely and utterly drained. There was nothing left in her, she had banged and screamed and kicked as much as she could—she's cried and sobbed till her eyes went dry. She was a caged animal, literally.

Not even Negan allowed her any visitors, her food was handed to her through a small hole in the door, that only opened from one side. At first, Maeve waited by the hole and the second it hoped and the hand that fed her, she grabbed it and pull so hard she dislocated the arm. She knew that the damage she did would win her nothing, but she also knew that she was angry, defeated, and in agony. Those don't mix well with others.

Her punishment for it, was to have her chained up—arms raised above her head bound together with the chain dangly from the ceiling and she was kept there. It was that way she wouldn't hurt anyone else, and that she could be on display—not that anyone dared to come see her.

The saviours heard the rumours, that they had finally locked up the murderer of their people. They heard of Rick—sure, they heard of him and his group. But the name that Maeve had gathered for herself was much more, it wasn't a name that described a group. The name she carried on her shoulders was fierce and feared, it was The Assassin.

Now, they had The Assassin chained up, broken down and reduced to what she was—just a girl.

Maeve's head hung low, her arms numb after over a day of hanging there. The chain around her wrists dug deep into her skin, and if she moved slightly the rough edges of the stone would cut deeper into her skin. They've already pierced her skin enough to cause blood to trickle down her raised arms.

With nothing but her thoughts, Maeve found herself back at the night in the wounds. The one that had her tied up for a tree, her brother beaten to dear death, her son nearly raped in front of them all—when she thinks about what she had done she thinks maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she shouldn't have chased those men in the woods, if she hadn't, none of this would be happening. Glenn—he'd still be alive.

As she was in a deep rabbit hole of her own thoughts, she had barely even noticed that the door finally opened. The light filled the room like an explosion fills fields, and Maeve lifted her head, squinting her eyes to shield herself from the light. Maeve saw a figure step into the room, the light behind them still hiding them from her.

"Love what you've done with the place." That voice, that voice needed no introduction, she knew it—it haunted in this cell. In this endless torment, his voice echoed the walls that he lived in. Maeve closed her eyes, and she still heard it ringing in her heard. "Less is always more, right?"

Maeve remained silent, refusing Negan the satisfaction of her comments. Even if she wanted to speak, she feared her voice was so dry from all the screaming it would could out as a choked, crackly and weak voice.

"Really—nothing? Come on, I've missed you." Negan spoke, bringing a hand to the base of her chin, gripping it tightly in her hand as he forced her eyes to look at him. A spiteful look in her eyes, full of wickedness and revenge, still full of what he was trying so hard to destroy. "Still think Rick the Prick is going to save you? Hm?"