constant peril → d. dixon

f i f t e e n

Daryl flinched when the door opened, bringing his arm to his face at the sudden brightness inside his dark cell. Dwight lingered long enough to throw something on the ground before closing the door. It wasn't the usual dog food sandwich he'd received everyday for the past, what, three days? No, it sounded too light.

Daryl felt around the floor until his hand brushed the item. Small, flat, rectangular; a photo. Two, actually. Moving closer to the solid door, he held the photos to the light that shone from underneath the door. The first photo showed a dead body with their head beaten in. It took Daryl a minute before he recognized the jacket.

It was Glenn.

Written on the white strip at the bottom of the photo, written in a messy scrawl, were the words:
You did this.

The second photo was of Maisie, tears clearly visible running down her cheeks. The same writing was underneath the photo as well:
And this.

It was his fault Glenn was dead, but at the same time, he didn't regret punching Negan. He did, however, regret the fact that the person who made Maisie the happiest was gone.

Tears he didn't even know he had slipped down his weather-beaten cheeks. He wouldn't blame Maisie if she hated him for the rest of her life, but she was a happy thought that kept him sane in the darkness.

〄

After the third day, Maisie decided she wasn't going to be a scared little girl around Negan anymore. Hell was gonna come in the form of a twenty-six year old woman. But they didn't need to know that just yet.

She dressed all in black despite the heat, going the extra mile by slipping on the leather jacket that had been left in her room.

She walked the halls of the Sanctuary confidently, her head held high and Negan's gift, the pearl handled knife, hanging off her belt. She passed two women in black dresses and heels, a brunette and a redhead, who gave her fearful, jealous looks. Maisie stopped and turned back to them.

"Something wrong?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"N-no," the redhead responded quietly, bowing her head.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Maria, and that's Amber," the brunette told her. "We're Negan's wives."

Wives? Plural?

Maisie turned when she heard the sound of Negan's heavy boots striding towards them. When she looked back, the two had scampered off.

"Maisie!" Negan boomed.

Maisie crossed her arms as he approached. "What?" she snapped.

"Come with me, I'm going to show you something," he told her, walking ahead of her. Maisie rolled her eyes and reluctantly followed him.

She followed him up a set of stairs that lead to a yellow catwalk hanging high above the busy main floor. Two Saviors were up there already, acting as guards with guns at their hips. When Negan stepped up to the rail, Maisie crossed her arms and leaned against the one wall the catwalk was secured against.

Negan's many, many followers went silent and kneeled without a single command from the man himself.

"Carry on," Negan told them, turning back to Maisie with a smile on his face. She gave him an uninterested expression in return.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?"

Maisie shuddered internally. "How many wives do you have?"

"Seven, and one mistress," Negan told her, almost proudly.