𝑼𝑵𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑫 𝑺𝒀𝑴𝑷𝑯𝑶𝑵𝒀

11

You have chosen: Choice A

Final Votes:
74 votes for Choice A
67 votes for Choice B

(This was an extremely close vote for such a long time 😳)

═══ *.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.* ═══

Clay still hadn't met your eyes.

He knew what choice you were going to make. He knew how much you despised him at that moment.

You'd made it very clear.

You pushed off the covers and swung your legs over the bed, standing on the opposite side from where he was sitting. You reached out your hand, nonchalantly, to brace yourself against one of the bedposts, still slightly weak, studying your old friend.

"I'll need a horse," You said, "And some food for the road."

Clay closed his eyes for a moment, his heart sinking. There had been a small part of him, small, but present, that had truly believed you would stay with him.

"Okay." He replied, standing and coming towards you. Gently, he pushed you back down onto the bed. You complied, because you were still slightly light-headed and felt terrible from recent events, "But you need a bit more rest before you go. Like I said, you'll feel better by tonight. You can leave then, if you really wish to do so." Clay pulled the covers back over you, enclosing your exhausted body in a cocoon of warmth once more.

But you weren't tired yet. Sure you were kind of weak, but that didn't mean you were tired. You had just woken up from a four-day nap, for crying out loud.

Clay turned to go, but you grabbed his wrist, stopping him (LISTEN I KNOW Y'ALL HATE HIM RN BUT WE NEED THIS INTERACTION FOR PLOT REASONS HUSH).

"Clay...what happened?" You needed an explanation. How had Clay and his friends come into power?

Where, and why, had Dave gone?

Clay seemed slightly caught off guard at your sudden question, glancing from your hand on his arm to the defeated expression on your face.

If anyone deserved an explanation, he thought, it was you.

Clay sat on your bed, and you pulled your hand away from his wrist. He placed his hands in his lap, more interested in his twiddling thumbs than your questioning gaze.

He remembered that day perfectly. He remembered the terror and the panic that had coursed through his veins, seeing you being dragged away by two of Dave's guards. He remembered the panic and the hopelessness in your eyes as you shouted frantically for your brother. For himself. He remembered the cold neutrality of the expression on Dave's face.

He remembered thinking that Dave was no longer a brother, no longer a friend. But a cold tyrant.

"Dave had you taken somewhere in the castle. I was escorted out; I had no idea where you'd gone. I told the others...we were all worried about you. But I...I was angry. A few months passed, and I went back to confront your brother."

"But he was gone," Clay ran a hand through his hair and sighed, "The castle was still being guarded, but no one was living there. When I asked one of the soldiers about it, he refused to answer me."

"So," He continued, "My friends and I decided we'd try and take over from him. We disguised ourselves: I hid my face behind a mask because I could easily be recognized. George and Nick were a bit easier to disguise. George wore shaded glasses and Nick dyed his hair black, altering his appearance. Darryl...Darryl was a friend of Dave's, as I'm sure he's told you."