[Completed] There's three of us. Triplets. We all have each other's backs. There's me, Maeve. The one with red eyes. People call me a murder. Satan. Evil. Anything really. All I cared about was not them. Certainly not them. Those people didn't matter to me. What mattered was my other two siblings. Everything I have ever done, was for them. Even if they don't realize it. Even if they think I was the big bad monster. To the world, I was a cold heartless monster but to my siblings? I was loving sister. I was there if one of them have a nightmare. I'm there for them. There's Damien. The oldest out of us. He's the one with white eyes. The one who people who also call Satan and evil and all of that bullshit. You ever wonder if those goddamn bullies got tired of bullying other people? I do. Not the point, stay focused Maeve. What was I saying? Oh right, Damien. He likes cars. Building, tearing them apart, spray painting them, anything about cars. Then there's Angel. Sweet, sweet Angel. She's the youngest out of the group. She has blue eyes, different from us. She's the lucky one, per say. The one who doesn't get bulled. She has the personality like a five year old but we love her to pieces. Me and Damien try to protect her against the evil's of the world. She shouldn't go through that like we did. At least she has a normal childhood, or some part of normal. We didn't have the best childhood growing up. Well, me and Damien didn't. Mother gave Angel the best childhood she ever wanted. Sometimes, only sometimes when she was drunk or whatever with her stupid boyfriend did she punish Angel. That was once every blue moon. She was convinced me and Damien had Satan in us. While Angel, well she thought that Angel was an angel from Heaven. Now, let me stop rambling. This story will be an emotional roller coaster. Especially since we get sent to live with our older half-brothers. Mentions of self-harm, abuse, rape, miscarriage, violence, cursing, suicide attempts.

"How can one be a Queen without a crown, darling?" she cooed, a small smile on her face. "Slit her arms." The guards each restrained me, tying my legs together, and my upper arms to my torso. They slid up my leather sleeves, took out a knife, extended out my arms, and began slitting long marks down the length, from my elbow to wrist. I screamed in pain, twisting and writhing away from them as best as I could. Tears streamed down my face, the pain becoming unbearable as air hit the open wounds. Vomit began rising in my throat, panic stirring in the back of my mind. "Stop, please," I begged, unable to take the pain. "I can't, I can't-" Briallyn placed the crown in my hands, allowing the blood from my arms to run down onto it, staining the precious silver metal red. Red. That color. Iron. That smell. It dripped onto the floor, echoing around the room, reverberating between my ears. Splattering. That sound. The guards squeezed each of my upper arms, pushing more blood out of the wounds, causing me to howl in pain. I cried and wriggled, holding desperately to the crown. My guts turned at the sight, my arms stained red, unclean and impure. *this story contains strong themes of violence, PTSD, and sexual assault*