#Feyre dreaming of stars and dresser drawers

[separatist-apologist]

What do you think about the theory that Rhysand was never supposed to be the main love interest? I can kind of see it, but was curious about your thoughts.

I disagree vehemently, and I would argue that there were a million obvious hints in ACOTAR that show Feyre was always going to end up with Rhysand. I think two things can be true: that she loved him and he was always going to be her first love AND that Rhysand was always meant to be her last love.

But just to back it up:

As early as page 15, the infamous:

I slung off my outer clothes onto the sagging dresser- frowning at the violets and roses I'd painted around the knobs of Elain's drawer, the crackling flames I'd painted around Nesta's, and the night sky-whorls of yellow stars standing in for white- around mine.



And then again, on page 31 when discussing why she'd chosen Isaac as a lover:

Relatively handsome, soft-spoken and reserved, but with a sort of darkness running beneath it all that had drawn us to each other, that shared understanding of how wretches our lives were and would always be.

When Lucien pays Feyre his backhanded compliment on page 53, he uses familiar night imagery often used to describe Feyre:

Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.

Here, on page 87, an amusing bit of foreshadowing about Feyre's future:

Prythian was ruled by seven High Lords- perhaps this she was whoever governed this territory; if not a High Lord, then a High Lady. If that was even possible.

When Feyre is faced with the Bogge and wants to look, she soothes herself (pg. 90):

I stared at the coarse trunk of a distant elm, thinking of pleasant things. Like hot bread and full bellies....A starry, unclouded night sky, peaceful and glittering and endless.

On 116, when Feyre finds the map of Pyrthian of all 7 territories, only one is spared any detail outside of the place she currently resides:

The other six courts of Prythian occupied a patchwork of territories. Autumn, Summer, and Winter were easy to pick out. Then above them, two glowing courts: the southernmost one a softer, redder palate the Dawn Court; above, in bright gold and yellow and blue, the Day Court. And above that, perched in a frozen mountainous spread of darkness and stars, the sprawling, massive territory of the Night Court. There were things in the shadows between those mountains- little eyes, gleaming teeth. A land of lethal beauty.

On 125, Feyre considers what she might want if she were immortal:

Did Tamlin or Lucien ever grow tired of day after day of eternal spring, or ever venture into the other territories, if only to experience a different season? I wouldn't have minded endless, mild spring while looking after my family- winter brought us dangerously close too death every year- but if I were immortal, I might want a little variation to pass the time. I'd probably want to do more than lurk about a manor house, too.

The first time Feyre really starts to relax around Tamlin and find joy in Prythian and her circumstances is at the pool made of starlight, which is such a long passage I'm just glossing over. Tamlin does comment she makes TWO jokes that day, and I'm choosing to draw a parallel between this moment and in ACOMAF when Feyre smiles for the first time after her ordeal under the mountain during Starfall. Feyre feels most at peace surrounded by starlight. [pg 159ish]

On 169, when Feyre thinks of her nightmares:

And though my dreams continued to be plagued by the deaths I'd witnessed, the deaths I'd caused, and the horrible, pale woman ripping me to shreds- all watched over by a shadow I could never quite glimpse-I slowly stopped being so afraid.

When Feyre can't stay away on Calanmai / mating bond language that SJM loves (pg. 183):

There was a string- a string tied to my gut that pulled me toward those hills, commanding me to go, to hear the faerie drums...

And then obviously this, on page 188:

Standing before me was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen

Like Feyre, Rhys is couched in Night imagery (pg. 189):

As if he'd been molded from the night itself I could have sworn tendrils of star-kissed night railed in his wake (190)

On 235, when Rhys goes to visit Tamlin, he alludes to the fact that he has his reasons for aligning with Amarantha, which are later explained in ACOMAF:

Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons

Also Feyre describing Rhys through the entirety of the scene in the Spring Court dining room is like...a brick to the face (starting page 234): 

Rhysand smiled- heartbreaking in its beauty.

His voice dropped to a whisper- an erotic caress of sound that brought heat to my cheeks

Rhysand laughed- a lovers laugh, low and soft and intimate

And from the way darkness seemed to ripple off him, from those violet eyes that burned like stars...

No- I would never dare to pain that dark, immortal grace-

Rhysand, when he realizes Feyre (who he is beginning to suspect might be his mate) is there (pg. 237):

A flicker of excitement- perhaps even disbelief- flashed across his features

Again, described in the same night imagery:

The sunlight didn't gleam on the metallic threads of his tunic, as if i balked from the darkness pulsing from him

on 310, when Amarantha demands Rhys explain the mix-up with humans, she thinks this when he lies:

Humans all look alike...I didn't believe him for a second. Rhysand knew exactly how I looked- he'd recognized me that day at the manor.

On 312, once again hating Rhys but thinking this about him:

She must have allowed him more power than the others, then, if he could still inflict such harm while leashed to her. Or else his power before she'd stolen it had been...extraordinary, for this to be considered the basest remains.

The obvious on 328:

"Yes, I'd say almost my entire court bet on you dying within the firs minute; some said you'd last five, and"- she urned over the paper- "and just one person said you would win."

Amarantha frowned at her list, and she waved a hand. "Take her away. I tire of her mundane face. " She clenched the arms of her throne hard enough that the whites of her knuckles showed. "Rhysand, come here."

The bargain of chapter 37, too numerous to detail (this is already so long)

The entire scene of Feyre in his bedroom, but especially this on page 342:

Indeed, it was still Rhysand's face, his powerful male body, but flaring out behind him were massive black, membraneous wings- like a bat's, like the Attor's. He tucked them in neatly behind him, but the single claw at the apex of each peeked over his broad shoulders. Horrific, stunning- the face of a thousand nightmares and dreams. That again-useless part of me stirred at the sight, the way the candlelight shone through the wings, illuminating the veins, the way it bounced off his talons.

344:

They grabbed for me, but he bared his teeth in a mile that was anything but friendly- and they halted. "No more household chores, no more tasks," he said, his voice an erotic caress. Their yellow eyes went glazed and dull, their sharp teeth gleaming as their mouths slackened. "Tell the others, too. Stay out of her cell. And don't touch her. If you do, you're to take your own daggers and gut yourselves. Understood?

When Rhys is trying to get a rise out of both Amarantha AND Tamlin on 349:

The Faerie Queen straightened a little bit- even Jurian's eye seemed fixated on me, on Rhysand. For the rest of my life- he said it as if it were going to be a long, long while. He thought I was going to beat her tasks.

Page 355, when they're talking (more mating bond foreshadowing):

Sadness flickered in those violet eyes. I wouldn't have noticed it had I had not...felt it-deep inside me.

His help in the second task, but especially this pep talk when she's breaking down over the thought of nearly dying on 366:

Don't let her see you cry. Put your hands a your sides and stand up. Stand. Don't give her the satisfaction of seeing you break. Good. Stare her down- no tears. wait until you're back in your cell. Count to ten. Don't look at Tamlin. Just stare at her. Good girl. Now walk away. Turn on your heel- good. Walk toward the door. Keep your chin high. Let the crowd part. One step after another.

369, this feels blatant:

It took me a long while too realize that Rhysand, whether he knew it or not, had effectively kept me from shattering completely.

Rhys visiting Feyre after that kiss and explaining why he's been making her dance, and what he hopes to accomplish on page 384:

Regardless of his motives or his methods, Rhysand was keeping me alive. And had done so even before I set foot Under the Mountain.

-and-

"When you healed my arm...You didn't need to bargain with me. You could have demanded every single week of the year." My brows knit together as he turned, already half-consumed by the dark. "Every single week, and I would have said yes. " It wasn't entirely a question, but I needed the answer.

A half smile appeared on his sensuous lips. "I know," he said, and vanished.

390:

Darkness rippled near the throne, and then Rhysand was here, arms crossed- as if he'd moved to better see. His face was a mask of disinterest, but my hand tingled. Do it, the tingling said.

394, Feyre once again drawing our attention to Rhysand during this horrible moment:

Rhysand's face had gone pale- so, so pale.

399, obvious foreshadowing:

Rhysand yelled my name again- yelled it as though he cared

400-401, more mating bond language:

Rhys's arms buckled as he fought to rise, and blood dripped from his nose, splattering on the marble. His eyes met mine. The bond between us went taut. I flashed between my body and his, seeing myself through his eyes, bleeding and broken and sobbing.

Chapter 45, when Feyre is dead but tethered to Rhys's soul, like COME ON.

412, more mating bond language as Feyre goes to Rhys:

I was pulled from sleep by something tugging at my middle, a thread deep inside.

414-415, two final scenes:

"You never told me you loved the wings- or the flying." No, he'd made his shape shifting seem...base, useless, boring.

He shrugged. Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me. I tell very few about the winds. Or the flying."

-and then-

His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock- pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled.

Sorry this was so long. It escaped me BUT Feysand was always right there from the beginning. They were always going to be together, from book 1. SJM is a fated mates writer, and I think it's a blatant misrepresentation of the book she wrote to say ACOMAF is a retcon, and Feysand was never going to happen. People are free to disagree with me, of course, and say I'm wrong (but I'm not).

[shadowsxgwynriel]

The Spring Court wasn’t a good fit for Feyre

The Night Court isn’t a good fit for Elain

Feyre and Nesta thrive in the Night Court

Nesta mentioned that the Spring Court was made for someone like Elain

What Feyre painted on their dressers:

Feyre’s: the night sky—whorls of yellow stars standing in for white—around mine 🌃 Elain’s: the violets and roses I’d painted around the knobs of Elain’s drawer 💐

Her two sisters having mates in the Night Court—where they both thrive

Elain having a mate who is tied to the Autumn Court, the Day Court, the Spring Court, and now the human lands, all the things Elain is associated with—nature, sunshine, and humanity

And to add: Lucien also has met and traveled with Papa Archeron (who Elain was close with) and lives in a manor that was given to the BoE by Graysen (who Elain loved) . . . Pretty interesting how Lucien has so many ties to Elain’s human life 😌🦊

I personally want to see Elain have a journey apart from her sisters. I would like to see her find her place in the world, and travel like she always dreamed of. I don’t want her to be a warrior or a spy or whatever, because that’s not who Elain is and that’s not who she wants to be.

What worked for Nesta and Feyre won’t work for Elain 🤷‍♀️

[offtorivendell]

Elain Archeron's ever-changing drawer design holds the secrets of her future; a theory

Please don't screenshot this post without credit.

Disclaimer: the following is based purely on my thoughts, and makes no claims of being canon. This is, of course, by no means a new topic of discussion - the sisters' drawers have been talked about at length - but it is, perhaps, a slightly different take on it. This post was inspired by the inimitable @wingedblooms; relevant posts will be linked in the text.

Make of this what you will - I debated including this first paragraph, because the intent of these drawers seemed pretty clear to me, even without it - but, apparently, in dreams, a drawer symbolises your reserves; something - an idea or emotion, perhaps - that you have stored away, or repressed, until such time that you either need, or feel ready to express, it. This reminds me of the Nephelle Prophecy, which had strong parallels with Elain’s own journey through ACOWAR, and may do again in the future (linked post by @lyaren).

In the following post, I will attempt to make sense of the Archeron sisters' painted drawers, and what they could possibly mean for each of them. This is by no means a new idea or topic, but I haven't seen quite this take on it before, or the explanation as to why, while Feyre and Nesta’s drawers remained unchanged, the flowers painted on Elain’s drawer appeared to vary over the course of the series.

The standard arguments appear to be that, in terms of Elain’s drawer, flowers = spring, light or Rosehall, and any or all of those could still be true - Elain is spring personified, full of light and life, and Azriel, who many assume will be her love interest, does indeed own Rosehall - but I suspect that the change in design could also be related to Elain’s changing fortunes as the books progress.

But firstly, let's discuss Feyre and Nesta...

While I agree with the prevailing theory, that each sister's dresser drawer seems to foreshadow who their endgame love interest will be - the night sky for Feyre, mated to the High Lord of the Night Court, and crackling flames for Nesta, mated to the general of the Illyrian legions, whose crimson siphons have been likened to fire (not to mention that Nesta was, early on in SJM's writing process, apparently going to be mates with Lucien Vanserra, a "lord of fire" from the Autumn Court) - I suspect that there could be a deeper meaning, and that the alignment of the drawers with their love interest is purely because they are well matched couples, rather than it being the primary intent of the design. Of course, this is just my own interpretation, and I could easily be wrong.

Feyre Archeron

Feyre isn't just mated to Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, she is the High Lady of Night herself, holding a drop of power from the Night Court's High family, among all the others.

The stars, moon, clouds, and endless dark sky could symbolise:

New beginnings.

Divinity/Heaven.

Purity/emotional purity.

Good luck.

Ambition.

Immortality and eternity.

Enlightenment.

Cycles of time, rhythm, phases.

Clear thinking.

Peace.

All of the above themes factor strongly into Feyre’s personal journey throughout the series to date.

Feyre was the starlight in a very dark time for Prythian, saving them from ruin at the hands of Amarantha and the King of Hybern, in ACOTAR and ACOWAR respectively. Not only that, but she became the embodiment of "stars eternal" to Rhys' "night triumphant" when she was turned into an immortal high fae - a being with eternal life - with power from the Day Court, that allowed her to glow like the sun - a star.

In Feyre's own words, she is "quiet and enduring and as faceted as the night," and she wasn't just looking for Rhys, but Mor and Amren, and Cassian and Azriel, too.

Nesta Archeron

Similarly to Feyre, I think Nesta's drawer symbolised, or predicted, her own journey, rather than simply her love interest.

Flames can symbolise:

Passion.

Desire.

Rebirth.

Resurrection.

Eternity.

Destruction.

Hope.

Hell.

Purification.  

Again, like Feyre, all of the above tie in strongly to Nesta’s journey so far.

Aside from the flames matching Nesta’s scent, she was all fiery temper - "always angry, always burning" - and she needed an outlet for the heat of her feelings, as well as for the silver flames of death that she stole from the Cauldron at the end of ACOMAF. This eventually came in the form of her Valkyrie training, where she not only had physical activity to allow her to blow off some steam, but she learnt fighting techniques to help her truly protect her people with actions, as well as words; she even overcame her fear of flames to forge her own - unintentionally - Made weapons. In short, she learnt to channel her fire.

In a show of love for the sister who gave everything during their years in poverty, she gave back the magic she took from the Cauldron - to save not only Feyre’s life, but Nyx's, too - but we don't know what magic she has left, just that she has something. Perhaps it is a different sort of fire? One that she will feel more comfortable wielding? I can't wait to find out.

Elain Archeron

In ACOTAR, we learnt fairly early on that Feyre had painted each of the three drawers of the dresser that she shared with her sisters to match each sister. Feyre and Nesta’s drawers were pretty straightforward, as I mentioned above, and they retained their original designs throughout the books. Elain's drawer, however, has changed in a way that appears to depict her changing fortunes.

It is no secret that there is a hidden language behind flowers and plants, and I believe - I'm sure this idea isn't original, but I'm yet to see a post about it - that the flowers described on Elain’s drawer not only denote her love of gardening, but they also give a hint as to who she is at the time, and what may yet come to pass.

ACOTAR - Roses & Violets

Roses are a well-known symbol of:

Love and romance - the specific message depending on the colour and number in the arrangement. The goddesses Aphrodite and Venus, who were in turn associated with love, beauty, pleasure, and passion (Aphrodite and Venus), in addition to and procreation, gardening and agriculture (Venus). It is interesting to note that Cupid gave a rose to Harpocrates, a god of silence, to ensure he wouldn't reveal Venus' secrets, which leads us on to...

Secrecy - sub rosa ("under the rose") denotes confidentiality and secrecy; essentially, whatever happened sub rosa, stayed sub rosa.

For a truly fantastic, in-depth look at roses, their symbolism, and how they could relate to Elain, please look no further than this brilliant post - A Lovely, Secret Seer - written by @wingedblooms.

Violets are said to symbolise:

Modesty - thanks to Artemis transforming one of her nymphs into a violet, to keep her away from Apollo. A similar association exists in Christianity, with violets being associated with the Virgin Mary.

Loyalty.

Purity.

Wisdom.

Violets are also one of the earliest flowers to bloom in spring, and attract a variety of pollinators.

I interpret Elain’s drawer in ACOTAR as both setting the scene for her overall journey, and giving us a report on her current state of being.

This flower combination likely symbolises (and again, a reminder that this is my own personal interpretation):

Elain’s love for her family, which was confirmed when Elain told Feyre that she'd rather be back in their ramshackle cottage, because at least they were together.

Elain’s personality traits being, among others, loyalty, wisdom, and modesty. She is also still a virgin, at this point, which would link her with purity, a commodity that was valued in their society.

Elain’s association with themes such as spring, life and rebirth, and gardening, and silence, secrecy and espionage.

ACOMAF - Roses, Begonias & Irises

Roses: see above.

Begonias symbolise:

A bad omen, or a warning of future misfortune.

Caution or vigilance - telling someone to take care and be wary.

New situations.

Harmony - good communication, diplomacy, kindness.

Gratitude.

Love.

Justice or peace - given to end a feud or disagreement.

Individuality.

Irises are a symbol of:

Hope.

Trust.

Valor.

Wisdom.

Iris was one of the wives of Zephyros of the West Wind; she represented the link between Heaven and Earth. Irises were apparently planted over women’s graves, to summon the goddess Iris to guide them to the afterlife.

The flower combination that Feyre gave in ACOMAF seems to be suggesting that change is in the air:

Love is still important, both the love that Elain has for Feyre (she was both relieved and happy to see her missing sister alive) and the rest of her family, and the love that Elain had for Graysen at the time.

Secrecy and espionage are also still relevant to Elain, given her role with hosting a joint meeting between faeries who should not be below the wall, and the human queens from the continent.

A warning of future misfortune, something will happen that will upend their lives, and Elain should be vigilant. This is pretty self explanatory, given she (and Nesta, begrudgingly) became involved with the Night Court's efforts against Hybern, and their eventual kidnapping and transformation into High Fae.

Elain acted to convince Nesta to let Feyre, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel into the house, and to work with them for the good of Prythian. This involved using her diplomacy skills and kindness to achieve harmony, not to mention putting aside her ingrained - and justified - fear of the faeries.

Elain showed gratitude for Feyre, not only by actively choosing to help with the human queens, but by apologising to her for her past inaction, unprompted, in front of everyone.

Hope is something with which Elain chooses to both act and see the world, and I suspect that mentions in the text, of "hope" as a tangible thing, could potentially be associated with Elain.

Elain learnt to trust Feyre’s new family, taking her cues from Azriel in their first meeting; if he was relaxed, then so was she. Feyre, Rhys and co. learnt to trust Elain in this process, too.

Besides the courage that Elain showed in choosing to ally herself with the Night Court as a human, knowing that she could potentially - and ultimately did - lose everything, she also called a warning to Feyre when she was captive in Hybern.

As Mor said in ACOWAR, Elain is wise.

Elain's potential association with the goddess Iris deserves a whole post on its own - one I do intend to write at some point - but, to sum up, I believe that Elain could be an amalgamation of the three wives/consorts of Zephyros* the West Wind, who is represented by Azriel (please note I'm not saying that they will be gods, just that the themes and imagery of these particular gods could be used for them and their story). Firstly, Elain is a Seer, who could be considered as receiving her visions from the gods, thereby fulfilling her role as a divine messenger. Secondly, Iris' association with rainbows also makes me wonder what future association Elain could have with The Rainbow in Velaris, and thirdly, in ACOSF Nesta placed the carved wooden rose - a metaphor for Elain - onto their father's grave. One of Zephyros' other two wives, Chloris, is a nymph who was associated with spring, flowers and new growth, and became the Roman goddess of flowers and spring, Flora, whose festival "Floriala" has associations with the real-world Calan Mai.

The removal of the violet from Elain's drawer could symbolise her choice to sleep with Graysen before their intended marriage, hence the purity and modesty aspects are gone, yet she retained the wisdom, loyalty (trust) and spring/flower/rebirth associations with the addition of irises, and Iris' link with Chloris.

* Zephyros, incidentally, is also known as the spring/fructifying wind. This would fit nicely with Azriel's link to Rosehall, the rose necklace he chose for Elain, and his habit of seeking out the sun.

ACOWAR

There were no mentions of, or alterations to, Elain’s drawer in ACOWAR. This makes sense, because her journey was set after ACOMAF, at least until the novella and sequel trilogy.

ACOFAS

As above, there were no new mentions of the dresser drawers in ACOFAS, however, there was Feyre’s birthday cake.

Feyre’s birthday cake in ACOFAS - made by Elain, with help from Nuala and Cerridwen - while not the actual drawers, acted as a stand in, to call them back to mind. However, all we heard from Feyre was that there were "flowers" on Elain’s tier, with no other specifics.

Given Nesta’s story followed ACOFAS, not Elain’s, it is once again unsurprising that we didn't get any new information about her. However, I do think that the cake layers could be a hint as to the order in which the sisters will have their stories told.

Feyre - the base layer, the first three and a half books laying the "foundation" for the spin-off series.

Nesta - who just had her story told in the fourth book, ACOSF.

Elain - who is very likely next in line, to get the fifth book.

Vassa - the candles (flames) on top as a bonus layer, will potentially (hopefully) feature in the sixth book.

ACOSF

After one book and a novella of no changes to Elain’s role in the story drawer, it finally made another appearance in the most recent ACOTAR book. Given Elain’s book will likely follow ACOSF, this, again, makes sense; we expect to see change and growth in her own book.

Cassian notes that the painting on Elain’s drawer depicts "twining vines of flowers." Obviously we can't get too frustrated with Cassian for not giving us the exact species, even though that would have given us more precise information to work with, however, we do know that the flowers - whatever they may be - are on twining vines.

Twining vines are said to represent:

Healing after trauma - endurance, survival, strength, tenacity.

Flowering vine - a metaphor for showing what was hidden all along.

Fruit-bearing vine - bounty and harvest; specifically, grapes mean hard work, fruits of labor, vision and determination.

The mysteries of nature.

Vines bond strongly with the object that anchors/stabilise them.

Progress.

Partnership, promise, friendship.

Vines were a sacred symbol in the Christian religion.

Vines were a symbol of life for the ancient Sumerians.

There are also quite a few references to objects "twining" throughout the ACOTAR series, some of which could potentially be associated with Elain Archeron (post by @wingedblooms); mating bonds involve twining souls, Elain sees reality and dream twining together in her visions, and the twining beasts of the Court of Nightmares, carved throughout the Hewn City.

It appears that the "twining vines of flowers on the second drawer" could therefore symbolise Elain’s future journey (likely to be told in ACOTAR 5):

Elain has the second drawer - does this mean she'll get the second book of the sequel trilogy?

The fact that Elain, like both of her sisters, has experienced great and prolonged trauma throughout her life, and she has the strength and tenacity to heal from it. In fact, she has been making steady progress behind the scenes, though I suspect she still has a way to go.

If flowering vines are a metaphor for showing what was hidden, then this could be a reference to the "fanged beast and trembling fawn" line from the Book of Breathings, or just that Elain, who has been stifled for much of her life, acting as a people pleaser and mediator in her family, will finally show who she really is underneath. I suspect that she will remain true to her kindness, generosity and loyalty, but she will stop being passive in order to keep her sisters comfortable. I'd just like to clarify that none of this is meant to reflect poorly on either Feyre or Nesta, as their parents are responsible for the strange dynamic that existed between all of them.

Elain will have strong ties to nature; this particular theme of symbolism - rebirth, spring, flowers - has continued throughout all the different iterations of her drawer.

Elain will experience friendship - she is already friends with Azriel, as well as Nuala and Cerridwen (Nesta informed us of this in ACOSF).

I suspect that "partnership" will refer to Azriel, not just in that they will likely become romantic partners, but also a partnership of equals, due to their innate similarities. "Partnership" could also hint that they will work together to gather information on their enemies, and find the fourth Dread Trove item.

A promise - possibly a bargain - will exist between Elain and her love interest, but I believe this could also mean that she chooses to live with hope, for the promise of the future, as Feyre mentioned in ACOTAR.

The fact that vines hold a place in sacred religious imagery appears to hold with Elain being referred to as "immaculate," and other moments, such as her name being "God has answered me," and her potential association with the Mother and Cauldron.

Elain - potentially, of course - choosing to entwine her soul with another. I struggle to see how Elain and Lucien as a couple could be told convincingly, at this point (though, of course, opinions on this vary, and if SJM goes this route I'm sure I'll still enjoy it), so my assumption is that they will untwine whatever thread(s) are joining them (post by @nikethestatue), and, Elain would then choose to weave her soul together with Azriel, or someone else. I have my own wishes on how I'd prefer to see this play out, if it is the direction in which SJM goes with Elain’s journey, because I personally don't want to see another bond snap for her, without her active consent, or participation in its creation. Furthermore, Elain’s choice is only half of the equation; Azriel being actively chosen by Elain, in the face of her bond to another, would (likely) be so incredibly meaningful to him, as it would demonstrate the depth of the love that Elain held for him.

Elain's visions will almost certainly factor into her journey.

The twining beasts of the Court of Nightmares could indicate the Dusk Court - a current fan theory that I would personally love to see pan out - will play a role in Elain’s story, either in her book, or at some point in a future book. Dusk is an in-between time, when light and dark are woven together, as the day blends into night, and this is imagery that many associate with Elain and Azriel, including Feyre herself.

ACOTAR 5 - Elain's Book?

There are many, many posts out there - one, two, and three are just a few - that give complete and thorough analyses as to why Elain’s book, shared with her love interest (most likely Azriel) will be next in the sequel trilogy, so I won't rehash the points, but I will finish off with a couple of passages from Feyre and Nesta’s stories that I think send pretty strong hints.

Firstly, when Feyre was removing the arrows from Rhys' wings in ACOMAF, right after she'd described Elain and Nesta’s drawers to him, she gave us the following...

Not only did Feyre "smile at the thought" of Elain and Azriel together, at how handsome they'd be, she was thinking all of this as "finished the fourth arrow and started on the fifth." I believe, in this instance, that we should substitute "book" for "arrow," and SJM was telling us that Elain’s book, with Azriel as her love interest, would be the fifth in the ACOTAR series.

Now, on to Nesta, who felt compelled to set the wooden rose that Papa Archeron had carved for Elain next to a figurine of a goddess - more religious imagery - that she thought could have been the Mother, while it was "half hidden in shadow."

Not only did this bring Azriel to mind, by associating his shadows with Elain’s rose, but it reminded us that shadows could hide objects within them; this fits with the piece of age worn bone that Nesta saw, veiled in shadows on an altar, that will likely need to be found in the next book. SJM Nesta was setting up the premise of at least one of Elain and Azriel’s journeys, as they will likely need Elain, the final Made faerie, and Azriel, the shadowsinger, to work together to find the fourth Dread Trove item.

Finally, to complete the metaphor, and really drill home that Elain’s book is likely next, Nesta didn’t "let herself dwell on why she'd felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn't just thrown it in a drawer." Elain, who had previously been "thrown" at Lucien - his words - was represented by the rose, which left on top of the mantel, rather than being "thrown" in a drawer. This, to me, indicated that Elain will take up the "mantle" of the storyteller in the next book, and that she will "set" her own course.

Thinking back to what drawers themselves can symbolise, Elain's changeable drawer design appears to be both a metaphor for herself - she changed to be what her family needed of her, acting as mediator and likely suppressing who she really is inside - as well as a rather poetic way of painting the picture that Elain, who tried to help in the past only to be shut down time and again, will finally decide that it is time to grow into herself, and show her family that she is truly capable. What will her journey involve? We'll have to draw our own conclusions for now, but I am personally looking forward to seeing where her story goes.

[illyrianbeauty]

Going Home: Part 3

Feyre and Rhys stood together on the small balcony just after Under the Mountain.  What if the mating bond had snapped into place for Feyre as well?

Writing Masterlist

Fic Masterlist

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for all of the amazing support and feedback! I was truly blown away by the response to the first two parts!  Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism! Enjoy! ~Rachel

A huge thank you to @nomattertheoceans for beta reading this for me! 

***

Feyre

“Nooo!” the High Fae youth sobbed, his eyes were wide and filled with terror as they held my gaze.  I took a single step forward, my heart constricted painfully.

“I’m growing impatient, Feyre,” Amarantha tutted, her fingernails tapping impatiently along the side of her throne.  I bristled at the sound, at what she was demanding of me. I risked a glance in Tamlin’s direction, immediately regretting the decision.  Even now, after all that I had done, all that I was about to do, he refused to send even the smallest of smiles in my direction. The torn, shredded pieces of my heart crumbled as I turned back around, facing the quivering form of the High Fae before me.          

“Please,” he pleaded, struggling in vain against the binds that held him down.  I broke, fracturing bit by bit, with each step that closed the distance between us.  

“I’m sorry,” I wailed, the hand in which I clutched the ashwood dagger trembled violently.  He cowered from me, from the promise of death I held. Tears streamed down my face as I took ahold of his shoulder and thrust the dagger into his chest.  His eyes widened in surprise, a strangled gasp escaped his lips. I watched silently, unable to move, as he slumped to the ground, the light in his eyes dimming until it was wholly extinguished.  

Blood.  There was so much blood.  I coated my hands, pooled on the ground at my feet.    

The dagger clattered to the ground, the sound reverberating through my bones, down my spine.  

“Good,” Amarantha purred from her throne.  “Again.”

A sob ripped through my chest as I reached for the second dagger.  My hands, still wet and sticky with blood, shook uncontrollably as my fingers wrapped around its hilt.        

Another dagger.  Another innocent High Fae.  This time female. I knew her, the words she’d say, the prayer she’d recite.  For Tamlin, I would do this. For him, I would damn the tattered remnants of my soul straight to hell.  To free his Court, to free all of Prythian, I would do this.

I turned and faced the kneeling female.  Her expression was fierce, her dark eyes flashed with a deep resolve as they met mine.  I knew I would never dare paint her, paint this moment. I would never be able to capture the fire that burned in her eyes, the way she held her head high as she met her death.  Her death at my hands.

I gripped her slender shoulder, and plunged the dagger into her awaiting heart.    

Murderer.  Butcher. Monster.  Liar. Deceiver.

“Excellent, my dear,” Amarantha said, gigging delightedly at the sight before her.  This was just some sick, perverse sort of entertainment for the fae, and I was nothing more than the unwilling star in her show.      

One last dagger.  One last High Fae kneeling before me.

Murderer.  Butcher. Monster.  Liar. Deceiver.

One last innocent soul for me to slaughter.  And then this nightmare would finally be over.  One more death, and then I could finally turn the blade on myself… and end it all.  I could feel myself falling apart, shattering into a million pieces. Tamlin. For Tamlin, I must do this.  I took in a shuddering breath, and stepped in front of the awaiting figure. The cold hilt of the dagger bit into my hand, still warm with the blood of the High Fae female.  

Another male.  His broad shoulders were relaxed, without fear.  I knew who was waiting beneath that hood. I knew what to expect- I had relieved this moment in my dreams often enough.  I watched silently as the hood was ripped from his head. The fae surrounding me gasped, their confusion a tangible thing.  I felt the world spinning, reality slipping away from me as I sank to the ground. It was not emerald green eyes that met mine.  No, it was not Tamlin’s eyes that held my gaze, but rather, violet eyes kissed with starlight. Rhys’s eyes. Rhys. Mate. My mate.

***  

My eyes flew open, the last remnants of a scream falling from my lips.  I bolted upright in bed, my body still quaking in terror, aftershocks of the nightmare that had plagued me ever since my return to the Spring Court.  The frilly pink nightgown I had slipped on after Tamlin and I had made love earlier that evening clung to my sweat slicked skin. My gaze flashed across the room, convinced that Amarantha or one of her henchmen would be lurking in the shadows, ready to drag me back to Under the Mountain.    

I took in a shuddering breath, attempting to ease the ache that had been growing in my chest.   A dream .  It was just a dream , I assured myself, trying to reel myself back in.  I tucked a damp strand of hair behind an ear, my fingers grazing the delicate edge of its newly pointed tip which marked me as High Fae.  I ran my hands along the sheets, wiping off the sweat which clung to them, so similar to how the blood of the High Fae I had slaughtered had covered my hands, my body.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, fighting down the bile that threatened to rise, though I knew it would do little good.  I bolted out of the bed, fumbling in the dark as I staggered towards the bathing room. I dropped to the ground, my knees jarring with the force of the impact.  I knelt before the toilet on the cold, hard ground and emptied the contents of my stomach. This was the price that the Cauldron demanded I pay. There was no way to undo what I had done, no way to atone for the murders I had committed.    

I spent my days pretending that I was fine, happy even, that I hadn't been utterly broken by what Amarantha had done to me, done to us.  Night after night, I relived the worst of what I had endured Under the Mountain. Night after night, I was chased from my dreams by piercing, violet eyes.  Night after night, I heaved up the contents of my dinner. And night after night, I suffered alone. Whether or not Tamlin was aware of the nightmares that plagued me, I didn’t know. I didn’t blame him though.  Not really. He had his own demons to battle. When nightmares tore him from sleep, Tamlin was an explosion of fangs and fur. He would stand guard for the remainder of the night, pacing back and forth in front of the door and windows.  The first few times this had happened, I had tried to comfort him, to be there for him. I had tried to pull him from the darkness that haunted us both. But every time I did, his eyes glinted dangerously, and he resumed guarding the door with a renewed vigor.  

When I was sure the heaving had finally subsided, I flushed the toilet with a trembling hand.  Leaning my head back against the tub, I squeezed my eyes shut. I got out. I’m free.  It was just a dream , I murmured, trying to gain some semblance of control over my tumultuous emotions.  The porcelain was cool against my hot, clammy skin. Breathe.  Just breathe .  A cry of surprise escaped my lips as pain tore through my palms.  My eyes narrowed as I opened my hands, unclenched the fists I hadn’t even known had formed.  Small, crescent shaped indentations ran along the length of both palms where my nails had dug deeply into my flesh.  

My breath hitched.  I could have sworn... no.  It must have been a shadow, my eyes playing tricks on me.  Magical or no, tattoos didn’t blink. I gazed warily at the catlike eye tattooed inked upon the palm of my hand.  It seemed to be assessing me, considering me, and coming up short. My lips pulled back in a snarl, and I looked away in disgust.  He had yet to call in the bargain I had so foolishly made, desperate to heal the wound that the Middengard wyrm had inflicted.

A cool breeze coming in from an open window caressed my cheek.  Why hadn’t he called in the bargain?   I gazed out of the window, into the endless night sky.  While Tam tried not to show it, at least not in front of me, I knew that it made him uneasy, the uncertainty of it all… not knowing Rhysand’s game.  Tam and Lucien were searching for ways to break the bargain, but hadn’t had any success. But in the months since Under the Mountain, we had yet to hear anything from the High Lord of the Night Court.  Was it because he was my...

Not my anything!

I stood clumsily, still not wholly used to my new, elongated limbs.  I walked to the window, the cool night air a balm on my otherwise jagged nerves.  I rested my forearms along the window sill, content to stare out into the inky depths of the night.

He hadn’t wanted it any more than I had, that much was obvious. He hadn’t wanted this... bond between us.  He hadn’t wanted me. For Cauldron’s sake, he would have winnowed away from me, had I not stopped him. No wonder he hadn’t called in the bargain.  To him, I was a tool to be wielded against Tamlin, to piss him off. Nothing more, nothing less. Whatever his reasons, I was grateful he hadn’t called in the bargain, forced me to go to the Night Court against my will.  

I slammed the window shut, the glass reverberated dangerously.  Casting aside thoughts of a dresser drawer painted long ago, I walked back into my bedroom.  I climbed back into the bed next to Tamlin, who was sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of the soul crushing guilt that was slowly consuming me day by day.

***

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[thatbitchydonutcollector]

The Rose of Regret and the Sting of Desire

Part 3

Nessian Mini Series- Mainly Angst/Eventual Smut

Note: Thanks so much for beta-ing @darlingfireheart (😘). This is quite the filler chapter some may say. But I truly, truly love the duo (haha no spoilers) that I explore in this part. Much is planned, and you must be patient for the slow burn. There will be much more Nessian confrontation in the next part (which is already in the works). Without further ado, enjoy! 🌿

Word Count: 1,343

After more than a day of scouring the House of Wind, Nesta finally shrugged on her cloak and decided to brave the stairs leading down to the base of Velaris.

It was nothing like the human realm.

Where she grew up, full of dull colors and starving lands, people had one hand on their weapon and their head turned in paranoia. The human realm was merciless. The human realm let her and her sisters starve while not even batting an eye. But here...

...there children running in the streets. There were townsfolk walking with smiles on their faces and plentiful baskets of food on their hips. There were people laughing. Playing. Grinning.

These people were happy.

And now Nesta understood what lengths her sister would go to to protect this place of shimmering stars and joyous people.

Her feet carried her slowly, taking her time in searching the grounds before her. A female, twirling with a basket of roses on her arm, gave Nesta a smile as she passed. She stopped on her feet, searching Nesta’s face and frowning accordingly. She handed out a pale white rose to her.

“I have no money for this,” Nesta said dully.

The girl beamed and just searched her face. She saw the uneasiness in Nesta’s expression. She saw the longing.

“There is no cost.” The girl chimed simply. “I hope your day brightens.”

Was her facade that translucent? Nesta asked herself as her nose inhaled the sweet perfume of the blooming bud.

Nesta kept walking until she reached the Sidra. She heard the steady thrum of its current, and the sloshing cacophony of where it thrashed against the bank.

Her head bowed, Nesta sped up her pace. And she knew exactly why her feet wanted to walk faster. She knew exactly why the sound of choking waves almost made her sick to her stomach.

The feeling of water filling her lungs engulfed her. She remembered the way it burned like wildfire inside her and the way she gasped for air on the tiles of Hybern as she expelled it from her system, scorching like razor blades leaving her body.

The first thing she smelled in her new body was her-- Cassian’s blood seeping across the tiles towards her.

Nesta put a hand to her stomach, suddenly overwhelmingly nauseous.

She groaned as she caught her breath.

The raging storm inside her was screaming. She was better than this. So Nesta Archeron stood up tall and continued her search through the streets of Velaris with a white rose in her hand.

The sun was setting by the time she made it to her destination.

Rhysand’s townhouse.

She climbed the few steps and knocked heavily at the door before her. Something inside her churned, slightly hoping that he wasn’t home. Hoping he was off doing High Lord-ly things without his mate by his side. Waiting a few moments, Nesta sighed and turned on her heel eager to leave.

Nesta Archeron had so many questions, and the only prick she knew who would have the answers was Rhysand. But despite herself, she was scared of what he would tell her… of what it would mean.

Just as Nesta cleared the steps back towards the direction she came, she heard rustling inside the house and the door cracked open.

He looked awful.

She remembered what he looked like when he was meeting with the Queens back home. Regal. Kingly even. His head high, his back straight, and his mate by his side. Rhysand was nothing of what she remembered. There was stubble on his cheek, his hair was an untamed mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes as he looked at her.

She saw him try to stand taller, but she was not a fool. With Feyre spying in Spring… Rhysand was in shambles.

He said her name with a hoarse breath, then promptly cleared his throat.

“May I come in?” she sighed.

With a glare at her, Rhysand opened the door for her to follow him in. “What brings you to my humble abode, Nesta?” he goaded.

“I need to ask you something.” Nesta glanced around his townhouse. There were maps spread haphazardly over the large kitchen table, there was a notebook open with maddened scrawl and pencils exploding across the room and onto the floor.

“Oh?”

She suddenly felt the urge to leave. Feyre was out there, in the clutches of their enemies and she was going to ask about unimportant, much less dire things. She chuckled to herself and Rhysand raised his brow.

“May I ask what’s so comical?” his face was unamused.

“Nothing, I--” she paused. “Nothing.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“Why are you here?”

“To ask--”

Rhys cut her off with a snarl in his voice. “Then ask it.” He still hated her. That much was apparent. For failing Feyre. For letting her youngest sister starve. She hated herself so she supposed it was valid that Feyre’s mate hated her as well.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. “How did you know… that Feyre was your mate?”

His eyes widened. “You came all the way from the House of Wind to learn about Feyre and I?”

Nesta tensed. She felt stupid, silly to come this far to ask the male that hated her guts in such a time. Gods, she was so rutting stupid. Nesta started towards the door. “You know what, nevermind. I’ll just--”

“No, wait.”

She paused.

“I suspected for a long, long time.” Rhysand said grimly. “I had dreams of her even when she was still living in the mortal land. When she crossed over into Prythian it was like a veil being lifted.”

Nesta’s hands were shaking and she gripped the rose tighter. Maybe in rage or in fear, she couldn’t tell. “Yes, all that with the dresser drawer and the dreams but how did you know?”

“Why are you asking this, Nesta?” He knew damn well why she was asking. She just stared at him.

With that rutting smirk on his face, he continued. “When she was revived by the High Lords, after all the chaos died down and I was alone with her… when I smelled her and saw her in that body, I knew. It was like… her being high fae heightened the bond between us. I had suspected for a long while, but that was the moment I knew. It’s like a tether. A string tied between mates that connects them.”

“When did Feyre realize?”

Rhysand’s eyes darkened. “I kept it from her. For months when she was in the Night Court with me. The Suriel told her in the end but she came close to realizing it on Starfall.”

Nesta nodded, turning away from him. She was calculating precisely, taking in everything between her and Cassian. “And when one of you is hurt or in distress?”

“I’d do anything for her. To comfort her. To make her feel better. I’d slaughter my way to get to her, the only thing stopping me is her decision in the matter.” Rhysand studied her face. “But you already know how this works, don’t you?”

She turned back to him, his face had no smirk, no arrogance or hatred. “What do you mean?” Nesta said, but they both knew it was a lie. They both knew exactly why she came here.

“You just needed validation.” Rhysand said plainly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nesta gave Rhysand one last look and then opened the door back to the streets of Velaris.

She was down the steps before she heard his voice again. “Nesta,” She turned with heavy eyes to look at her sister’s mate. “He’s been through a lot, and so have you. He’s a good male.”

Nesta met his gaze as he leaned on the doorframe of his home. Pained and broken. “I know.”

Nesta trekked all the way to the Sidra and watched as the white rose fell from her grip and was swallowed by the current of the maddening river.

Previous : Masterlist : Next

Tagging: @my-fan-side @fck-tamlin @darlingfireheart @beetwixxt

[separatist-apologist]

Turn Your Ghosts Into Mine

Summary: The Archeron women have been considered witches in their little Massachusetts town of Velaris for centuries and Nesta, Elain, and Feyre are no exceptions. After witnessing a love spell gone horribly wrong, the three young girls create a spell for their perfect man, vowing they will not love until they meet this man.

That, of course, all goes out the window when adult Feyre meets Tamlin Angelov. When Arizona detectives Lucien Vanserra, Rhysand Windhaven, and Cassian Sidra arrive on their doorsteps looking for the missing man, all three Archeron women will be forced to reconcile who they are and their place in Velaris.

Practical Magic AU

Happy Halloween Surprise! @highladydawn and I have been working on this all month! Super excited to be able to post chapter 1! They'll post chapter 2, and so on and so forth until chapter 9!

--

For more than two hundred years, the Archeron women had been blamed for everything that had gone wrong in town. If a dry summer arrived, destroying what little crops were grown in Velaris, Massachusetts, if a baby became sick and died with colic, or kitchen fire erupted, taking an entire house with it, everyone believed a little magic had been worked, at least in part, by the women living on Magnolia street. It didn’t matter if the problem was dry heat or a candle left burning while the home occupants slept or a contaminated well. It didn’t matter if a reasonable explanation could explain the reasons behind unlucky and ill-timed events. The moment the air shifted and the wind blew in trouble, the people of Velaris immediately turned their eyes and their pointing fingers towards the Archeron women.

They’d convinced themselves there was no safety for them, regardless of how far they were from any of Archerons. The women were shunned in public, their children teased, their house avoided. Only the most foolish of residents would dare look an Acheron in the eye, let alone walk through the black wrought-iron gate that circled the house and knock on the heavy, green painted door.

Inside the house there were no clocks or mirrors and every door had exactly three locks. Mice lived under the floorboards and in the walls, in the dresser drawers and cabinets where they feasted on any linens they could find indiscriminately, eating both well-worn cotton and the lace embroidered tablecloths.

It was rumored, though no one had ever been brave enough to ask, let alone brave inside to count, that the window seats, the mantels, and the floors themselves were made of fifteen different types of wood. Golden oak, silver ash, and a fragrant type of cherrywood gave the house the peculiar but not altogether unpleasant scent of ripe fruit, even in the dead of winter. More magic, the townspeople would whisper, as the combination kept dust from collecting no matter how much might gather in other places.

The house was dark and the children, when they dared, often crept through the lawn to peer into the house through windows half hidden by wild ivy. No one could ever see inside, not even when light glimmered towards the streets. It was the same on the inside; green-tinted windows made the outside world seem like a dream, hazy and clouded with magic.

Three little girls lived in the attic, sisters and each thirteen months apart exactly. Living with their aunts, they were never made to go to bed before midnight and no one cared if they ran wild in wrinkled or stained clothes, if they screamed early in the morning or late into the night. They were allowed to sleep with their shoes on and draw on the walls of their bedrooms with crayons and markers and no one told them if they demanded chocolate cake for breakfast. They could climb the roof and sit perched like little gargoyles on the dark grey peaks as they waited for the stars to appear, arguing loudly if wishes came true.

The sisters were raised by their aunts, orphans after their untimely death of their parents. Rumors swirled on how their parents died, the topic of gossip from the moment all three girls arrived in black dresses, dumped on their aunts doorstep. Fire, flood, homicide and suicide were all casually discussed in bars and restaurants, on the street and in the schools. No one knew for sure and as time passed, the stories grew only more outrageous in nature and strayed further from the truth.

The girls, though, knew it was the Archeron curse that took their father and heartbreak that took their mother. The Archeron curse was written in their bones, passed down from mother to daughter from as long as Archeron’s lived in Velaris. A relative, named Mary, had been exiled from her town to what would become Velaris, pregnant and accused of witchcraft. It was at the exact spot the old Archeron mansion still stood she waited for her lover to come to her and when he didn’t, she cast a spell that kept her from ever falling in love again. Twisted with despair and anger, the spell became a curse, passed down until it found their parents and, if they weren’t careful, might find them as well.

The girls were close, bonded by more than just their tragedy. They shared a room though there were plenty for them to choose from and when thunder rumbled softly outside, or rain began to pelt against thin glass windows, the three would huddle together in the same bed, holding each other as they shared the exact same dreams. The girls could finish the other’s sentences and loved to play a game where they closed their eyes and guessed what the other thought, what they felt or, if they were feeling particularly mischievous, what they’d eaten the day before.

Despite their closeness, however, the three were entirely different in temperament and appearance. The oldest and the youngest, Feyre and Nesta, shared the beautiful Archeron gray eyes and blonde streaked brown hair while middle Elain, considered the most beautiful of three, could have passed as a child born outside of the Archerons entirely with hair that skewed closer to blonde and eyes the color of a fawns coat.

Imperious Nesta and wild Feyre were most often at odds, too opposite in all the worst ways. Nesta preferred everything done precisely her way while Feyre was content to move through life like a hurricane, blazing a path of mess and destruction she wasn’t terribly inclined to pick up after. Nesta would tilt her chin upwards and ignore the hateful comments and the cruel teasing while Feyre preferred to defend her honor and her family with her fists and elbows. Nesta was most often found curled against a window like a cat, her nose shoved in a book while Feyre hung from trees and jumped into the ocean with wild abandon.

Between the two was Elain, always somewhere in the middle. She picked up her sister’s messes and mediated their fights, content to hide in their shadows. Elain preferred the sunlight and things that bloomed. By the time she was in third grade, Elain had begun cooking healthy meals for the family and began packing her sisters lunch boxes. Nesta ate the whole wheat bread sandwiches and vegetables out of a sense of duty to her sister while Feyre immediately dumped the lunches into the trash, favoring brownies and sloppy joes found in the school cafeteria.

Despite their differences, they kept each other’s secrets, pinky promises, and crossed their hearts and hoped to die. They might have grown bitter and distant as they aged, but the school children refused to play with the sisters and avoided them best they could, crossing their fingers when the girls approached as if that might keep them away. The Archeron sisters were forced, then, to lean on each other. The other girls were especially cruel, refusing to play sports with the girls despite Feyre being the fastest runner in school. They shrieked when any of the girls came too close or came into the bathroom, and the sisters were never invited to parties.

“Fuck them all,” Feyre often said fiercely when the boys made noises and pulled faces at them. When she was feeling particularly feisty, Feyre would sometimes turn and scream BOO at them, causing at least one boy to wet himself much to his humiliation. Nesta would smirk, looking down her nose in that way that communicated she knew she was better than Velaris and the small minded people who resided within, but Elain never had the heart to fight back at all. She pretended not to be smart, she didn’t raise her hand and made herself small, hoping to be ignored altogether.

The children could giggle and gossip and ignore the girls entirely, but the truth of the matter was most of their mothers had been to the Acheron’s at least once in their lives. Red pepper tea for a troubled stomach or butterfly weed for nerves was occasionally the reason for the visit, but every adult woman in Velaris knew the Archeron aunts, Alis and Ripleigh’s real business was love potions. The aunts, like their nieces, were just as shunned from town social life but the moment a woman had a spat with a lover or found herself pregnant by someone that wasn’t her husband or discovered her boyfriend was unfaithful they’d be banging on the rickety backdoor of the Archeron house the moment the sun set.

The Archeron aunts could sense a woman’s desperation a mile away, sending the girls up to the attic before that first knock sounded. The girls would huddle on the stairs and watch women hand over an absurd price to make sure their crush liked them back or to keep their lover faithful. All three girls agreed the women who wanted another woman’s husband and were willing to do anything to get him without a care to who might be hurt in the process were not the kind of women they wanted to be. One particularly terrible night, the girls, thirteen, twelve, and eleven, watched a woman come barging through a storm desperate for a man that was not hers. Elain cowered as the dove was brought out, the woman given a pin. Elain flinched, hiding her face in Nesta’s nightgown as the woman stabbed the dove through the heart with the promise that her lover would feel the pin, winning her his devotion.

“I never want to fall in love,” Elain and Nesta sighed at the same time while Feyre, blue eyes alight, murmured, “I can’t wait to fall in love.”

All three girls followed the woman who murdered the sparrow, a pretty redhead named Amarantha obsessed with a married, handsome brunette named Hybern. Nesta wanted to prove such a spell could never work while Feyre was determined to prove the opposite. As always, Elain went between, curious and unconcerned how Amarantha’s story played out. Amarantha owned a diner and Hybern taught history at the local high school. Each day, for two weeks, the Archeron sisters would race from school to Amarantha’s diner, choose three red high top stools, and wait to see if Hybern came for Amarantha.

It took fourteen days for Hybern to walk through that door. Nesta scowled at the love sick expression on his beautiful face while Feyre clapped her hands together silently. Elain, though, watched Amarantha and how her black eyes glittered with want and satisfaction. Surely there was more to love than winning, she wondered?

A month later, Hybern left his wife and Amarantha and Hybern moved into a pretty little estate at the far end of the village. The girls' interest waned in what happened next though Elain’s unease never lessened. Every time she saw Amarantha it seemed as if some of her beauty had been leached from her face, replaced with exhaustion and something far uglier. By the time Elain was fifteen, Amarantha was back begging the aunts to undo what they’d originally done. All three sisters sat on the steps listening silently from the hall while Amarantha screamed and raged of a man who took the locks off the doors, even the bathroom so he was always with her, who fucked her constantly to the point she was raw and exhausted, and loved her to near blind devotion.

Elain, Feyre, and Nesta knew what Amarantha did not. There was no undoing what she’d done and despite how Amarantha raged and screamed, Alis and Ripleigh sent her back into the inky night with nothing more than a warning of what unchecked obsession could give a person.

It was that night that Nesta, Feyre, and Elain decided to try a little magic of their own. For Elain it was serious, for Feyre, fun and for Nesta, an exercise in discipline. Each girl snuck into the greenhouse after their aunts fell asleep with large, white mixing bowls and a book of their aunt’s spells.

“I won’t fall in love until I find this man,” the three chanted softly, clasping hands in a circle. It was Feyre who went first, giggling wildly as she plucked a yellow jasmine bloom.

“He shall have eyes the color of stars,” she told her sisters, ignoring how Nesta rolled her eyes. “He shall smell like the ocean in winter and revel in the night. He will be funny and he will love me the moment he sees me.”

“Amas Veritas,” Nesta reminded Feyre, naming their spell. “You’re not creating a man, you’re summoning true love.”

Feyre giggled again. “Same thing, Nes.”

Nesta looked at Elain, who reached for orange magnolias. She wanted to take it seriously. “He’ll hear my call a mile away. He can flip pancakes in the air. He’ll have molten colored hair and one brown eye, one gold. He’ll be marvelously kind and he will whistle my favorite song.”

Elain and Feyre both turned to Nesta who sighed softly and took a blood red gladiola. “He’ll be strong and disciplined…his hair will be black and it will be long. He’ll know how to use a sword…he’ll know me on sight.”

“None of these men exist,” Feyre whispered as they crept into the night, their sleep dresses fluttering around their legs.

“That’s the whole point,” Nesta replied with exasperation. “If they don’t exist, we can’t fall in love, and if we can’t fall in love, we can’t get hurt.”

But as they aged, only Nesta truly held to her word. While Feyre grew into a wild beauty that caught the attention of every man who saw her, Nesta only grew colder and more distant. She couldn’t forget the woman at the diner her red hair was streaked with gray, her black eyes empty. Hybern sat at the edge of the counter with a cup of coffee, watching her with adoration as he sucked the life from the woman who had once yearned for him so bad. She couldn’t forget or forgive their mother, who left them to grow up shunned in Velaris, dying of a broken heart instead of taking care of them.

And Elain, who had all but forgotten the summoning spell and the man with one brown and one gold eye and his molten hair of flame. An apple salesman, Graysen, had caught her eye and the pair began a quiet, lovely courtship. It was Feyre who left first, sneaking out in the middle of the night though Alis and Ripleigh would not have cared if she waltzed out the front door.

“Are you sure about this?” Elain asked, looking down at Isaac Hale. He caught Feyre’s duffle bag easily, laughing and stumbling over his own steps with his giddiness. Nesta watched with disapproving eyes.

“Come with me,” Feyre urged her sisters but Nesta merely stood silently while Elain wrapped her arms around her body.

“Don’t go,” Elain murmured. “I hate the thought of not being together.”

And though Nesta would never have admitted it, both sisters knew she felt the same.

“Do you love him enough to marry him?” Nesta asked, glancing down at the ring on Feyre’s hand.

“Oh, come on Nes. What’s enough? I hate this place, hate these people. I want to go someplace where no one has heard the name Archeron.”

“I feel like I’ll never see you again,” Elain said, throwing her arms around Feyre’s body. Nesta joined a moment later and the three stood there, clinging to each other as though they were girls again.

“Of course you will,” Feyre promised earnestly, looking between her sister. “We’re going to grow old together. I’ll bet the three of us are living in this big old house, just a couple of biddies surrounded by our cats….I’ll bet we all die on the same day, too.”

“You swear?” Elain asked as Nesta’s hands balled into fists with want. Feyre turned to Isaac.

“Hey baby! Toss me up your pocket knife.”

Isacc tossed her a little brown knife and Feyre opened it as she gestured for Elain and Nesta’s palms. She sliced a deep gash along Nesta’s first, then Elain, who gasped at the burning pain and the sight of blooming on her fair skin, and then her own, last. The three took turns pressing their palms together in an old, magic blood ritual.

“Blood oath,” Feyre murmured solemnly. “My blood…our blood.”

And with that, Feyre hooked her leg over the railing and dropped the ground where Isacc half caught her. Nesta and Elain watched until Feyre vanished into Isaac’s car, waiting just on the street, unaware when they’d see her next.

Three years passed with only a passing post card every few months. Elain, who had married Graysen, would leave her floral shop named Verbena to race towards the old Archeron mansion, now owned exclusively by Nesta after the passing of their aunts. Her and Nesta would share a pot of tea and whatever baked goods Elain thought to bring with her as they tried to pick apart the five sentences Feyre had written. Was she still in Orlando? Who was Ben or Jacob or Frank? Each postcard brought word of a new man and a new place and Feyre, having the time of her life.

“I miss her,” Elain confessed one day, resting her head in the palm of her hand. Nesta glanced down at the scar all three sisters now shared, as though she could feel Feyre. Perhaps she could; Nesta’s magic had always been the strongest, a little darker than carefree Feyre and careful Elain.

Elain knew better than to ask Nesta if she was lonely. While Feyre was having fun living her life far from the Archeron curse and Elain had found bliss in quiet, married life, Nesta had fully embraced her witchy reputation. She wore long, black dresses with high necklines and long sleeves in the heat of July and kept her hair braided around the crown of her head. Elain, on the other hand, had softened her appearance and, with her utterly normal and appropriate marriage, had shifted public opinion. It was almost as if Elain had ceased to be an Archeron and the town of Velaris saw her and Nesta as two completely different people.

All that changed when the sound of the deathwatch beetle woke Elain from a dead sleep. It took her too long to realize what she heard, to understand that when an Archeron heard the sound of a deathwatch beetle, the man they loved was doomed to die.

Graysen was at work and Elain hysterical as she began prying the boards one by one from her floor, determined to squash that beetle and the ticking she’d heard all day, to death. Elain sobbed, her hammer prying the floor up one by one as she frantically searched, the ticking growing louder and faster.

And then nothing.

Graysen stepped off a curb, a crate of green apples in hand, into the waiting arms of an oncoming truck. It was too late, an accident by all accounts…and yet, in the aftermath, the townspeople of Velaris were reminded that Elain was an Archeron and Graysen’s death was her responsibility. Elain mourned, held a funeral few attended, while Nesta packed up her house and sold it. It was Nesta who wrote to Feyre, urging her to return and Nesta who moved a despondent and numb Elain back into their childhood home.

And in the end, it was Nesta who was reminded why she’d never fallen in love to begin with.