#Nesta's twin

[iydiamartinx]

FLAMES OF STARLIGHT

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗲 | 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌

Pairing: Poly!Azriel x OC x Lucien

Hey everyone! So I have this posted on A03 but I decided to begin posting here as well as a back and for anyone who would prefer to read it here instead.

❝ 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯. ❞ — 𝐫.𝐡. 𝐬𝐢𝐧

A DEEP BONE aching pain settled into Valda's body. She was used to pain; she'd dealt with it all her life. However, some days were worse than others, especially during the colder seasons.

The threadbare blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders did nothing to stop the chill from seeping into her bones. She could feel the aches slowly growing worse as she failed to warm up. Yet, she still kept the blanket tightly wrapped around her thin frame, taking the small bit of comfort it offered her.

The door to their run-down cottage was pulled open, and a gust of biting cold air rushed into their already chilly home as her youngest sister stepped in.

"Feyre!" Elain—the second youngest Archeron sister—gasped. She rushed to her feet when she saw what Feyre carried around her shoulders. "Where did you get that?"

Val's bone almost felt like glass as she stood up to gently tug Elain back from rushing at Feyre. Val could hear the hunger in her sister's tone, and even her own stomach clenched at the lack of food, but she ignored it.

"Where do you think?" Feyre questioned, her voice hoarse and tinged with annoyance, no doubt from the exertion of carrying the large beast all on her own.

Val made her way towards her youngest sister, and gently she eased the doe from Feyre's shoulders and onto her own instead. Val's jaw clenched as her body protested at the added weight, but she ignored it just like she always did.

"You should've woken me," Val quietly reprimanded. She didn't like Feyre going out into that treacherous forest alone.

"You're in pain," Feyre instead stated, her eyes already taking in the shakiness that Val tried to hide.

Val just gave her sister a reassuring smile, "I'm fine."

Feyre gave her eldest sister a look of disbelief, one that Val pretended not to notice as she instead walked into their small kitchen. Val placed the doe onto the rickety table, the wood creaking in protest just like her bones had when the carcass landed with a small dull thump.

Val would never admit to how bad the pain got. Years ago, before they fell into poverty, their father had hired the best doctors to find out what illness ailed her body, yet none managed to figure it out. In her youth, she would take tonics that managed to dull the deep pains, but now they were too poor to afford such a luxury, leaving her to be subjugated to the full extent of her illness. There was nothing she could do, so she found no reason to complain. The pain was a part of her, and she'd learned to live with it.

Feyre, on the other hand, had gotten adept at figuring out which days were hard on Val since her sister would refuse to ask for help. She took one look at Val and saw the trembles that ran through her body and the dark circles that told her that Val hadn't been able to sleep—most likely due to the pain. Today was a particularly bad day, and the weather certainly wasn't helping to make it any better. A pang went through Feyre's heart as she looked at her sister; she looked so frail, so fragile, so...breakable.

"Will it take you both long to clean it?" Elain questioned, looking between Val and Feyre.

Val refrained from sighing. She loved her sister, she really did, but sometimes Elain's ignorance and lack of willingness to help out grated on Val's nerve. Elain was too soft, too reliant, yet anytime Val tried to bring it up, it was Nesta —The final Archeron sister and her twin that would surge to Elain's defense.

Val and Nesta shared a complicated bond as twins. Val was the only one who could truly match Nesta, and as the eldest, Nesta usually, albeit reluctantly, conceded to Val's authority. However, when it came to Elain, Nesta became fiercely protective, refusing to acknowledge that their sister needed to harden herself to the cruel world they now lived in. Val sometimes believed that the reason was that Nesta still thought that they would one day regain their wealth. It was a fool's hope, but a hope nonetheless, and who was Val to take that away?

With Nesta favoring Elain, Val naturally gravitated towards Feyre. Even in her youth, Feyre had always been a wild child, and she had been too young when they had their fall into poverty to properly remember the luxuries they had. As such, this was the life Feyre most remembered, and she knew what needed to be done to survive.

Val didn't bother to answer Elain, but instead, she moved to grab her hunting knife, so she could begin skinning the deer.

"Feyre," Their father's deep voice rumbled from where he sat by the fire. "What luck you had today—in bringing us such a feast."

Val's hand tightened on the hilt of her knife. Even worse than Elain in idling around was their father. Val would never forgive him for letting Feyre go out into the woods alone, nor would she forgive him for just giving up. He spoke of trying to regain the wealth they once lost, yet he'd never once done anything to help bring a few extra coins to their table. Her anger towards their father burned hotter than even Nesta's, but like most things, she just managed to hide it better.

Feyre didn't bother to acknowledge their father's words as she moved to stand by where Val sat in front of the doe.

"We can eat half the meat this week," Feyre stated, glancing at Val, who nodded before continuing, "We can dry the other half."

"We can go to the market tomorrow to see how much we can get for the hides," Val added, earning a nod from Feyre. The others didn't bother to respond or even let on they heard what the two had said.

"I'd love a new cloak," Elain sighed wistfully. Right at the same time, Nesta stood up and announced, "I need a new pair of boots."

Val rolled her eyes, choosing to tune out the soon-to-be arguing pair. Instead, her attention shifted to the doe, yet before she could begin skinning it, Feyre's hand gently clasped around her shaking wrist.

"Go sit down," Feyre said gently, "I'll do it in a bit."

"Feyre—" Val tried to protest, but Feyre cut her off with a glare, making the older girl huff, "Sometimes I forget who's older with your mothering."

Feyre's lips managed to twitch, but she kept her resolve firm until Val finally conceded and handed her the knife before shuffling to the nearest chair.

The fact Val hadn't protested too heavily told Feyre just how much pain she refused to admit she was in. On a good day, Feyre wouldn't even have been able to hunt alone. Val would have been right by her side. In fact, it had been Val who had taught Feyre how to hunt in the first place.

While the others may not have realized how much Valda had sacrificed for them, Feyre did. No matter the pain she was in, Val always tried her best. The first time she had found out Feyre had wandered off to the woods alone, she had been livid. After that, she joined Feyre on nearly every hunt, despite the cold worsening the pain she felt.

It was Val who would give up her blanket when the nights were too cold to make sure that her sisters would be warm enough, and it was she who would eat the smallest of portions just so everyone else could eat more.

Feyre knew, which was why she insisted on skinning the deer despite her exhaustion. Valda suffered every day, yet she did everything she could to take care of Feyre and the rest of their sisters; and if Feyre could ease the strain on her sister for even the slightest moment, she would.

Val's eyes had slipped shut as she counted back in her head, trying to take her mind off the deep painful ache in her bones. Hearing the room go silent, Val opened her eyes just in time to see the disgusted look on her twin's face.

"You stink like a pig covered in its own filth," Nesta sneered, picking at Feyre's cloak, "Can't you at least try to pretend that you're not an ignorant peasant?"

"When you put food on this table, then you'll have the right to complain. Until then, leave Feyre alone, "Val's eyes met Nesta's challenge clear in her eyes. At that moment, Val looked anything but frail. Her back had straightened, her lip slightly curled as she glared at Nesta.

They weren't identical, yet both were devastatingly beautiful in their own right. Where Nesta looked most like their mother, Val was a mix of both parents. She was the only sister to share their father's dark brown hair but had their mother's piercing blue-grey eyes that she shared with both Nesta and Feyre.

Nesta returned the glare. The identical blue-grey, almost silver, eyes clashed in a battle of wills, but it was Nesta who broke first. Her jaw clenching and fists curling as she looked away. It was usually Val who won their arguments, and Feyre couldn't help but sometimes wonder if Nesta would secretly let her, not wanting to cause any more strain on their sister than she already felt.

"At least take off those disgusting clothes," Nesta huffed, but there was significantly less bite to her tone.

It was about as much Nesta would concede to defeat, but Val was satisfied. Her shoulders once again slumped as if it was an effort to keep them up.

"Can you make a pot of hot water and add wood to the fire?" Feyre questioned, looking at Nesta before frowning, as she noticed the woodpile—more specifically the lack thereof, "I thought you were going to chop wood today."

Nesta just picked at her long, neatly trimmed nails, "I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters." A frown tugged at her lips at the thought before she smoothed it over with a pout, "Besides, Feyre," Her tone was sickly sweet as if trying to butter her youngest sister up, "You're so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Your hands are suited for it, they're already so...rough."

"Please," Feyre bit out, trying to hide the pleading note that seeped into her tone, "Please get up at dawn to chop that wood." Feyre began unbuttoning her tunic, "Or we'll be eating a cold breakfast."

"I will do no such thing!"

Val sighed and nodded for Feyre to go. Elain tried to plead softly to Nesta, but she just hissed in return, leaving it up to Val, who was much less kind.

"You will, or you can go hungry tomorrow. Those are your options," There was no warmth in her tone, just cold hard steel letting Nesta know just how serious she was.

Val understood Nesta better than anyone, and she knew why she would do the things she would do. She wanted their father to step up, and Val did too, but Val wasn't about to let that become the reason she and Feyre ended up doing all the work.

Besides, Val had given up on their father long ago. She had given up when he had let them nearly starve to death, forcing Val to take desperate measures. She had given up when he allowed a child to go into those woods. Nesta could hope, but Val knew better.

Displeasure was written all over Nesta's face, but she didn't argue as she had done with Feyre. Nesta would do as she was told.

Thankfully, dinner went without another argument. Everyone was too focused on satiating their aching bellies. Val let out a small sigh as she felt the hunger recede.

She half-heartedly listened to Nesta complain about the villagers to Elain. It didn't even register what exactly Nesta was talking about until Feyre interrupted Nesta.

"Tomas Mandray?" Feyre questioned. "The woodcutter's second son?"

Nesta looked over, her eyes narrowing, "Yes."

Val sat up straighter, paying much more attention to the conversation. "What does he want?"

"He wants to marry her," Elain said dreamily.

Val stilled. Nesta cocked her head, noticing Val and Feyre's reactions. "Is there a problem?" She questioned, almost daringly.

Val snorted, dismissively waving a hand. "You can't chop wood for us, yet you want to marry a woodcutter's son?" Her words made it known just how foolish the idea was.

"You're not marrying him," Feyre added, backing up Val.

Nesta squared her shoulders, "I thought all you wanted was for us to get out of the house—to marry off me and Elain," Nesta's eyes darted to Feyre, and her lip curled, "So you could have one less mouth to feed and your darling Feyre, can finally have enough time to paint her glorious masterpieces."

Val's jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, yet it was Feyre who spoke. "Believe me," She started, "the day you want to marry someone worthy, I'll march up to his house and hand you over. But you're not going to marry Tomas."

Nesta's nostrils flared in anger, "There's nothing you can do. Clare Beddor told me this afternoon that Tomas is going to propose to me any day now. And then I'll never have to eat these scraps again." She smiled cruelly as she added, "At least I don't have to resort to rutting in the hay with Isaac Hale like an animal."

Their father let out an embarrassed cough. However, he said nothing against Nesta, but Val did.

"Nesta, that's enough," Val didn't raise her voice, but her words cracked over the sisters like a whip. It was hard and filled with warning. "Feyre's right. Tomas's family is barely better than ours."

Val remembered the hungry gleam in his eyes when he saw her and Feyre holding a line of rabbits. It was desperate, and she knew from experience that a desperate man did desperate things. Val had a white-knuckled grip on her knife, and she would have done what was needed if he had tried anything. From there on, she steered her and Feyre out of his way.

Feyre nodded, "You'd just be another mouth to feed. If he doesn't know this, then his parents must."

"Besides, we can't afford a dowry," Val looked between Nesta and Elain pointedly, "For either of you."

"We're in love," Nesta stated, and Val snorted as she saw Elain nodding in agreement.

"What do you two know of love?" Val questioned harshly, the words slipping out of her mouth before she could stop them. Nesta and Elain both froze at that. Feyre's eyes flashed with pity. Val reeled back slightly, and she tightly swallowed as she realized she had lost her composure.

"Excuse me," She muttered before hastily making her way out of the kitchen.

In the privacy of the room, she shared with her sisters, her hand shakily reached out to grasp the chain that held a simple ring around her neck while the other came up to muffle her sob.

Everyone knew love was a sensitive subject for Val because she lost her own. They had the love people dreamed about. Everyone in the village looked at them in envy. When Val looked at him, she knew he was her soulmate, as mawkish as it sounded. Yet, life had eventually caught up to them, and he was cruelly ripped away from her. That had been five years ago, and thinking of him still hurt.

She heard the footsteps of her sisters approaching, and not wanting to deal with them at the moment, she turned away from the door, feigning that she had fallen asleep. A few seconds the door opened, and two pairs of footsteps quietly shuffled in. Nesta and Elain spoke in low murmurs for a few minutes before the sheets to their shared cot rustled, and they joined her.

Soon their breathing evened out, but Val remained wide awake. Eventually, Feyre also entered and slipped in beside Val on the unoccupied side. Feyre was fast asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, the exhaustion of the day catching up to her.

Val waited until she was sure everyone was sleeping before slipping away. Grabbing her cloak, she stepped outside and found a stray log to take a seat on.

The air was frigid, the cold already seeping into her aching bones, but she ignored it. Her eyes were locked onto what was above her. The stars glittered like millions of jewels in the night sky but even more beautiful than the stars around was the moon.

It shone brightly, casting a soft white glow that looked almost ethereal on everything around her. Someone once told her that when someone dies, they become a star in the night sky forever to watch over those they love. But Val preferred to believe that light from the moon was of the souls they lost, guiding the way for those they left behind.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, the ache in her heart was worse than any physical pain she could feel. Her hand came to quickly wipe the tear away as she heard gentle footsteps crunching through the snow.

Val glanced back to see a sleepy Feyre making her way over. "It's late."

Val shrugged, holding her cloak open so Feyre could join her, despite already having her own cloak bundled around her body. Val wrapped her arm around her sister and rested her head on Feyre's shoulder.

"Best time to see the stars," Val replied softly, knowing her sister's preference for them.

They sat there in silence for the longest time until finally, the cold became too much, and they were forced to go back inside. They made their way to their hut and quietly slipped back into their cot, where Nesta and Elain blissfully remained asleep. Feyre curled into Val, who wrapped her arms protectively around her, and that was how both girls fell asleep.

Next Chapter →

banner credits: saradika-graphics & reveriesources

[washmchineheart]

sjm not making lucien nesta’s love interest is purely skill issue. she doesn’t know them like I do.

[merwgue]

Me core

[kataraavatara]

nesta only three years older than feyre…three kids in three years was kind of diabolical of papa archeron idk

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

cold takes: #1

cassian wanted nesta to be a feyre 2.0. no, i will not elaborate

[seleneprince]

When the Vanserra-Archeron twins find out that Nyx is courting their beloved friend, Zinnia (Tamlin's daughter), they're not amused at all. Specially Sylvie.

She doesn't care about her cousin, has a borderline hostile dynamic with him, but for the most part he's just "that guy from Night Court she happens to share blood with". Neth is on better terms with him and she doesn't mind spending time with him, but they're not close enough to see him as family. She considers him more a long-distance friend.

Meanwhile, they adore Zinnia. They grew up with her. She's their godfather's daughter, their beloved Uncle Tamlin. They spent their childhoods jumping from Spring to Autumn frecuently just to see each other. They love like her a sister. Their families are on the same circle. In their eyes, Zinnia has always been this sweet girl they must protect and who only deserves the best.

Which it's not Nyx Archeron. Or any other brute from the Night Court. They're sure of it.

It's not just them. Literally, no one in their circle approves of this possible union, except Elain (because she knows things). Both Eris and Nesta are amused by the whole mess but he doesn't think they fit together and she doesn't want her to be at the Night Court . Lucien doesn't like it at all and neither do his and Elain's kids. And let's not get started on poor Tamlin, having to see his exes' spawn court his precious daughter so insistently.

Back at the Night Court, it's more or less the same situation. Rhysand is the only person that openly supports his son on this and even gives him advice on how to woo the girl (which is awful advice because he only tells him to do the same things he did with feyre, ignoring that not everyone enjoys those as much as she did). Feyre doesn't understand why he's so enthusiastic about becoming family with Tamlin. The rest of the IC know where Rhysand is coming from and don't dare tell Feyre the truth...

[nesta-apologist]

Jude Duarte and Nesta Archeron could switch places and no one would know

[hrizantemy]

Stop guys I really want an older Archeron sister who sticks up for Nesta, who doesn’t let the IC lock her in the house and refuses it and instead takes her in herself, she doesn’t excuse Nesta’s wrongdoings but she doesn’t blame everything on her, she’s patient and works through it, bonus if they run away to the summer court and she ends up with Tarquin. Like y’all know they would be a power couple, new fanfiction idea, guys Nesta needs an older sibling who knows what she’s going through and they lean on each other. Y’all ain’t ready for this one.😭😭😭😭🙏

[endlessly-cursed]

Minor Victorian OCs: Nesta Madeleine Ymir

Nesta lived from 1880 and 1905, she was the twin sister to Melinöe, and was part of the Ymir family. She was a quiet, shy, sweet and a hopeless romantic who strived for more than the cabin.

At age 22, she escaped the cabin to look for something more. She met [TBD] Lionette and fell in love with him. They spent many months together, and Nesta fell pregnant with their child. Melinöe located her sister and brought her back per their mother's request and she gave birth to the child: a daughter, whom she whispered "My child. My love. Your name is Ephyra." before passing away due to childbed fever. Melinöe took the babygirl to Skalafell, leaving it to Unni Arcano's care.

Effy wouldn't know until later her Ymir blood, when the Gift claimed her.

[the-new-ribbon]

I love how Nesta’s birthday is April 27th because that’s my birthday and Nesta Archeron is me and I’m Nesta Archeron.

[iydiamartinx]

FLAMES OF STARLIGHT

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗼 | 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌

Pairing: Poly!Azriel x OC x Lucien

I'm still learning Tumblr and I just found out scheduled posts are a thing! I think I'll schedule the chapters for Monday, Wednesday and Friday until everything is caught up to my A03 account? Unless y'all prefer Friday, Saturday and Sunday?

Also I noticed someone blogging who knew me from Wattpad! Hi! I'm glad you found me again! For my readers who remember me from Wattpad, the reason I disappeared was because they removed my account. I lost most of my stories, so for any of you that were a fan of my other works, only this and Morning After Dark. But I am working on slowly rewriting some of my old works.

 ❝ 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 

𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺, 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦. ❞

— 𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐳

VAL STRODE DOWN the snow and dirt-trodden road with purpose. Despite her aching bones, she kept their pace to a brisk walk. Feyre easily kept in step beside her while Nesta and Elain trailed behind them, clicking their tongues in disgust as they sneered down at their now muddied shoes.

The silence that Val and Feyre walked in was comfortable compared to the complaining Nesta and Elain did behind them. The wolf's pelt was folded safely in the satchel Feyre carried. It was the only reason Nesta and Elain even bothered to tag along, hoping to persuade Feyre into giving them some money. They knew better than to ask Val. She wasn't one to indulge their needless urge for finery. But Feyre, as the youngest, was less steadfast than Val and, as such, sometimes felt the need to concede to their demands. 

Eventually, the grim stone houses of the village came into view. It was market day, and despite not even reaching the small town square yet, she could hear the voices of merchants, vendors, and shoppers. 

The scent of hot food invaded Val's nose, and she had to suppress her groan. Elain, however, had no qualms of letting out a hungered moan. Val's stomach clenched. She longed for a proper meal, but quickly she tamped down that desire. Desire could be a dangerous thing. 

Val turned around the corner only to suddenly halt. Nesta, from behind her, let out a slight noise as she placed a hand on Val's shoulder to steady herself from the sudden stop. Val paid her sister no mind, her eyes on the pale-robed young woman and the matching cluster behind her. 

"May the Immortal Light shine upon thee, sisters," She said. 

Both Elain and Nesta made a noise of displeasure, even Feyre shifted in discomfort, but Val remained silent. She didn't particularly care for the Children of the Blessed, but it didn't mean she liked them either. Their devotion to the fae unnerved her, and their persistence to convert was annoying, but otherwise, they were all harmless preachers. 

 "Have you a moment to spare so that you might hear the Word of the Blessed?" The young woman questioned. She held out her hands in welcome, the bracelet of silver bells on her wrist letting out a tinkling chime. 

"Not at the moment," Val replied neutrally. At the same moment, Nesta sneered with much more hostility, "No, we don't." 

Nesta nudged both Val and Elain to continue walking, and Feyre shifted to follow. 

The acolyte, however, stepped back into their path and a surge of annoyance went through Val at the woman's persistence. 

"It would take but a minute," She tried to persuade. 

"We really don't have the ti—" Val tried to say, but it was already too late. 

Nesta straightened up, glaring down at the acolyte. She cut Val off, "Go spew your fanatic nonsense to some ninny. You'll find no converts here," She snapped, making the woman shrink back. 

Yet, Nesta wasn't done as she pushed down the sleeve of her coat to reveal the iron bracelet she wore. The acolyte gasped in horror. 

Val glanced up to the dreary sky as if somehow she would find help among the grey clouds. All she wanted was a quick trip, in and out of the market, but it seemed even that was too much to ask for. 

"You see this?" Nesta hissed, taking a step forward, to which the woman matched by taking one back, "This is what you should be wearing. Not some silver bells to attract those faerie monsters."

"How dare you wear that vile affront to our immortal friends—" The acolyte started, but Nesta cut her off. 

"Go preach in another town," She spat. Val gently tugged Nesta slightly back, so she wasn't right in the poor woman's face.

"I suggest you find someone else because clearly, we are not interested," Val's tone was soft yet firm.

Just then, two women walked by, on the wealthier class by the looks of it, both shooting the group of acolytes a disgusted glance.

"Faerie-loving whore," One of them spat at the silent young woman.

The other, who looked even wealthier judging from the braided iron necklace she wore, curled her lip in disgust, "Don't you idiots understand what those monsters did to us for all those centuries? What they still do for sport when they can get away with it? You deserve the end you'll meet at faerie hands. Fools and whores, all of you." 

Val just sighed. Like her opinion about the children of the blessed, she remained indifferent about her thoughts of the Fae folk. She'd never met them, nor did she want to. However, if she did, she'd assume they were quite similar to humans. Some would be good, and some would be bad. After all, there had been some who had fought for the humans when the time came.

The young woman just took a breath, her face smoothening back out into a serene expression, "I lived in such ignorance, too, until I heard the Word of the Blessed. I grew up in a village so similar to this—so bleak and grim. But not one month ago, a friend of my cousin went to the border as our offering to Prythian—and she has not been sent back. Now she dwells in riches and comfort as a High Fae's bride, and so might you if you were to take a moment to—"

"She was likely eaten," Nesta, once again, cut off bluntly. 

Val found herself refraining from pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation—yet there was a small part of her that wanted to snort in amusement, but she buried that part of herself deep down. She just wanted to get the pelt to the marketplace and leave. 

Her sister added, "That's why she hasn't returned."

Val watched as the acolyte's face tightened. "Our benevolent masters would never harm us. Prythian is a land of peace and plenty. Should they bless you with their attention, you would be glad to live amongst them." 

Her eyes shifted around them to see that they were garnering a crowd. It seemed that she and Feyre had the same idea as Val looped her arm with Nesta's—ready to forcefully drag her off if needed—while Feyre stepped between them and the woman. 

"You're fighting an uphill battle," Feyre said. 

"A worthy cause." The girl beamed with conviction.

Val sighed, her words grim and tired as she replied, "No, it's not." With that, she gently tugged Nesta along, Feyre and Elain following with their own sighs of relief. 

Val could feel the acolytes' gaze burn into her back, but she refused to turn back. Nesta walked stiffly beside her, her arm still looped with Val's. Val gave Nesta's arm a subtle squeeze in comfort, and her twin glanced over at the gesture, but Val kept her eyes firmly ahead of her. Slowly Nesta relaxed, accepting her sister's comforting touch. 

Once at the square, Val removed her arm from Nesta's, and Feyre once again moved to Val's side. 

"We'll meet you here in an hour," Feyre said to the other two, and before they could say anything, she and Val slipped into the crowd. 

It took ten minutes for Val and Feyre to decide who they should approach. Their eyes scanned the different people that milled around until a large mountainous woman caught Val's eye. She sat on the ledge of the fountain, keeping to herself. It wasn't her size that attracted Val's attention but the numerous scars and weapons that littered her body. 

Feyre's eyes followed Val's gaze, and she slightly nodded in agreement. As the two of them approached, the woman's eyes narrowed slightly as she realized they were walking towards her wickedly sharp knife with appreciation before meeting the woman's dark eyes fearlessly. 

"I don't barter goods for my services," She said in a rough tone. A foreign accent coated her words, making her words sound even gruffer, "I only accept coin."

 "Then you'll be out of luck in this sort of place," Val responded cooly, her head tilting slightly as she continued her appraisal of the woman in front of her. 

The woman slightly straightened up, her eyes narrowing even further at Val. Like recognized like, and the mercenary had been around long enough to spot a predator, and despite Val's malnourished frame, the woman recognized Val for what she could be. "What is your business with me, girl?"

This time it was Feyre who spoke, "We have a wolf pelt, and a doe hide for sale. We thought you might be interested in purchasing them."

"You two steal them?"

"No." Feyre denied, her voice going hard at the question, "I hunted them myself. I swear it."

The mercenary's gaze shifted over to Feyre. "How." It wasn't a question but a demand. Val felt herself slightly bristle at the woman's tone, but she remained silent. 

Despite Feyre having just hunted, Val was itching for her own hunt. Unlike Feyre, who did it out of necessity, Val found it oddly calming. Val hated taking an innocent animal's life, and she found no joy in that part. What she liked was the freedom in the woods as she tracked her prey. Those few seconds of predatory focus as she drew her bow back, she loved it. It was freeing. 

It helped quiet the years of anger and pain that festered in her heart. The same anger she suppressed for the sake of her sisters because if she let it all go, she had no idea of the destruction she could cause.

Val continued her silence, letting Feyre tell the story of how she acquired the pelts. Val grew tense as she heard Feyre's suspicions of the wolf being a Fae, but she just clenched her jaw, making a note to talk to her sister about it later. 

The mercenary gestured towards the satchel, "Let me see," She ordered. Feyre pulled out the hides. "You weren't lying about the wolf's size," The mercenary murmured, running her hands over it as she studied it with a keen expert eye. "Doesn't seem like a faerie, though."

The mercenary looked back up, her eyes glancing between Feyre and Val, and for a brief second, they flicked to look at something over their shoulders before focusing back on Feyre. She named her price. 

Both Feyre and Val froze in shock. They hadn't expected that. The woman was overpaying by a lot. 

"Why?" Val questioned suspiciously. 

For a brief second, the mercenary's lips twitched at Val's brazenness before once again looking past them, "I'm assuming those two girls watching from across the square are your sisters," She said, "You all have that brassy hair—and that hungry look about you." 

Val knew she didn't share her sister's golden brown hair, but it didn't take a genius to see the resemblance she had with them.  

"We don't need your pity," Feyre glared. 

No, but we could use the money, Val thought, and the mercenary echoed her thoughts.

"No, but you need my money," She said, "and the other traders have been cheap all morning. Everyone's too distracted by those calf-eyed zealots bleating across the square." She jerked her chin towards the square, where the Children of the Blessed were still trying to recruit people to their cause in vain. This time the mercenary didn't bother hiding the small smile, "Up to you, girl."

Val was about to agree, but Feyre spoke first, "Why?" It wasn't laced with suspicion like when Val asked, just curiosity. 

She shrugged. "Someone once did the same for me and mine, at a time when we needed it most. Figure it's time to repay what's due."

Of course, Feyre, her darling sister who could be too kind and proud for her own good—despite what she might say—offered the mercenary some of their father's carvings in a way to make the payment fairer. 

However, the mercenary waved off the offer. "I travel light and have no need for them. These, however—" She patted the pelts in her hands, "—save me the trouble of killing them myself."

Val nodded, and Feyre copied her actions. The mercenary reached for the coin purse inside her heavy coat. Val didn't need to look inside to see that it was full of silver and even gold. 

It was a known fact that mercenaries were generally well-paid, and Val had thought about becoming one of them as the days grew harder on her family. It was better than some of the things she'd done to bring coin to the table, and she found the thought of becoming a mercenary frequented her brain more often as the years grew worse. 

The only thing that stopped her, however, was her sisters. She didn't think she could leave them for months at a time. The pain she'd find a way to push through, but the thought of leaving her sisters was a different kind of pain. Val needed them. They were all she had, and the thought of being alone...a hollow pit formed in her stomach, and she pushed the thought away before she could dwell on it. 

The mercenary handed Val the coins, who tucked them into her pocket. Val knew Elain and Nesta saw the transaction, but they wouldn't pester her as they would with Feyre, hence why she had taken the coins. 

"Thank you," Feyre said stiffly, while Val just nodded. 

The mercenary stroked the wolf pelt. "A word of advice, from one hunter to another."

Both Val and Feyre looked at her, raising an eyebrow. 

"Don't go far into the woods. I wouldn't even get close to where you were yesterday. A wolf this size would be the least of your problems. More and more, I've been hearing stories about those things slipping through the wall."

Feyre lightly shuddered, "Are they—are they going to attack?"

Plans were already forming in Val's mind if that were the case. She may not outright hate the fae, but she wasn't stupid. She knew the stories of the High Lords who had taken humans as slaves. Killed and tortured her kind as sport. It may have been centuries ago, but Val wouldn't risk the chance of that happening to her family if the fae ever decided to go back on the treaty.

The mercenary's face gave nothing away, "No one knows what the fae are planning. We don't know if the High Lords' leash on their beasts is slipping or if these are targeted attacks. I guarded for an old nobleman who claimed it had been getting worse these past fifty years. He got on a boat south two weeks ago and told me I should leave if I was smart. Before he sailed off, he admitted that he'd had word from one of his friends that in the dead of night, a pack of martax crossed the wall and tore half his village apart."

Fear filled Val, not for herself but for her sisters. Her instincts screamed at her to take them as far south as possible if that were the case. 

"Martax?" Feyre breathed, voice laced with the same fear rushing through Val's veins.

The mercenary's night-dark eyes flickered. "Body big as a bear's, head something like a lion's—and three rows of teeth sharper than a shark's. And mean—meaner than all three put together. They left the villagers in literal ribbons, the nobleman said." 

She continued, "So we don't know what all these attacks mean, other than more hires for me, and you keeping well away from the wall. Especially if the High Fae start turning up—or worse, one of the High Lords. They would make the martax seem like dogs."

Val's eyes drifted to the woman's scarred hands. "Have you ever faced another type of faerie?" She couldn't help but ask. 

Her eyes shuttered. "You don't want to know, girl—not unless you want to be hurling up your breakfast."

"Tell me," Val demanded, her voice hard. 

The woman studied Val for a second before pulling back the sleeve of her heavy jacket to reveal her tanned, muscled forearm marred with gruesome, twisted scars. Val swallowed harshly but felt no disgust. Scars told stories, the stories of survivors. Anyone who survived had scars. Even Val had scars. She believed they were something to be proud of, no matter how horrible the story that came with it was because, at the end of it, they could say they survived.

"Didn't have the brute force or size of a martax," The mercenary said, "but its bite was full of poison. Two months—that's how long I was down; four months until I had the strength to walk again." She then pulled up the leg of her trousers. Black spidery veins contrasted against the tanned skin. It was almost mesmerizingly horrific to see. "Healer said there was nothing to be done for it—that I'm lucky to be walking with the poison still in my legs. Maybe it'll kill me one day. Maybe it'll cripple me. But at least I'll go knowing I killed it first."

Feyre placed a hand on Val's shoulder, her face unnaturally pale, "Thanks for the warnings," She said tightly.

The mercenary's attention flicked to something behind them, and a faint smile of amusement curled at her lips. "Good luck."

A second later, a slender hand clamped onto Val's forearm, pulling her and Feyre away. Neither of them had to look to know it was Nesta, no villager would dare touch them, especially with Val around, and Elain was too gentle and timid to even approach them while they were with that mountain of a woman. 

"They're dangerous," Nesta hissed, her fingers dug into Val's arms as she continued to pull tug her and Feyre from the mercenary. "Don't go near them again."

"Let me go," Val quietly demanded, not appreciating being manhandled. In an instant, Nesta let go. Val's eyes narrowed as she studied her twin and Elain's pale face, "Is there something I should know?"

"They're brutes and will take any copper they can get, even if it's by force," Nesta said, trying to wave it off. 

Val glanced back at the mercenary studying her new pelts, "She robbed you?" Val questioned, her voice dangerously quiet. 

"Not her," Elain murmured. "Some other one who passed through. We had only a few coins, and he got mad, but—"

"Why didn't you report him—or tell us?" Feyre questioned. 

"What could you have done?" Nesta sneered. "Challenged him to a fight with your bow and arrows? And who in this sewer of a town would even care if we reported anything?"

"What about your Tomas Mandray?" Feyre challenged coolly. 

Nesta's eyes flashed, but a glance over Feyre's shoulder had her attitude taking a complete turn as her glare melted into a sickly sweet smile. "Your friend is waiting for you."

Val turned just in time to see Isaac tilting his head at Feyre. Val's jaw clenched. It wasn't that she didn't like Isaac, but Feyre deserved more than a quick rut in a barn. Feyre, out of all of them, deserved more and Val wished that one day her sister would experience love to its truest extent, but for now, if Isaac eased the loneliness Feyre felt, then Val wouldn't say a word. 

Sometimes, Val wished she could do the same thing. It wasn't that she had a shortage of admirers. She was quite aware of the beauty she and her sisters possessed, especially Elain—perhaps that was why Nesta was so protective over their younger sister. Yet, anytime the thought would come, the ring around her neck felt heavier and changed her mind. She wasn't ready. She didn't think she'd ever be ready. 

Nesta clicked her tongue, crossing her arms. "I do hope you two are taking precautions."

"It's a bit late to pretend to care," Feyre snapped back. 

Val placed a calming hand on Feyre's arm, drawing her youngest sister's attention towards her. "Go," Val said gently, nodding to where Isaac had disappeared. She couldn't help the slight, sly smirk that crawled onto her lips. She may not approve of the boy, but she remembered what it was like to be young. "Have some fun."

A slight blush dusted Feyre's cheeks, but the younger girl gave Val a grateful look before walking off. Val then turned towards her remaining sisters. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty-mark copper. Ignoring Elain's sharp inhale, she handed it over. 

"I'll meet you guys back at home," Val said, and without waiting for a response, she walked away. 

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banner credits: saradika-graphics & reveriesources

[hellowitchlingg]

THEIR FIRE. THEIR FIRE. THEIR FIRE.

Fire in their veins

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 4

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

ANGST, very bad self image, some sort of non graphic self-harm (if you squint), Rhys is kinda an asshole, vomiting

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

There wasn’t so much as a scratch on his son. 

Not a hair on his head was harmed. 

Nothing. 

Feyre cleaned him with shaky hands, running a rag wet with warm water over his skin. Nyx was babbling in response, shaken but clearly…alright. 

Nyx. His son. 

The sudden weight that was lifted off Rhys' shoulders, as he crossed the room in three long strides...it felt like he could breathe again…as he pressed a kiss to Nyx’s head breathing in that scent that was unmistakenly his and then doing the same with Feyre. 

Her scent was thick with misery, shaking against him…Lilac and Pears, usually so perfect...

“Eira’s blood is all over him,” Feyre whispered. “I’ll wipe it off and I just find more.” 

Elain was sitting across from them, silently drinking tea, eyes concentrating on something far away. He wondered if she saw anything…any vision at all? But she didn't say anything. 

Feyre hung onto his hand and he cast out his mind, feeling Madja’s determination, as she…she tried to…

Save her. 

Save her from dying because she had thrown her own body between death and his son. 

For years, Rhys had believed the second-born Archeron sister to be... 

She had just been there. 

Existed in his periphery. 

She had been the only one who had at least tried to make Feyre’s life easier, the one who had cooked and cleaned and hacked up wood and washed the blood out of Feyre’s clothing and mended it when she had taken a tumble…Eira had at least tried. He still didn’t think that it had been enough but she had that going for her. 

Privately, Rhys had thought that the only thing that was fierce about Eira Archeron was her ability to love. 

The one and only time she had outright argued with any of them… had been about her sister… about Nesta and their intervention. 

She had argued harshly and fiercely about how they had no right to do this, about how it wasn’t fair…about how she would pay back that money if it meant that they would leave Nesta in peace. 

It had not only surprised him but also Amren and even Feyre…and even when they hadn’t listened to her…

It didn’t matter what Nesta threw at her head, her sister was still there every week, waiting for him to bring her up to the House of Wind. 

Every week. Like a clockwork, she had been there. 

Rhys easily admitted that he hadn’t been particularly understanding to her at that time.

And now, that ability to love had been…it was going to be the one thing killing her, wouldn’t it?

He hadn’t said it. He had only said that it looked bad…but he could feel how Madja was slowly reaching the limits of what she could do for her. 

Everything that was…

Eira Archeron, the one cauldron-born sister with no great ability. The one that had seemingly adapted well enough to being fae…never complained, never said anything. If she had suffered, she had done so silently. 

The quiet one, the one that liked the background…the one that had pined away silently over his brother, when her twin sister had been the object of his desires. 

Rhys had half expected that to end in a brawl, but once again…Eira hadn’t…nothing had been said. She had been willing to silently pine away.  

And then the mating bond had snapped for Az and that had been…

Quite frankly, the last fucking thing Rhys had expected. 

Every…every other female would have somehow made more sense in his mind. 

“Where’s she?” Nesta stormed into the room, Cassian hot on her heels. 

“Upstairs,“ Feyre answered. “Nesta, let Madja work,” his mate tried but Nesta fixed her with one look. 

“She’s our sister. If she dies, I am not letting her die alone!” Nesta snapped out, stomping upstairs. 

And that was that. 

Nobody tried to stop her. 

“She won’t die. It’s Eira,” Elain said, her voice strangely detached. Like that was written in stone, with all the trust in the world and Rhys wished, he had some of her confidence. Nobody else had it. 

Mor sat on one chair, knees hugged to her chest. His normally always so bright, colourful cousin curled together in one miserable ball. Feyre shook next to him and he reached out for her hand, gently squeezing it, before he let her go. 

He could feel the very foundations of his brother's mental shields wobble. 

His eyes snapped to Azriel.

To Azriel who stood there, hands still covered in Eira‘s blood, red streaks on scarred skin. 

Outwardly there was only a flurry of shadows trailing around him, worriedly. No other signs. 

But his eyes…his stare was empty. 

*Cassian. Don’t let him leave your sight,* he told his other brother sharply, mind to mind. *And try and get him to clean his hands,* he added as an afterthought. Maybe that…Maybe that would help…maybe…

*Rhys,* Caddian whispered into his mind. *If she dies…I don’t know if we’ll be enough.* Cassian didn’t say anything that Rhys wasn’t thinking. Nothing that he wasn’t dreading. *You know how he…he spent centuries waiting. He never talks about it but we both know how much he wanted a mate. How much he just wants to be loved…and…*

And the mating bond had just snapped. And if Rhys hadn’t pushed for Azriel to wait, they wouldn't even be in this fucking situation. 

Azriel’s mate’s blood…Feyre’s sister’s blood…Eira’s blood…it was on his hands. On Rhys’ hands. 

*I know.*

*If she dies, I don’t know what he’ll do.*

Neither did Rhys. 

“Madja is the best. If anybody can save her it will be her,” Cassian said aloud, probably for Azriel’s benefit, crossing over to Az, gently reaching out to touch their brother’s shoulder. “Come on, we’ll get you cleaned up,” he said quietly, gently pushing Azriel from the room, probably in search of a bathroom. 

Rhys pressed a kiss to Nyx's head, who was looking around the room wide-eyed, not understanding a thing what was going on. There seemed to be no sign of their son being exhausted from the magic he had expelled. Nothing. 

A problem for another day maybe. As long as he seemed fine... 

 “Mor?” he said quietly as he kneeled at his cousin’s side, reaching out for her, hand hovering…Mor looked at him, brown eyes wide and tearful. 

His cousin. He had killed Keir with nary a thought. 

“I never thought he would…do this,” Mor whispered, reaching out for his hand. “I thought…”

There was a tiny part of Mor that still believed that her family could change…that had still loved her parents…hadn’t wanted them dead. And he had taken that from her. 

“I know,” he whispered and she squeezed his hand in response. 

*I am sorry…* he said nonetheless in her mind and he could feel her surprise and then her acceptance. Mor wasn’t angry. Even when she had every right to it...Right to hate him for killing her father, even when Rhys had every right to do that as well. Hate could fester easily under such circumstances. 

*I am not,* Mor disagreed. *He got what he had coming…* A pause. Then she pushed a memory at him…Eira’s still body…the grey pallor of her usually pale skin…the way she had been limb and cold in Mor’s grasped as she had winnowed them to the River House and then fetched Madja…all in the span of seconds.

The blood…the dagger to the heart she had taken…Azriel’s magic pulsing around her, the shadows that hovered…all of it…it looked like the scene out of a nightmare. 

*It’s not looking good, Rhys,* Mor whispered. *Az doesn’t deserve this.* No, he didn’t. But neither did the female laying up there and fighting for her fucking life. 

All of it just because of…

He had pulled it all out of Keir’s head before he had killed him. The whole hare-brained plan, if one could call it like that. 

Nyx’s wings an obvious sign of his “half-breed” status…and with that, not something that Keir could stomach the thought of bowing to one day. Kill the heir, destablise the whole Night Court…Hope that Rhys could be baited. And then Keir would have made his move and the Night Court would be reunited under the glorious reign of Keir. 

And because of that, of the obsession of one male…his son had nearly died. 

He looked up sharply as he heard the steps. “Madja.” 

“I removed the knife. I stopped the bleeding,” Madja said, the dress she wore blood-flecked. “I did all I could.” 

He didn’t doubt that. The question was just if that was going to be enough. 

“She’s alive. For the moment,” Madja cautioned them quietly. “She’s…She’s fighting. The poison they dunked that knife in was…particularly nasty. It stops the blood from clotting…makes the pain feel much worse than it is.” 

She didn’t need to spell it out. It was torture. “Is…Is there an antidote?” Feyre asked, her voice shaking. 

“None that her body would be able to absorb without killing her right now,” Madja said carefully. “She’s…magically exhausted. She expelled…most, if not all of her magic.” 

“She never had much in the first place,” Mor choked out. “She probably tried to winnow and…”

And that hadn’t worked. It had failed. 

“What…what can we do?” Feyre asked, her voice shaking. 

“We wait,” Madja answered calmly. “I gave her every potion I could…I healed as much as I could… If she pulls through the night…I would be cautiously optimistic,” she told Feyre, her voice gentle. “Infection has already set in. She’s feverish. Lady Nesta is with her.“

And Rhys didn’t doubt for one moment that Nesta would stay right at her side…she was stubborn like that. 

“Is she…is she in pain?” Feyre asked, her hands tightening on Nyx, who was sucking on his thumb. 

Madja hummed softly. “She will be for days, High Lady,” she told Feyre, not unkindly. 

*Rhys…Could you…Please, I don’t want her to be in pain. Even if she doesn’t…even if she dies, Eira shouldn’t be in pain.* 

No, she shouldn’t be. 

*Of course, Feyre Darling,* he agreed quietly. As much pain as he could take from her, he would. 

“Mor?” he said aloud, and his cousin looked up, unfurling from her little ball. 

“I’ll deal with the fallout,“ she said, her voice only shaking around the edges. “Amren and I will manage." 

“She should be back soon,” he said aloud.  *She’s dealing with…the carnage,* he said into Mor’s mind and his cousin just nodded. It was better that…most people didn’t know what had happened...they didn't need to deal with the bodies…especially when they themselves didn’t even know how it had happened yet. 

Instead, he pressed another kiss to Nyx’s head and then, even when he didn’t want to leave him…he walked up the stairs to Eira’s bedroom. 

She had taken over a room on the third level of the house…away from both the master bedroom and also the room Elain had chosen, overlooking the garden. 

Eira’s room overlooked the River. It wasn’t the biggest bedroom either, with sloped ceilings that made it look smaller than it was…and the usual furniture that Feyre had picked for every room in the house. 

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but maybe he had expected the room to have gotten a little bit more personality in the over 2 years that Eira now lived there. Something. Anything. 

The only thing that made it obvious that it was her room, was a box of thread spilling over her desk. 

Eira was on her bed and Nesta was sitting at her side, glaring at him as he opened the door. “Out!” Nesta snapped. “I do not want you to see her like that.” 

“See her like what?” Rhys asked, eyebrows climbing into his hairline. Half dead? Her skin was still grey, breath raspy…as he stepped closer to the bed, he could see the sweat beading at her hairline…

Nesta glared at him as she tugged a sheet around her, covering her.  

“In a state of undress,” she told him sharply. 

He blinked twice. 

He really couldn’t care less about it. Besides, she was still wearing a dress, even when Madja had cut it open to make it easier for her to reach the wound on her ribcage. And he had seen her in less…when she had been thrown into that cauldron and spat out again, the white cotton of her nightgown had become translucent. 

He hadn’t cared, because the only female he even wanted to look at anymore was Feyre, and her sisters were his now…

“I really don’t care about that,” he assured Nesta, who just glared at him. 

“She would,” Nesta spat out. “Eira would care, Rhysand.  She saved your son at the expense of her own life. The least you could give her is some fucking respect and her modesty.”

Right. 

“Is there ever going to come a day where you don’t expect the worst of me?” he asked with a sigh, moving to her desk to pick up the chair and bring it over to her side. 

He watched with surprise as shadows started to cover her body…becoming nearly solid in places, obscuring her torso from view, only leaving out her face and her limbs. 

Nesta stared at them for a moment but then seemed to think that they couldn’t possibly make it any worse. 

“Why are you here?” Nesta demanded from him. 

“I am a daemati,” he gave back drily as he sat down in the chair, mustering Eira’s prone form. Fine-boned, pale skin with a smattering of freckles just like Feyre. Not fragile, but…delicate.

“You are not poking around in her head,” Nesta seethed. 

“Even if it would take away her pain?” he offered lightly. Nesta harrumphed.  

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?”

 Rhys took that as the only agreement he was going to get.

He reached out with his mind, expecting to carefully brush up against Eira’s mental shields…It seemed to be the only magical thing that she had easily caught on to. 

He had always left her mind alone, no reason why he should delve any deeper than surface sweeps he did on instincts…not when Eira’s mind had always been…soft in a sense. More worried about how other people felt than herself…

Now…unconscious. Ravaged by fever…there were no shields. Her mind bloomed under his touch, suddenly, harshly... She dragged him inside and he tumbled right into her memories. 

One quick snapshot after another. So quickly…too quickly. 

***

Wooden Ruler to her knuckles. Pain biting. Hard. Crying. Do not lie to me. 

She hadn’t lied. She hadn’t. The letters had truly changed places in front of her. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t…

***

A hand grasping underneath her chin, so tightly that it hurt. Steel grey eyes. Her eyes. She inherited them. 

Your resemblance to a mole rat is rather unfortunate. But don’t worry. I am sure you’ll make a proper wife someday. To a farmer maybe. 

That was alright. She could be a wife. She wanted to be a wife. Even to a farmer…she…She wanted to be a wife. She wanted to have children…a baby…

***

Molten ore being poured into her veins. Humanity burned away. Fury. So much fury poured over her body. Your sister stole from me… And she paid the price. In blood and pain and drowning. 

Heat and Cold and burning alive and freezing…

She hit the floor, her whole body not her own…not anymore. 

Not her body. Never her body. Never again. 

***

Again. And Again. And Again. 

Back and Forth and Back and Forth and Back and Forth…

A quiet moan as she pulled at her ears, too long, too pointy, not hers, not hers, she never wanted these, but they were there sprouting from her head and they heard too much and she saw too much and she…

Back and Forth and Back and Forth…Iron taste in her mouth, too sharp teeth biting into her lip. 

She didn’t care. 

Back and Forth and Back and Forth and Back and Forth and maybe she would fall asleep and she wouldn’t hear heartbeats and she wouldn’t hear voices and she wouldn’t be heard, sat in that closet, in that tight and dark little place, because everything else felt too much. 

Back and Forth and Back and Forth and Back and Forth…

***

Peace. For the first time…in a long time. Peace. Just her hands, stitching on that button, one after another…the notes building in her throat. A children’s lullaby. Feyre had loved it. 

Stop your screeching, girl, I am getting a headache.

Said the scary one. 

The words stuck in her throat. 

She didn’t do it again. Not where anybody could hear it. 

She should make no noises. She wasn’t allowed to make any noises. Not allowed to take up any space. 

***

Screams muffled by pillows, shaking and crying and weeping and she didn’t know how she could stand it…Griefing and crying and she wanted to shout and scream and she couldn’t…she couldn’t…she couldn’t…

***

She was a failure. She always was a failure. Never enough. It didn’t matter what she did. She was dumb, she was stupid, she wasn’t good enough. 

As far as cauldron-made goes, she is pretty much useless.

So pretty. So beautiful…so blonde, with golden hair. So powerful. Everything she wasn’t. 

Everything she shouldn’t be.

Laughter. 

It was the truth. She was useless. 

She couldn’t do what came so easily to everybody else. No winnowing. No anything. Not good enough. Regardless of how hard she tried. 

***

Please. Please. Please. Just once…Just one time…

Garden. Wrought Iron table and chairs…broad wings sunning in the sun…a quiet conversation…a male’s laugh. So beautiful…so handsome…so kind. 

Her sister turned…he smiled. 

So beautiful.  So handsome. So kind. Hazel green eyes…dark curly hair. 

She wanted him. 

But he didn’t want her. 

So in love. With Elain. 

Not with her. Never with her. Never would be. 

Nobody would ever want her. He wouldn’t ever want her. 

***

Her sister. Her sister. Regardless of anything. 

Don’t come crying to me if she bites off your head. I warned you.

She wouldn’t. Her tears didn’t matter. To anybody. She would deal with them herself. It was her own fault. She didn’t listen. 

She couldn’t listen. Her sister. Her sister. 

Her fault. 

She should know better. 

***

Don’t you have anything better to do? Like make another ugly dress?

Silver embroidery floss, red silk. 

Black thread. 

Little hands painstakingly stitching, only for the dress to be just as painstakingly wrapped up and put in the chest at the bottom of her bed, never to be seen again. It was better that way. 

Never would be worn by a bride on her wedding day…or a Valkyrie on the day of her mating ceremony. 

Ugly Dresses. Not pretty enough. Not good enough. Never good enough. Not for Nesta. Not for anybody. 

***

Her own fault. Shouldn’t eavesdrop. They never heard anything good about themselves. 

We don’t need Eira. Quite frankly, it’s better if she doesn’t go. Elain is the prettier one, anyway.

Nobody needed her. Better if she didn’t bother anybody. Elain was prettier. Always was. Always would be. She was the ugly one. She wasn’t needed. She was worth nothing. 

***

Delicate tea. Ginger Cookies. Her sister’s favourite. Sun outside in the garden, dancing on the wooden floor…

Eira, find somewhere else to be. I really have more important things to do. 

Of course. She was a bother. She shouldn’t. She should know better. Others were more important. Shouldn’t bother. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. 

***

Quiet. Don’t bother anybody. Make yourself useful. 

Nyx. 

So beautiful. 

Just like Feyre. 

Sing. Softly. So nobody could hear. 

So nobody… just Nyx. Hers and not hers. Feyre’s. 

Envy. So much envy, because she wished she had what her sister had. She wished she had a husband and a baby and somebody that loved her. 

Somebody who didn’t hate her. But she didn’t. 

So she sang. Another human lullaby for the future High Lord. 

Again and Again and again and her broken heart broke even more. 

***

Blue velvet box. Winter solstice. 

Pearl Earrings. Beautiful. So beautiful. 

But for her…for her useless. Her ears weren’t pierced. 

He hadn’t even noticed that. It hurt worse than even his smiles at her sister. 

He had brought her a gift…but it wasn’t a gift that she could use, no gift that…no gift that was special to her…no thought behind it… just an item on a list to be checked off. 

Something for Eira. Beautiful and Impersonal and…

No attention paid to her. 

She didn’t deserve his attention. Never. 

But she wanted it. Just once…

Please, Please, Please, Please…

***

She wanted to help. She always wanted to help. 

At least I found two males in my life willing to marry me. The one you have your ridiculous puppy crush on is never even going to look at you!

Her sister. Her sister. Her sister. 

She wished to cease existing. She didn’t care anymore. 

She could disappear and she would do them all a favour. 

Especially him. 

***

Fledgeling happiness shattered like a glass bottle on a stone floor. 

Could you at least try to get over him? It’s…it would be better for…this court.

Her feelings. An inconvenience. Should get over them. Now. Before they make trouble. 

Even when she never told anybody. Kept that secret close to her heart….

Of course. She would never tell him. 

She would never say a word. She would close her eyes and wish herself far, far away. 

Better that way. 

Wasn’t good enough. Useless. Stupid to think that she had a chance. She didn’t. Ugly. Not Enough. Worthless. Do not take up space. Melt into the background. Cease to exist. 

***

Rhys snapped himself from her brain, and then promptly wretched, vomiting onto the floor. 

[azmageddon]

I Can't Lose Him (Part Three)

Pairing: Ariel x Cassian's twin!healer!reader

Summary: Finally, Ariel wakes up.

Warning: Painfully inaccurate to the original storyline.

a/n: Part three of I Can't Lose Him! Let me know if you'd like to hear more about the pair!

The commotion in the tent gets louder as you rush toward it. There’s an argument happening inside, and the sound of shattering glass reaches your ears. It isn’t until you hear Nesta shout at Azriel to “Sit down!” that you realize you’ve left the two most stubborn fae in all of Prythian alone together. 

When you whip the tent flap open, you’re met with a dizzying scene. 

Azriel, leg still splinted straight and right arm bandaged tightly to his torso, has a white knuckle grip on the wooden chair beside the bed. It groans under the pressure as he puts all of his weight on it to help him stand. Nesta, however, is attempting to form a human shield, with two hands splayed on his chest, attempting to push him back down to the bed.

“Damn it, Azriel, sit down! You’re half dead; do you want to be all dead?” Nesta pushes with all of her strength, but even injured, centuries of training is not lost on the Shadowsinger as he refuses to be forced down. Clearly, the two have not heard you enter the tent, as their arguing only continues.

“Tell me where she is, Nesta,” Azriel hisses through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the pain that you’re sure is ravaging his body.

“Y/N is going to kill you herself when she finds you out of bed. Plus you’ve smashed the pain tonic. Now for the last time: Sit. Down. Right. Now.” Nesta pushed with each word, anger lacing her voice, but still, your mate would not relent.

“I don’t care if Cassian is with her, tell me where she is. Knowing him, she’s probably worse off than being alone.”

“What is going on in here?” you shout, rushing to Azriel’s side. “Are you insane, Az? Sit down before you rip your stitches out!” 

Both Nesta and Azriel instantly stop their arguing at the sound of your voice. The hazel eyes that meet yours were ablaze with worry and confusion, but instantly soften to relief when he sees you. 

“Thank the gods,” Nesta said, dropping her arms to her sides and stepping away from Azriel. “You have the most possessive and unreasonable mate in existence.”

“Oh, like yours is any better,” you joke, convincing Azriel to at least sit on the side of the bed for the time being.

If Nesta was affected at all by your words, she didn’t let on, her face as neutral as ever. “He’s not my mate,” she deadpanned. 

You felt a smile working its way into your mouth and you quickly turned away so she wouldn’t see. “Sure he isn’t, Nesta,” you replied, amused by both her’s and your brother’s blatant ignorance. You winked at Azriel, hoping to lighten the mood and reference the countless times the two of you had whispered about Nesta and Cassian. But your attempt at making the joke was met with a look of displeasure from your mate. 

“Are you going to tell me where you were? Why did you swear Nesta to secrecy?” Azriel interjected, his eyes boring into you with frustration and pain.

You signed. “Honestly, I’d rather not,” you replied, pushing his dark hair away from his sweat soaked forehead. 

“Rhys and Cassian took her to Devlon’s tent to heal him.”

“What?!” Azriel made to stand again but you pushed him back down with one hand on each shoulder. Centuries of training hadn’t been lost on you either, despite your exhaustion.

“Nesta!”

“See you later,” she said, fake innocence in her voice as revenge for calling Cassian her mate. She flipped her braid over her shoulder and spun away to leave, pushing the tent flaps open and closed with more force than seemed necessary. 

“Why would you do that for Devlon?” Azriel asked, eyes roaming over you for signs of the Lord of Windhaven and his less than respectful approach to Illyrian females. 

“Relax, Az, he barely tolerated me near him, let alone him wanting to touch me.” You took this opportunity to get Azriel back into bed, swinging his legs up and helping him reposition himself. “Besides, Cassian and Rhys were with me. Cassian almost ripped his head off for much less.”

He chose not to respond, instead closing his eyes and taking deep, calming breaths.

“Why didn’t you take the pain tonic I left for you?” you asked, already knowing the answer. It was at your feet, the bottle shattered in a million pieces and the liquid seeping into the dirt floor. 

“I’m fine,” was his only response. Stupid, prideful, Illyrian baby, you thought.

Digging through your medical bag, you found another tonic and touched it to his lips, encouraging him to drink. But the moment you brought it to his mouth, he pulled his head away, refusing to drink it.

“Don’t make me force feed you, Az. I need to check your stitches,” you warned, hoping it would convince him to drink it.

“No.”

“Don’t be stupid, it will help you.”

“Why did you close your side of the bond?” he asked, opening his eyes and cocking an eyebrow in your direction. You were taken aback by the sudden change in topic. You turned away and placed the tonic on the side table with a quiet clink before sitting on the side of the bed, admitting defeat.

“I didn’t want you to know where I was in case you woke up. I know how much you hate Devlon. But obviously that didn’t work out as I planned.” 

“You never close your side of the bond. I thought something had happened to you. And then when I woke up, Nesta was there, not you. She refused to tell me where you were or what happened. I tried to reach out, but you were completely closed off to me. I thought… I thought something…” he stopped, his good arm flying up to the stitches on his side and hissing in pain.

You reached for the pain tonic, and this time, you gripped his chin and tipped it inside his mouth. “Drink it,” you demanded. With a swift bob of his Adam’s apple and quick dart of his tongue across his bottom lip, you were satisfied.

The two of you sat quietly for a few moments, Azriel’s confession laying heavily in the air between you. After what felt like forever, you knew you were going to have to be the one to break the silence. Azriel was, afterall, a spymaster for a reason.

“I was scared,” you admitted, dropping your gaze to your hands. “You fell 200 feet out of the sky. When you were first hurt, I thought I was going to lose you. And then you were screaming. I had never heard that sound come out of you before in my entire life. I had both my arms inside your chest, Az. I had to cut you open while you screamed for me to stop. I couldn’t be your mate in those moments; I couldn’t hold your hand and tell you it was going to be alright. I couldn’t send comfort through the bond. At that moment, all I could do was scream at Cassian to hold you still while I butchered you.” You turned your hands over and stared at your palms, remembering the blood you had to wash off of them after you had finished putting him back together. “I had both my hands inside your chest,” you repeated, trailing off into a whisper.

“You promised me,” you continued, allowing the vulnerability to become present in your voice. Your eyes were rimmed with wetness as you thought of how close to death your mate had been. “You promised you’d come back to me.”

“Technically,” Azriel started, reaching a scarred hand up to brush a piece of hair out of your face. He cupped your cheek and pulled your gaze away from your hands and back to his eyes. The mountains and valleys of his scarred skin felt comforting and familiar. “Technically, I kept my promise. There were just a few bumps along the way.”

You blinked, letting out a weak laugh and let the tears flow over. You leaned your forehead to his and closed your eyes, inhaling his familiar scent. Opening your side of the bond, you felt a wave of emotions wash over you from him. Love and appreciation filled your soul, spreading from the center of your chest where the golden thread that connected the two of you were joined. 

 “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Azriel said, lacing his fingers through your hair and holding you to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

For a few moments, the two of you stayed like that, soaking in the rare time alone together. It wasn’t until he shifted in the bed again that you pulled back, wiping your tears and getting up to check on how he was healing. 

“Oh gods,” Azriel groaned. “I feel like the morning after Cassian’s birthday at Rita’s.”

You let out a laugh, still choked with leftover tears, but felt yourself send a jolt of amusement through the bond unintentionally. 

“Hey! That’s my birthday too, you know,” you joked, unwrapping the splint that held his leg tightly in place. His fae healing truly was remarkable. You were able to bend his leg up to his chest, still being careful of the damaged lung and healing stitches underneath the dressing wrapped around his torso. 

“Yeah but you’re not the one insisting I keep drinking.” He grunted through the stretches, allowing you to rotate his hip out, around, and back a few times. 

You shrugged, a smile spreading across your face. “No one ever said you had to drink them. You could just dump them and tell Cassian they were delicious.”

His eyes narrowed at the suggestion. “And is that what you do? Because I seem to remember that for the past few centuries, you've been roaring drunk on your birthday. Last year you refused to come home with me because you thought I was a random stranger trying to pick you up for a one-night-stand.”

You threw your head back in a boisterous laugh, remembering how you woke up with a horrible hangover and found Azriel asleep on the floor at the foot of the bed. A smile spread across your mate’s face at the sight of your joy, despite your fingers massaging deep into the tissues of his leg to work out any lingering pain. 

You worked your thumbs into the muscles of his thigh and swore the moan of relief that left Azriel’s lips stirred something deep in your belly. You shook the feeling off and kept going. 

“Should I mention some of the times you’ve drank too much? How about that time Rhys kept buying you shots and you kissed me in front of all of Rita’s, almost blowing our secret of nearly 300 years?”

Azriel smiled and you felt the memory wash across the bond. The vision of you giving into the kiss before hastily reminding yourself that your match was supposed to be a secret, played in your mind. Thankfully Cassian, the only other person besides you and Azriel that knew about the mating bond, faked the possessive brother act, pushing Azriel off of you and dragging him outside where, instead of telling him off like everyone thought, had actually dunked his head in the icy barrel of rainwater to help him work off the alcohol. 

You gasped in surprise and shook your head to clear your mind of Azriel’s memory. “You never told me he dunked you underwater. No wonder why you came back soaking wet. Cassian said you fell face first into the Sidra!”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Of course he did, that bastard.” 

After a quick peek at the stitches along his left flank and a thorough stretching of his right shoulder, you flopped yourself onto the bed beside him. Exhaustion washed over you again and you felt Azriel’s concern flood your senses. You ignored it, instead choosing to wrap a blanket around yourself and close your eyes. Shuffling closer to your mate, you came as close as you dared without worrying about hurting him. 

You felt a scarred hand thread through your hair to scratch at your scalp. A pair of lips touched your forehead and your mate’s voice sounded deep in your ears. “Sleep, love. I’ll be right here.”

Without another word, you fell headfirst into a deep, undisturbed sleep.  

[seleneprince]

Neris' daughters are named Sylvie and Gwyneth (yes, like Gwyn, one of Nesta's best friends), and they look like the perfect mix between their parents.

Sylvie is the firstborn, arriving four minutes earlier than her twin, something she playfully reminds her of quite often. She has bicolor hair, which its red from roots to the middle and gradually turns golden-brown towards the tips, and her mother's grey eyes. It's long enough to reach her waist, so she usually holds it out of the way with elegant braids or other hairstyles Nesta taught her. She has her mother's temper and her father's silver tongue. She loves animals, specially dogs because she's grown up with her Eris' hounds, and learning all she can about battle strategy. She's a great fighter, particularly talented with knives, and at fourteen she's known in court for defeating everyone that challenges her (and scarring people permanently for wronging her or her family). As Eris' heir, she's expected to command Autumn's tropes one day, so she has to train and study a lot. She's more than willing to kill for her loved ones. She can summon fire and her flames are reddish-orange. A daddy's girl through and through.

Gwyneth (called Neth or Nethie for short), has the same hair design but reversed. Instead, hers it's golden-brown from the roots and turns red to the tips, which she usually keeps shoulder-lenght, and Eris' amber eyes. She's shorter than her twin and looks like a sweeter, meek version of her (people foolishy understimate her for this and forget who raised her). She's more a diplomatic than a fighter, although she's trained in combat too just in case. She got her father's smooth, courtier personality, but in everything else she takes after her mother. She loves music, books and dance. She grew up watching her parents have duets whenever they pleased and she was enamoured by such art. She practices with them both, but its Nesta who teaches her the most. She's meant to become her twin's right hand in the future, so she's interested in politics and even becomes an ambassador for Autumn. Her weapon of choice are her words, but mind you, she can also burn you with her silver flames if you push her enough. She's a completely mommy's girl instead and, as a child, she was glued to Nesta's hips.

Both sisters are fiery in their own way, deadly protective of her loved ones and forces to be reckoned with. They're nicknamed "Autumn's Flames" because that's how strong their presence is. Sylvie is a warrior and a full-on strategist, while Neth is a diplomat and values discretion over open battles. They make the other courts shake in their boots, specially Night.

[potatoplace]

the 1

Elriel, Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Alternate Endings: Gone | betty | The Prophecy

mini-series masterlist | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: All you had ever wanted to be was plain. And now, as a plain-faced High Fae, you want more. You want your mate.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, self-loathing, suicide

Words: ~2.6k

Author's Note: I'm sorry. (I told you guys I've been having a rough week...) Apparently my brain is saying 'fuck Kinktober!' Even tho like. I WANT to write those... smut just doesn't feel in the cards for me today 😩 so have some tasty tasty angst instead. (I'm also watching an Eras Tour live so I'm hella cheered up now lol)

18+ only pls

🤍💙🩷💙🤍

Self loathing grew in your gut as you watched your family around you.

All of them were happy, reveling in the togetherness that they shared.

And your mate- your mate- was ignoring you. He was speaking to one of your sisters, absolutely enamored with her. And you couldn’t blame him.

Elain had always been the pretty one of the four of you, a shining diamond even in the filth of poverty.

Nesta was the one with regal beauty, her sharp eyes and the way she carried herself not letting anyone think otherwise.

Your twin, Feyre, was stunning, even if she herself had never seen it, the cleverness in her eyes and quiet grace drawing people’s gaze to her.

And then there was you.

You were… the ugly one. Your mother had said so, even though you were only a child when she passed. Your father had quietly agreed with her. Nesta had mocked your looks when she had had a bad day, which was nearly every day while you had been living in the run down hut after your family lost their fortune. Elain said nothing, but shot pitying looks at you when no suitor asked for a dance while you had still been human, even when it had been a ball thrown in your honor for your birthday. Feyre has been the kindest to you, reminding you that it’s what on the inside that counts…

But that didn’t appear to be so.

Even with a mating bond that you knew should draw Azriel’s attention, his eyes were still glued to Elain. He seemed to be able to breathe only when in her presence, taking in the same air as her.

And in your presence? He couldn’t seem to get away fast enough.

Being dumped into the Cauldron had made both of your sisters even prettier, and Feyre was no exception either after being turned High Fae.

For you, it had made you plain. No longer ugly, unless you counted the still crooked teeth and too small nose and thin mouth.

Just plain.

As a human, you had begged to whatever higher power there was that you could just be plain.

But now that you were, you knew it would never be enough.

Because while Feyre was right, your personality mattered more in a long term relationship than your looks, being pretty drew people in.

Being plain only made you fade into the background.

Azriel laughed at something Elain had said, the sound sending warmth through your body.

It should be you making him laugh, not Elain.

Elain, with her beauty and poise and perfect personality and her ridiculously handsome mate who wanted nothing but her time.

Elain, who seemed to want no one and no thing but your mate.

Your Azriel.

You tore your gaze away from the couple, who you already knew were in a relationship. Elain had confessed it to you a month ago, gushing about how their fifth date had gone and how she thought he was the one. She had told you first, knowing that you wouldn’t tell anyone.

After all, who would you tell?

It’s not like you had any friends in Velaris- or in the human lands, for that matter- and your other two sisters were so preoccupied with their mates and growing personal circles that they hardly had the time to look at you, let alone talk to you.

No. You were alone. You were a lockbox for all of her secrets.

Including that she was planning to officially reject the mating bond once Azriel offered a proposal of marriage.

That had made you sick to your stomach, but you had hidden it deep, deep down in your heart as you congratulated her and faked happiness, asking her when she thought he would propose.

“Any day now, I suspect. Azriel told me that he was planning for the future, and wanted to know if I would like to be a part of it,” she had sighed dreamily. “We just need to tell the family, I know that… Rhys was worried about what us being together would mean for court relations. But he’s just being dramatic, don’t you think?” Her chocolate eyes landed on you, so filled with hope that you couldn’t tell her that he was your mate.

“Yes, he’s just worried, ‘Lain. I’m sure everything will be fine,” you managed to say, and relatively normal at that.

That was last night, and while your eyes had drifted to the carpeting, they shot back upwards at the sound of clinking metal on glass.

Your mate, standing with a flute of sparkling wine in his hand and a knife in his other, had his arm locked with Elain’s.

He cleared his throat once he had everyone’s attention, his eyes passing over everyone-

But you. His eyes skipped over you, even now, with the bond flaring in your chest.

“Elain and I have something to announce, though Rhys already knows what it is.” You heard a hand slap against an arm, Rhys’s faked moan of pain, and Nesta scolding her mate. Azriel smiled at their antics, such a rarity on his face that your heart skipped several beats, leaving you lightheaded.

It most certainly wasn’t because of what they were announcing.

“Elain and I have been dating for the past two months, and we would like to make it official with you all now. In fact, the two of us will be moving into a cottage in town later in the month, and we would like to invite you all to join us for a housewarming party in two weeks.”

The inner circle broke into cheers around you, Cassian immediately encasing his brother in his arms and clapping him on the back.

“Congratulations, brother! I know you’ve waited a long time to find love.”

You remained seated where you were, offering a smile to the happy couple but staying put.

If you stood, you were sure to faint. Or be sick. Or both.

Nesta was the only other person who remained where they were, a skeptical look on her face.

“I hate to be the person to bring the party down…” She started, her voice weary. “But what of your mates? Haven’t you wanted one for your whole life, Azriel? What will happen when you find her?”

“If I find her, I will reject the bond, Nesta. My love for Elain eclipses that of what I thought possible, even with a mating bond. Nothing and no one will ever compare to your sister,” Azriel answered, which seemed to be enough to have Nesta’s approval, as she stood and made her way to the couple.

“Then I’m happy for the both of you. But if you ever hurt my sister, you will deal with me,” Nesta warned, ice in her tone.

You didn’t stick around to hear what came next.

Nothing and no one will ever compare to your sister.

And of course, he was right. How could you compare to Elain?

She was beautiful, yes, but she was also a perfect match for Azriel. Kind and caring, always ready to help people, not to mention she would be a wonderful mother.

And then there was you. Plain. Boring. Nothing special.

Even the Cauldron hadn’t thought anything of you, leaving you with a High Fae body but no magic to speak of.

You couldn’t even fathom why you had been made Azriel’s mate when Elain was such a wonderful pairing to him, and had the magical abilities to match.

You stumbled your way to the town house, where you had taken up residence once Feyre and Rhys had finished the river house. Once inside you quickly made it to your room and shucked off your clothes after locking the door.

Bare, you stood before the mirror and assessed yourself. It was a habit you had picked up once your family had regained their fortune after Feyre had been stolen away.

One that brought you no comfort, but you needed to do.

Your physique was fine, you had filled out in the past year of being fae.

But there was nothing… special about you. You were medium height. Your chest was a bit smaller than average. Your legs were on the shorter side, making your torso look too long.

And your legs… they were covered in small white scars.

Another habit that you had picked up, this time after turning fae.

And tonight would be no different.

You suppose the one saving grace of being turned fae was your quick healing, letting you destroy your body without anyone knowing.

And no one ever would, seeing as your mate was on his way to being married to your sister.

A sigh left your lips as you turned to your bed, fishing the small blade you kept underneath out from below the mattress.

Tonight would be no different.

Except now you knew that even if you confessed your bond to Azriel, your heart would be torn to shreds no matter what.

🤍💙🩷💙🤍

It was two months later, during Starfall, that your world crumbled further.

You had donned a plain dress in a midnight blue, with long flowing sleeves and reaching your feet. You had opted for flats, seeing as no one would pay you enough attention to notice if you were in heels or not.

No, no one would notice you at all.

Because Azriel had a ring in his pocket.

One that you had given him advice on, to choose something Elain would love.

A glutton for punishment, that’s what you were as you gazed at the beautiful couple, clad in matching blue outfits and beaming at one another.

You had attempted to stay home that night, only for Azriel himself to personally fly you up to the House of Wind, insisting that you needed to be there for Starfall.

You knew he meant their engagement, though.

He hadn’t even glanced your way once last Starfall, so you knew it wasn’t that you would be missed by him.

Still, you stood on one of the balconies, watching them. Waiting for the moment that your life would be forever altered, never to have a great love.

Because truly, your one chance at a great love was a mating bond. You knew that no one would choose you to spend their life with, not when you were so plain and boring with nothing to draw people in, to get to know you.

They were dancing together, so wrapped up in each other that it was painful to watch.

And then your feet were moving, leading you straight to them. You met them right as the song finished, the two of them just inches apart.

It stung.

“Azriel, may I speak to you for a moment?” You asked without realizing the words had left your mouth. “Alone, please? It will just be a moment, I promise.”

You cringed at yourself.

What were you doing?

Azriel glanced down at Elain, who nodded with a smile. “Of course. I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” he said softly, placing a gentle kiss to Elain’s lips before following you back into the House, away from the commotion.

“What’s this about, Y/N?” Azriel asked in a clipped tone once you were alone, anxiously glancing back to where you had left Elain.

“I…” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Are you really going to tell him?

“Well?” He asked impatiently, his shadows swirling around him.

“I… I’m your mate,” you said, the words rushing out all at once, and your tore your eyes away from his face and to the floor.

“You’re… You’re joking, right?” Azriel asked incredulously.

A dagger of ice to the heart, crafted of your own yearning and longing for him, for your mate.

“No, I… It’s true, Azriel. I am your mate.” Your eyes flicked back up to his face after you said it again, but you wished you hadn’t.

Anything would be better than seeing the horror in his eyes, the disgust twisting his features.

The dagger, forced in further by a hand smacking the hilt.

“You?” Azriel laughed. “Why would the Cauldron make you my mate?”

Twisting, bleeding, shredding your soul apart even as you felt the bond flare to life on his end, the very slightest stumble as he regarded you.

“I… I don’t know…” You whispered, barely audible.

“You’re not my mate,” Azriel said, stepping away from you. “You were never going to be my mate. You’re a fine enough person, sure, but how could you compare to Elain?” He shook his head, snickering to himself. “I suppose these five hundred years of waiting were for nothing. I’ll tell Cassian or Rhys take you back to the town house. Just…” He sighed. “Don’t take it personally. It’s not you, it’s me, hmm?”

And with that, the bond between the two of you was shredded, a wounded cry leaving your lips as you sank to the ground, clutching your chest where it used to reside, glowing brightly and giving you a reason to go on.

“I think it’s best for you to stay away from Elain and I. I wouldn’t want you getting territorial and ripping my love’s throat out of anything. Goodbye, Y/N.”

You barely heard him walk away, so overwhelmed with pain.

Why me?

Why was I his mate?

Why didn’t I just drown in the Cauldron?

With a great deal of trying, you managed to hoist yourself back onto your feet, stumbling your way to one of the unoccupied balconies, still clutching your chest.

Your gaping, empty chest.

Because Azriel still had your heart. He had shredded it, mangled it beyond believe but it still resided with him, leaving you with nothing but a hole where it used to be.

Your legs crashed into the edge of the balcony, your hands flying to the stone to steady you.

But it didn’t help, everything was still spinning, blood rushing in your ears as your heart kept beating somehow, somehow still physically intact even as you felt it was being ripped from your chest over and over and over.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t live.

The very fact that Elain was so casual, so blasé about shredding a bond to bits had you questioning everything you thought you knew about your sister.

How could she condemn someone to this existence?

Because already, you weren’t living.

This couldn’t be living.

It couldn’t be.

You risked a peak over the edge, spying the sharp, jagged rocks below.

If you weren’t living now…

Before you could second guess your choice, you lifted yourself onto the balcony, letting your legs dangle for a moment.

Then you swung them over the stone, to the side that had nothing to catch you.

Well, nothing but the cold embrace of death.

Which at this point would be a welcome reprieve from the fiery hot grief flooding through you, grief at the bond that was never given a chance, a moment to be considered.

But perhaps that was all the consideration you needed. To know that you would only have been a burden of mate to the male you had fallen for.

You took one last, jagged breath into your lungs before you slid off the smooth stone, air rushing past you and-

This must be what it feels like to fly.

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