Waking up once more and realizing she was still here was an awful feeling.
Of course, deep down, shackled underneath her desperation to get home, she was thankful. Thankful for the plush bed she got to sleep on, for the sanctuary she had been given, for being saved by that awful man... but god, did it hurt to wake up and feel your heart sink knowing you weren't home, no matter how much you wished you were.
For a long time, she only laid there, staring at the canopy, thinking to herself. Not the wisest choice, given how unstable she was from the past few hours, but there was nothing else for her to really do except contemplate; exploring without the comforting presence of Morrigan - no, Mor, she had asked Lucy to call her - was an endeavor she wasn't willing to take just yet. Not when she could still feel that man's - what had Mor called him? The King of Hybern, that was right - fingers grip her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes, those awful depths of sadism and spite. She felt a shiver overtake her body at just thinking about him.
So many questions swirled around her head, impatient and desperate for answers. What was this place? How could those people do that... magic? How was she even here? But most importantly, how was she going to get sent home? She forced the lump forming in her throat and the dampness of her eyelids away at the thought of what the answers to those questions could possibly be.
A knock on the door startled her from her incoming mental breakdown, a woman whose every aspect of her was so entirely dark that Lucy could only describe her as mist and smoke, like she had been plucked right out of the void, poked her head into the room. A small smile was her greeting, stepping into the room as another woman, identical to the first, followed immediately after. Lucy sat up at their arrival, blinking several times as she thought she was seeing twins of things; but no, there they were, real as... well, real as things could be in this place.
"Er... hello," she hesitantly greeted, swinging her legs to the side of the bed and standing, swaying on her feet lightly. Trying not to appear entirely rattled by their sudden appearance, she slowly approached them, stopping as she came face-to-face with the pair.
The twins both gave her a charming smile in response, their movements and facial expressions unnervingly mirrored. "Good morning, my lady. Cerridwen and I are here to prepare you for the day, and escort you to High Lord Rhysand. He thought you would wish to meet with him as soon as possible," one of the twins explained, their voices strangely gentle and soothing, similar to Mor's. Lucy couldn't help but sag her shoulders in relief to the news that she would be getting answers as soon as possible, glad she didn't have to remain alone with only her thoughts for company.
"Thank you so much. Um... where do I...?" She trailed off, unsure how to continue. How did the people bathe here? From what she had seen, their technology seemed to be very little; was there a communal bathhouse?
The one named Cerridwen only gave an understanding smile, sweeping her across the room where the other had pulled a tub from god-knows-where, flicking her wrist and filling it to the brim with water. Lucy couldn't help but let out a startled gasp at the display of magic, Cerridwen giggling lightly in her ear as she gently tugged on Lucy's nightgown she had changed into the night before.
"Oh, er, it's alright, I can undress myself," she said gently, stepping out of Cerridwen's grasp nervously. When the pair made no move to give her privacy, she didn't dare ask them to leave, scared of offending them, and shoved modesty to the back of her mind as she tugged her nightgown over her head and stepped into the water as quickly as she could, sinking into the tub as the water's warmth forced out a sigh of content from her.
She heard one of the twins kneel by her side, the sensation of some kind of oil being gently poured onto her head startling her for a moment, the feeling of fingertips massaging into her scalp quickly soothing the surprise away. She tried to focus on that feeling rather than the unpleasant memories that forced their way into her mind at being submerged in water once more, hugging her knees to her bare chest for a semblance of comfort. It's just a bath, Lucy, you're not going to drown, was the mantra that kept her from jumping out of the tub as soon as she could.
The bath ended as quickly as it began, the other twin - Nuala, she thought she heard Cerridwen call her briefly - gently pulling her up and leading her out of the tub, the other enveloping her with a towel that soaked up the water so quickly Lucy would never have thought she'd even been wet. Usually, she would have been embarrassed by someone else's presence while she bathed, but there was something about the twins that made her at ease around them, despite their wraith-like appearance and movements. She simply chalked it up to the shock of everything.
They were halfway through helping her into a gown when a knock sounded at the door. The twins looked to each other, confusion written on their identical faces. One of them flittered to the door, her movements so fluid Lucy would have sworn she was levitating, opening it to reveal the familiar face of Mor, all smiles and grace as Nuala opened the door wider to allow her inside. She looked… exhausted, yet still retained all the beauty and elegance of a queen.
"Good morning, Lucy. I just came back from checking up on Nesta and Elain," she greeted, wincing to herself at the word Nesta. Smile quickly returning to her face, she sent a respectful nod towards the twins, "I can take it from here, Cerridwen, Nuala."
The twins bowed at her gentle command, the pair quickly disappearing out the door as Mor made her way over to Lucy's back to lace the half done-up dress the twins had previously been helping her into.
There was only comfortable silence for a few moments until Lucy fought up the courage to speak, "Nesta and Elain?" Elain, she remembered. The girl who her savior had attacked that red-headed man for, who quietly sobbed as the two held each other, refusing to let the other go.
Mor gave a start at her words, seemingly surprised. "Oh, you never got their names! Nesta was the one who…" she cleared her throat, obviously unsure if she should say the words or not, "Who pulled you out of the Cauldron. Elain is her sister, the one who was with her."
Nesta. The woman who had saved her from drowning was named Nesta.
"Oh," she responded, unsure what else to say. An image of those two injured men flashed in her mind, and before she could stop herself, Lucy found herself asking, "Those two men that were hurt. Are they okay?"
Mor's fingers paused at her back for a moment, a deep intake of breath sounding behind her. Lucy waited, unsure if she had upset her, until finally, "They're… recovering, which is more than I can ask for."
Guilt overtaking her at suddenly forcing those memories back onto her, Lucy immediately blurted out, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… bring the memories back up. I'm glad they're okay, though."
"Don't be sorry. It's the King of Hybern who should be sorry," Mor murmured lightly, ushering Lucy over to a chair by the vanity mirror. Grasping a hairbrush, she asked, "May I?"
Moved that she would ask permission before touching her hair, Lucy gently replies, "Sure, thank you. Go ahead."
Mor is gentle as she brushes her hair, tenderly combing the knots out of her chestnut locks. For a few moments, Lucy closes her eyes, imaging she is back home, a young girl during the tender age of eight as her mother gently combs her hair. The memory, once treasured and a source of comfort, now only makes her heart constrict painfully.
"All done," Mor gently announced, Lucy's now-brushed hair falling in small waves over her shoulders, fringe sweeping across her forehead. It was the one thing she actually liked about her hair: it was usually very cooperative.
She felt... refreshed, which was an odd emotion amongst all the other negative emotions swirling within her. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, taking comfort in the new feeling. Her skin, now pristine clean thanks to the scrubbing hangs of Cerridwen and Nuala and whatever soap they had used, felt soft against the modest dress she wore, enveloping her body as gentle as a cloud. She basked in the feeling, allowing the contentment to seep into her, flushing away her fear and apprehension, even if for only a few moments.
"Ready to go?" Mor asked, eyes meeting Lucy's in the mirror. She didn't need to elaborate to know who she was talking about.
She lets herself take one final, comforting breath, and nods to her through the reflection.
They walked in a comfortable silence down the hallway, similar to when Mor had first arrived in her room, Lucy's eyes roaming around in awe of how beautiful the House of Wind was. It was relatively quiet, occasionally passing servants who Mor smiled and graciously nodded to, the only real sound resounding through the halls being Lucy's footsteps; surprisingly, Mor didn't make any noise, even when walking. She chalked it up to some kind of… what were they, again? Fae, she remembered, briefly recalling the King of Hybern calling them so. Yes, it was probably a fae thing, she decided.
She had been so caught up in her own thoughts she almost walked right into Mor's back when they stopped walking, who had paused in front of a door. This was it, she realized. Glancing at Mor, she caught the woman staring at her in concern. "Are you ready?"
Not really, she thought. But Lucy was a relatively understanding girl, and she knew she was going to have to face these people sooner or later. So, instead of cowering in fear, she instead steeled her resolve, and nodded in response, giving Mor a hesitant smile to placate her. "Yeah, I'm ready."
"It's alright, we're not going to hurt you," Mor, sensing her clinging fear soothed her gently, reached to the door handle and twisted it, slowly opening the door to reveal the dining room she remembered from last night, Rhysand and the black-haired woman named Amren already seated, seemingly waiting for them. Lucy couldn't help the indistinctive gulp at seeing them once again.
Slowly, she approached the table, glancing behind her only to find Mor gone. Probably - what had she called it earlier? - winnowed somewhere, she decided. Awkwardly standing behind the seat on Rhysand's left at the head of the table, facing Amren, she stood there, fearfully waiting for the pair to give her permission to sit. The last thing she wanted to do was insult them with poor etiquette, after all.
Amren was the first to speak, clearly impatient. "We aren't going to eat you, girl. Sit."
"Amren," Rhysand warned, shooting her a glare that she only rolled her eyes at. "Please sit, Lucy."
Surprised he had actually remembered her name, she quickly set herself down on the chair, lacing her fingers together on her lap in nervousness. Unsure what else to say, she hesitantly started, "Thank you for taking me with you... back there."
She didn't dare look up to see the pair's facial expressions, but she could hear the soft gentleness in Rhysand's tone as he replied, "It's alright. We wouldn't have left you there."
Amren, however, didn't seem to have time for small talk. "Let us have these questions answered, then. Are we correct in assuming you are from another realm?"
Lucy, genuinely shocked she had hit the nail on the head so quickly, immediately straightened up, eager for answers. "Yes! Yes, I am. How did you...?"
"It was rather obvious. It's also not the first time such a thing has happened in this world," Amren sniffed, "Tell us, what magic caused you to pass through the Cauldron?"
Rhysand leaned forward in his seat, neatly folding his hands on the table as he did so, also eager to hear her answer. Lucy, however, furrowed her brows at the woman's words, "I was hoping you could answer that for me. Where I'm from, magic doesn't even exist. It's a myth."
The pair shared a short glance, seemingly surprised by this information, but didn't allow it to show on their faces. "What do you remember before passing through the Cauldron, then?" Rhys was the one who spoke this time, his eyes remaining curious.
Lucy shivered at the sheer memory of the car crash. At how the water stole the air from her lungs, how cold it had been, how her vision blurred and faded to black. "I drowned," she began, meeting the inquisitive eyes of Rhysand. "I was driving home from work. It was raining, so I decided to take the short route around the mountain. I... I lost control of the car, and fell into a lake. I couldn't get out, was stuck in there as the water kept rising. I..." She choked up, gasping for breath as she remembered; but she kept going, refusing to break down, "I remember reaching up, desperate for something to grab onto and pull myself to the surface. When I finally lost consciousness... I could've sworn I felt someone grasp my hand."
"Nesta," Rhysand breathed, understanding lining his tone. He had no clue what a car or driving was, but he understood enough to grasp what had happened; how she had come to be here.
"Perhaps..." Amren began, appearing in thought, "It seems that the Cauldron heard your cries for help, your desperation to live, and allowed Nesta to reach in and save you. It pitied you."
Lucy's confusion was palatable at the woman's words. From what she had seen, the Cauldron was a tangible object, not a thing with consciousness. "It... pitied me?"
Rhysand, detecting the confusion in her voice, quickly explained, "The Cauldron... we don't entirely understand it, but it with all the magic it contains, the raw power... it is certainly alive, to some extent."
Putting that information to the back of her mind, Lucy quickly changed the subject. "But you can send me back, right?" She asked, looking questioningly between the two. When neither of them answered, she repeated, "Right?"
Her stomach dropped to the floor as Rhysand shook his head at her, his expression almost pitying. "No one in Prythian contains that kind of magic, let alone Amren or myself."
"But the Cauldron sent me here, so it can send me back, right?" She didn't care how desperate she sounded, she only cared about her need to get home, her need to see her mother again. She couldn't be stuck here. Not now, not when she had so much left to do back in her own world.
Rhysand only shook his head at her once more. "The Cauldron is raw power, and also very unpredictable. If it didn't want to send you back, there's no telling what might happen to you if you went back in there," he sighed, looking away from her crestfallen expression. "Besides, the Cauldron is in Hybern's hands now, our enemy. You saw the King of Hybern yourself. He wouldn't let you go near it."
Despite his many warnings, she refused to give up just yet. "But I have to try. What are the chances of you getting the Cauldron back?"
"Slim. Slimmer than I want to admit."
Her mind whirled, thoughts spiraling out of control as she grasped at straws. "What if I snuck to it? Found a way to get in without anyone knowing?"
This time, it was Amren who answered, outright laughing at her suggestion. "You obviously don't understand the threat we face, girl. There is no sneaking into Hybern. Not for a human, let alone a fully trained fae. It would be suicide to even try."
Her hands began to shake under the table, tears springing in her eyes at how helpless her situation was progressively becoming. "But what am I supposed to do? I need to go back home; I have a life! A mother..." She hiccupped, wiping her eyes harshly, "A mother who needs me! I'm all she has!"
Rhysand's eyes only remained pitying, but it wasn't pity she needed. What she needed was a way home. "I'm sorry. For now, the only thing you can do..." he sighed, shaking his head as he looked away from her, "The only thing you can do right now is pray that we win this war."
She had left shortly after, unable to contain her tears any further into the conversation. Amren had protested, having many more questions, but Rhys let her go. She'd suffered enough, he knew. She'd lost everything she'd ever had in the span of a few hours, trapped in an unfamiliar and awful place, unable to escape. He couldn't blame her for her discovery being too much to handle.
Rhys could relate to that, and couldn't bring himself to make her suffer any further because of it.
"You didn't mention it."
He turned to Amren, meeting her suspicious narrowed eyes. Of course she'd sensed it as well. To think anything less would be an insult to the woman.
"No, I didn't," he replied, "The girl's been through enough."
"Regardless," Amren drawled, "does she truly not know?"
He had almost asked how she knew he had the answer to that, but paused. Amren knew him well, second to his own mate; or rather, knew the side of him he tried relentlessly to shackle within himself. Of course she knew he'd prodded the girl's mind. Something he usually averted doing, but with his mate gone, Hybern in control of the Cauldron… just this once, he'd let his morals slide. He needed to ensure his people were safe. For now.
"She didn't," he lamented, "I made sure. Everything she said was her truth."
Amren didn't need to ask how he knew; understood his usage of his daemati powers. As any normal human, the girl had no mental barriers, no walls from keeping him out. He'd only sifted the surface, unwilling to go as far as to invade the deeper aspects of her mind, but he'd seen everything he needed to confirm her story: a mother, sickly and smiling, need to get home, falling, drowning, water in her lungs, desperate for escape, someone, anyone, please, help me, this can't be real-
Rhys' hardened mind from years living in Under the Mountain understood that suffering. Understood her loss, her desperation. He understood better than most, and because of that, wanted to ease her anguish. "She'll remain with us, will be protected here."
"You intend to hide it from her?"
He could've sworn he heard something akin to disapproval in Amren's voice. "No, of course not," he admonished, "When the time is right. Let her mourn."
"We are all suffering," Amren dismissed. He didn't miss her usage of the word we in that sentence, indicating the loss of Feyre and looming threat of Hybern affected her more than she wished to let on. At his raised eyebrow and small smirk, she waved her hand at him. "Come off it."
He allowed himself the chuckle that found its way up his throat. "Yes, we are all suffering. But we also have reason to keep fighting. She," Rhys sighed, "does not."
Amren merely rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be so dramatic. She isn't our problem. Just because you pity her doesn't make her your responsibility," she said evenly, "We don't have time to coddle helpless human girls."
Her words were harsh, he knew, but they were also very true; thus was the reality of Prythian. They were on the brink of war, the threat of Hybern looming over the edge of the mountains that surrounded Velaris. But this girl, human and so very helpless, had no one else to look to for guidance and aid. Rhysand would not abandon another merely because it was convenient. An image of the human girl from Feyre's village, Clare Beddor, flashed through his mind. No, he would not fail again.
"The King of Hybern wanted her for a reason," Rhys instead replied, deflecting the topic Amren was prying open.
She merely snorted at that, "Besides being a weak, pretty little human that would be easy to break?"
"Besides that," Rhys replied, remembering her pale skin, unmarred, delicate and so very human. Yes, a man like the King of Hybern would have enjoyed her thoroughly. Rhys, even with his millennia of experience in the brutality of this world, felt sick at the thought. Perhaps that was why Mor had taken such a fondness for her; she saw a reflection of what she could have been, what she had almost become.
"She's no threat. We'll leave her be," Rhys declared, standing up from his seat.
"I still have questions," Amren replied, clearly irritated.
"And you'll get your answers," he replied, "Eventually."
She had tried to hold herself together in front of Rhys and Amren. Tried, and failed horrifically. As much as she tried to reign it in, the pain came out like an uproar from her body, the beads of tears falling down one after the other, with no sign of mercifully stopping. She'd quickly excused herself and ran away like the coward she was, unwilling to let those strangers see her cry. She had shuffled down the hallway, briefly recalling the way back to her room, as muffled sobs wracked against her chest. Her lips trembled and shoulders heaved with emotion, unwilling to back down. Servants gave her strange, yet understanding looks as she passed them on her way back to her room, and it only made her feel worse, more desperate to find her little sanctuary, so that she could allow herself to grieve in peace without their strange eyes appraising her.
Fingertips against one of the walls, she found the handle to her room easily enough, wrenching it open and stepping in as quickly as she could. Now in the safety of privacy, she leaned her head against the frame, eyes closed as she freely let her tears cascade down her cheeks.
She had not expected two sets of eyes to be staring at her when she opened her own.
She gave a startled gasp followed by a hiccup when she noticed, frantically using her dress sleeve to wipe at her cheeks. She blinked the briny tears from her bloodshot eyes away, her lashes stuck together in clumps as if she'd been swimming only moments before. And then, it registered. She recognized those faces; beautiful flowing golden brown hair, rich brown eyes. Nesta and Elain.
She had stepped into the wrong room.
"I- I'm so sorry," she gasped, hiccups forcing her to stutter as she found herself at a loss for words, "Oh god."
In her defense, their rooms were startlingly close together, and looked the exact same. The only difference in their suites was the doorway that connected to another, likely identical room, probably so the pair could easily access each other. It seemed that right now, however, they were content to remain together, mourn together, grieve together, huddled together on the bed as they used a blanket to shelter each other, as though it were their only defence left, clinging to the other's presence as if it were the only comfort they could draw from this awful situation. God, what Lucy would give for that kind of luxury, to have her mother hold her in her arms like Nesta so delicately held Elain; instead, she was left with no one but herself in this strange, unfamiliar world.
She didn't know why she didn't just run away. She would have done so if it were anyone else. But her burning curiosity of the one who saved her from an early death made her pause, rooting her in place. Yet before she could even debate how she could possibly embarrass herself further, Nesta's voice, cold as ice, cut through the room, "What do you want?"
Lucy couldn't help but lurch at her words, at the hostility that rolled off her in waves. In those short moments, Nesta Archeron was, she decided, almost as terrifying as Amren. Almost. "I..." she began. Screw it. Now that she was here, she might as well thank her. "Well, I wanted to thank you."
From the way her eyes narrowed and lip curled in response, Nesta hadn't been expecting gratitude, of all things."Thank me?" she spat, lip curling.
This was not going the way she expected it to.
"Y- Yes," she replied, wringing her hands together, "You saved my life. I was, well... drowning when you saved me."
That seemed to give her savior pause, but it did little to ease the hostility she appeared determined to threaten Lucy's unwelcome presence with. "Drowning."
It wasn't a question, no, much more of a statement. As though she understood, in some way. "I... was drowning in a lake. Trapped in a car. I don't know how, but when you took my hand, you pulled me out of that... thing with you. You saved my life," she gently explained, unwilling to say the word Cauldron in their presence. Even the mention of it caused Nesta to flinch, despite quickly recovering.
There was a short pause between the two, but then, "I didn't do it for you."
She knew the words were meant to be cold, offensive, hostile. Yet Lucy couldn't manage to bring those feeling up, couldn't find the energy to be offended. Instead, she could only let a wry smile overtake her features. "No, I guess you didn't. But still," she said frankly, "thank you."
Nesta only grunted in response, an action she managed to somehow make look elegant, but it was Elain that had her undivided attention; Elain, who looked at her with absolutely no emotion, her expression almost robotic. There was a hollowness in her eyes that Lucy had seen only once before; in her mother when she had become wheelchair-bound. This, she understood, was a woman who had lost everything, entirely helpless and destroyed.
Yes, she understood that feeling all too well.
She felt her own grief crash back into her in waves; seeing her mother in Elain now only a cruel reminder of what she would probably never get to see again. "I..." she cleared her throat, "That's all I wanted to say."
Desperate to leave, to escape, she turned to leave, pausing as her hand gripped the door's handle. "If there's anything I can do..." she glanced over her shoulder, her words directed at Nesta despite her eyes being set on Elain, "Let me know."
With her offer of friendship hanging in the air, she left, disappearing into the hallways to her own room.
For the first time in her life, she found herself alone.
Now back in the safety of her own guest room, she made her way over to the bed, dragging one foot in front of the other as she collapsed on it in an undignified heap. Back at home she had, by absolutely no means, been a social butterfly, but she'd always had friends, always been surrounded by the pleasant company of people she knew and appreciated. More importantly, she'd had her mother. But now, lying awake in a strange room staring at the canopy, there was nothing. Her mother wasn't here to soothe her fears, nor were her small group of friends here to make her laugh until she cried, momentarily forgetting any worries she may have had. It was just her, alone in a strange place with strange people with, as far as she had been told, no way home. She was completely and utterly alone in her mind, body, soul, and most of all, in this new world. And by god, did it hurt, when that revelation finally, fully, registered to her.
And so, in her solitude, she did the one and only thing she could to release that pain.
She cried until she had no tears left to give, until she swore her tears had soaked through the pillow and onto the bed, until her throat became raw from muffling her wails. She cried for her mother, for her friends, for the life she had left behind upon drowning in that lake. She cried for the mistake of ever driving up that mountain, of the one foolish, idiotic mistake that had cost her everything. She cried because she had no one to blame but herself. She cried until the sun crossed over the mountains, until darkness overtook the day's light, until the night's biting cold forced her into a shivering mess. She cried until she had no more energy to do so, and was forced to sleep.
But even then, in the release of her dreams, she mourned.
Even here, she can't escape the memory of drowning.
She was standing on water. Not just any body of water, she quickly realized. The lake. She... was standing on it. Not standing in a way that suggested the lake was frozen; no, standing in a way that the water somehow supported her weight, light ripples spurting from her feet as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Instead of the familiar sight of road that should have greeted her at the shoreline, all she saw were a mass of trees, leaves so bright and colorful they looked to have been flourished from spring.
She wanted to move, to run from this place, force herself away from her watery deathbed, but found her feet rooted to the spot. Her fingers shake, desperate to claw at the water, yet a fear deep-rooted within her prevents her from even attempting to touch the lake's surface. Her throat constricts, breaths coming out in short panicked gasps, and does the first thing that comes to her.
"Help!" She called, barely managing to get the words out, "Someone, please help!"
And then, within the sheltered darkness of beyond the treeline, she sees it.
It steps out of the shadows slowly, almost cautiously. A mixture of animals, characteristics melded together to make a beastly horse sized creature with a bear-like body that moved with a feline fluidity. It had a distinctively lupine head, and massive elk-like antlers. Yet regardless of what exactly it was, there was no doubting the danger of its black, dagger-like claws spurting from its paws and yellow fangs that glinted under the sunlight.
Yet despite its horrific appearance, despite looking like a creature from a fantasy picture-book designed to horrify children and adults alike, she was not afraid.
"Help!" She screamed out, despite being unsure of how such a creature could possibly help her, "Please, I can't move! I'm stuck!"
She swears she sees understanding flash through those animalistic eyes, despite being such a length away, and it steps forward once more, pausing at the edge of the lake. It only stares at her, cautious, appraising, unsure. Deciding. But when she utters out a desperate, final plea, it's decision is made, and it steps into the water.
Yet the moment it makes contact, the water's surface below her collapses, and she is submerged, unable to swim to the surface.
She screams in shock, which only serves to force her to take a mouthful of water; one would think she had learned from the first time not to do so. She forces her body to move, yet despite trying to push herself up, she only remained falling deeper, deeper, deeper into the watery abyss. In the corner of her eye, she sees it, that beast swimming towards her, but she knows it won't be fast enough. It ducks its head underwater, searching, until its eyes find hers. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, yet the words are swallowed by another mouthful of water, causing a wave of ruthless exhaustion to hit her body. The beast pushes itself towards her, its movements almost desperate. Closer, closer, closer, until she finally musters the strength to lift one of her arms towards it. Her fingers are close enough to grasp onto its fur, to feel once more, but it was too late.
Her eyes close, and as her body goes limp, she awakens.
lots of things happening in this chapter, and lots of hints on what is to come. i hope you all enjoyed! writing elain and nesta is surprisingly hard; same with rhys and amren. i found rhys the most difficult because in the books he's usually very snarky and such, yet i found it would be rather strange to write him as such when he's just lost his mate + cassian and azriel being critically injured, so he's much more... somber for the time being. in the meantime, mor is being the kind soul we know and love, amren wans to deal with the war, and elain and nesta remain in shock. and lucy is just crying lmao. i hope you'll all have a lovely week, or however long it takes for me to update next. a big thank you goes out to those that have reviewed, favourited and followed in the meantime; you guys are the greatest, and it really gets my motivated! in the meantime, i hope you all enjoy!