"Her wings are made of starlight."
In which a mortal girl and an immortal Illyrian
are gifted neighboring cells Under The Mountain
and change each other's lives forever.
𝑨𝑪𝑶𝑻𝑨𝑹 -
...
𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. chapter four; The Guilt Of A Survivor " You believe in destiny? "
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NIXIE LISTENED CAREFULLY to Lucien Vanserra's words. She couldn't help but smile as he cursed Rhys's name in favor of Tamlin-- these simple feuds reminding her of life before Amarantha's reign.
Though, the smile dropped when he recounted Feyre's actions from the night prior, and her clear horror at this.
She didn't speak until Lucien left the women alone.
"You may not see it, but this is for your own good, Feyre."
She scoffed with what remaining energy she had.
"One day, you'll understand," Nixie spoke quietly, a knowing tone lacing her voice.
"How so? You think I'll thank him for humiliating me one day, that I'll--"
"I think you'll understand. I said nothing of forgiveness."
Feyre sighed, wringing her hands for a moment.
"Did you have to do anything like this, Nixie?"
"Not in the same realm," Nixie mumbled, "But we creatures do curious things to survive."
Feyre recalled Nixie's anger from the prior day, attempting to form a carefully calculated question-- but it was Nixie who spoke first.
"I took from Her, and she wishes to repay the favor tenfold," Nixie said, "I've done unspeakable things to stay alive, Feyre, as has Rhysand. The sooner you recognize that we are simply trying to survive, the better off you are."
Simply trying to stay alive.
Feyre mulled over those words for the rest of the day. They wouldn't leave her mind.
Lucien had called Rhysand 'Amarantha's Whore' previously. The High Lord of Night Court had been in Spring Court-- he didn't seem trapped in the same way Nixie was. He didn't act like a prisoner, or look like a tortured soul.
And yet, the bloodied and beaten woman, caged in a dark, dingy cell, spoke as if she and him were sitting in the same place.
☽ ☾
Feyre was delivered to her cell, already in a deep slumber, and Rhysand slipped into the cell next door.
"I know."
Rhys let out a breath, disregarding any care as he took a seat beside the woman, accepting the comfort she gave so willingly, leaning into him, huddled in the darkest corner.
"They will not hold this against you," Nixie whispered, reaching her hand to squeeze Rhys's, "You are not a monster, Rhysand, you are no villain."
She spoke like she was reciting a speech to the Inner Circle, like it was a warcry to the armies of Night Court; with such conviction, you couldn't help but believe her.
