"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 thirteen; Back To Spring "But I can be your sister, Feyre. So you may have them in both lands."
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NIXIE WAS A poorly masked monster. She was arriving with the other guests, as if she were a normal noblewoman, traveling to the High Lord's home for his perfect Spring wedding to the perfect savior of all of Pyrthian.
But Nixie wasn't like the other guests. And they reminded her of this.
Glares and sneers pelted off of her blue cloak, so dark it almost appeared glittering black even in the bright afternoon sun.
It had been her weak attempt at hiding her identity, at least until she reached the woman who had invited her.
Cassian had reminded her moments before she departed that her wings would tell a story everyone would know, and these were not a thing that could, or should, be hidden by any amount of fabric.
She hadn't felt like this in years, she remembered.
Sure, Nixie had been a piece in Amarantha's collection-- entertainment, the monster of Night Court, but this was different.
And it hurt.
More than it had before she was shoved Under The Mountain, more than it ever had.
It hurt.
"Nixie!"
The woman felt her shoulders release tension she held unknowingly at Feyre's voice.
Mere seconds after she had passed the threshold into that familiar home, the mortal-turned-fae was embracing her.
"Feyre," Nixie breathed out in greeting, bringing her arms around the girl in a tight hug, "It is so good to see you again."
And even though it was, Nixie could tell as she pulled out of the embrace, that something was wrong.
Something in Feyre's heart, in her eyes, was all wrong.
But Nixie hardly had time to think about this as she noticed a man approach them.
Her posture went rigid, face growing cold as she watched his eyes focus on the bandaged wings hanging from her spine. As if they were a thing for him to gawk it, to pity; Nixie wanted to remind him she could tear him apart with or without those Illyrian wings, and the only reason she wouldn't was because of the woman at his side.
But she settled for a rigid greeting.
"Tamlin."
"Nixie."
Feyre's eyes danced between the two, the tension nearly suffocating her.
"I brought you a gift," Nixie said, tearing her eyes away from Tamlin's before she ripped the man apart for daring to breathe, "Excuse us, Tamlin."
