light it up

The male with the braid rested a bruised hand on a tree trunk.  “Are you lost, my love?” he crooned, tilting his head at Elain.

With her heart daring to leap out of her throat, she pressed closer to Kohana.  “No, sir.  We’re travelling.”

The male smiled, his genial air so in contrast with his cruel, amber-colored eyes.  “Quite an unusual road for a Spring female to travel on.” He gazed leisurely down the empty path, then onto her green dress peeking from underneath Kohana’s borrowed coat.   His smile grew wider.  “So far away from home.”

Hoping she sounded calmer than she felt, she replied, “That is the circumstances of travel.  One will be far from home before traversing closer.”

The cronies around them chuckled, their voices like crackling embers.  In Elain’s periphery, one pushed aside his tattered cloak to reveal a knife—not the jeweled weapons she had seen on Lucien’s person, but the plain metal looked just as sharp.

The leader with the auburn braid chuckled at her retort.  “Indeed, my lady.  But I didn’t realize such esteemed High Fae associated with disfigured rabble such as this one.”  He raised an eyebrow at Kohana.

Kohana squeezed her arm, as if to warn her to stop talking.  All of the faerie’s teasing and confidence seemed to be buried in the presence of the High Fae males: the female kept her eyes down, though Elain couldn’t help but notice her other hand slipping beneath her cloak.  

Two females—one unarmed and frankly useless in the foreign court—against three males with already bruised fists and weapons hanging at their belts.  They would lose, surely, before Elain’s sisters or Lucien could even realize she was missing from Night.

Lucien.  He would surely become aware of her absence in Night, if he hadn’t already.  Amidst the fear weaving its way inside her, the bond tugged hard and heavy.  

He had held you before the Cauldron, a small voice said.  He had fought through the battle for you, blood staining his hair and skin.  And he would do the same now.  

A small twinge of hope.  Despite the illogic of it, despite the miles between them, despite everything…her body screamed for him.

But he had not saved her then.  It had been her to wield the knife.  And he had certainly not saved her before, when her mortal life had ended and her immortal one forced upon her.  If anything, it had been his fault it had happened, she thought, a bitter sadness and desperation fighting against the cursed bond.  The Hybernian soldiers who had taken her and Nesta from the beds: their leering faces, their hands wrapping around their wrists and ankles—

Dana likes her doomed lovers surprise surprise😩 but Mor and Andromache man...🥺 of course it makes my heart ache.

I included pansies as a queer symbol for their secret identities, Andromache's long golden hair and tiara for her royalty, the Night Court sigil on Mor's shield, and idk insert something about Mor holding on, shown in her eyes on Andromache, while Andromache has her eyes closed, maybe representing her dreaming of her freedom...I picture this scene sometime during the War when they meet in secret as a little slice of life. Battles have died down but tensions are of course there, and they find a place where they can have a safe moment, even if it’s just for a little while.

I hope you have a great b-day, you are so sweet, pretty, talented, and with incredible book taste that I blindly trust, and I am so happy to have met you in this fandom 💕 I remember one of our first interactions was when you drew Gwyn in a dress I posted about and agh it was just perfect! You are so genuine and creative, and I'm very excited to see all of the projects you continue to make for this fandom and other bookish fandoms!! And also the collabs we do together😉🤭