#acotar.

location:  hewn  city.

Since being revealed at all, word of Velaris was one already passed into legend. Amarantha’s rule in those past fifty years had been unspeakably cruel, and that even a sliver of the Night Court had not only remained intact, but hadn’t been discovered at all was widely gossiped throughout Prythian--especially since Sypha had reached its shores just days ago. Compared to the Hewn City, Velaris scintillated like a vale of stars in the silvery moonlight, light undulating prettily on the Sidra’s surface. Construction scaffolding and rebuilding segments shone in the moon’s glow, especially radiant in a pall as Sypha stepped from the ferry that moored itself to the shoreline. 

If only the same could be said for the rest of the world. Their native Dacia--a mortal kingdom--was in an uproar from what had occurred. Immortal beings were being vengefully hunted in turn, word of Hybern’s brutality stoking the fires of yet another war of the like from centuries ago. Half-lele themselves, their ilk were being slaughtered like cattle, and it wasn’t even the worst of it. These thoughts haunted Sypha in their long sojourn to the House of Wind, anticipation thrumming at the prospect of meeting Prythian’s most powerful High Lord, his kinder face only recently revealed. 

Cupid's Chokehold

the  chaos  is  riveting.  the  masses  of  bodies  that  collide  with  her  is  enough  to  jumble  her  thoughts.  the  screaming  of  women  and  children  filled  the  streets  of  velaris  as  more  soldiers  poured  in.  laughter  typically  rang  throughout  their  home.  but  the  screams  of  terror  from  their  people  tainted  that  pristine  image  engrained  in  arah's  mind.  

copper  is  one  of  the  most  foul  scents  arah's  smelt.  it  causes  her  nose  to  scrunch  up,  provokes  an  earth  -  shattering  migraine.  through  her  years  as  the  night  court's  second,  she's  gathered  a  knack  for  recognizing  the  scent  of  blood.  it's  one  that  cause  a  wrinkle  in  her  dissolve.  one  of  the  few  things  that  crack  her  mask.  

but  copper  isn't  just  a  scent  that  evokes  disgust,  it's  a  bitter  taste  that  she's  felt  on  her  tongue  too.  her  teeth  bitten  down  on  her  tongue  the  moment  those  bounds  wrapped  around  her  wrists.  unwilling  to  offer  them  the  satisfaction  that  they've  subdued  her.  there's  an  arrow  jammed  into  her  thigh  that  keeps  her  rooted  to  the  cobblestone  steps  of  the  bridge.  the  taste  is  one  that  she  remembers  from  various  training  sessions  with  kole,  with  cade.  with  zora.  

her  fingertips  were  usually  saved  for  intimate  moments.  feathered  dances  along  skin  of  a  now  scorned  lover,  brushing  over  the  features  of  her  high  lord,  wiping  the  tears  of  her  dearest  friend.  but  now,  as  she  hangs  upside  down  in  the  dark  abyss  of  the  depths  of  this  hybern  prison,  she's  subjected  to  a  numbness  in  her  fingertips.  

it's  been  days,  at  least,  that's  how  it  feels.  time  can  hardly  be  read  when  she's  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  her  senses.  her  hair,  usually  kept  perfectly  brushed,  was  now  a  mangled  mess,  despite  its  new  butchered  style.  but  perhaps  they'd  done  her  a  favor.  after  all,  it  was  much  harder  to  grab  shorter  hair.  her  tender  scalp  from  their  yanking  could  feel  relief  from  that  fact.  arah  could  still  feel  the  arrow's  intrusion  in  her  thigh,  whatever  the  tip  had  been  poisoned  with  well  in  her  system  now.  and  whatever  it  was  had  been  proven  successful,  her  ability  to  invade  the  mind  of  other's  dormant.  

there's  commotion  outside  of  her  cell.  shouting,  cursing...  laughter  ?  the  lock  on  her  door  breaks,  the  chains  groaning  with  the  entrance  of  an  intruder.  but  she  has  no  energy  to  offer  them  a  sliver  of  the  fire  she'd  shown  them  when  they  first  brought  her  here.  something's  different  this  time.  there's  no  taunt,  no  immediate  beating.  their  breathing,  quiet  and  steady,  calm.  their  scent...  familiar.  velaris.  home  ?  she  can  still  recognize  the  scent  of  illyrian  leather  that  she  was  sure  they  were  dressed  in.  

"ready  to  start  talking  ?"

all  fantasies  of  a  heroic  rescue  are  buried  with  whatever  fight  arah  had  left  in  her.  betrayal  clear  on  botched  features,  defeat  taking  root  in  her  battered  bones.  

"I swear, it feels like entering a haunted house whenever I pass through the Spring Court and beyond the Wall."

It was an uncommonly beautiful day in Velaris, the Sidra River glistening like cut diamonds as the mellow sunlight reflected warmly, bracketed by blossoms of all varieties from within Elain's garden. Shaded beneath the boughs of an apple tree, the enchanted realms hardly followed mortal rules, plucking ripening apples into wicker baskets that would soon fill the cellar of the River House that the Acheron Sister and her family resided. Reaching to carefully locate another, Sypha deposited it among the dozens of others weighing the basket down.