Nesta couldnât recall the last time her birthday had truly been celebrated. Over the past several years, it hadnât taken priority over the other vast changes in her life.
Ironic, she supposed, as birthdays marked the passage of time.
It seemed as though even those who did know her birthday hadnât bothered to remember.
There was little use mentioning it or bringing it up herself to her sisters. Sheâd rather her birthday be glanced over or forgotten as opposed to being seen as petulant or petty - causing any new strain or tension between the three of them.
Theyâd only recently begun to heal their familial wounds after Nesta had accepted Erisâ proposal and taken her place alongside him as his wife.
The healing could not have even started had she stayed in Velaris; pretending to be a part of the Inner Circle and forcing herself to mask her trauma. Had she stayed.. Nesta trembled at the thought. She could only assume they would have followed through with forcing her to work through her experiences their own way. Their, hereby meaning Rhysand and his followers.
It had been a different experience entirely at the Autumn Court.
Processing trauma, it seems, was not uncommon in Autumn. There were healers of physical, mental, and emotional ailments. Nesta assumed that was how the Lady of Autumn was able to stay somewhat sane during her union to Beron.
The Lady was still distant, often times Nesta found her staring out upon the breathtaking scenes of Autumn. Yet she was attentive to Nestaâs own healing.
Admittedly, she would have had a significantly more difficult time healing and processing her thoughts, emotions, and experiences without Erisâ mother. She had become a great comfort.
Eris, too, had become a comfort and trustworthy foundation.
But that was a few years ago.
Nesta now found herself comfortably as Erisâ wife. After their union, they agreed to start as friends and companions - allowing their relationship to naturally flourish as they became more besotted with one another. During the years time, they had formed a close bond.
They had begun to learn so many nuances and subtle details of one another. They learned to read one another and understand the other.
He had asked once about her birthday.
Eris couldnât recall the last time his birthday had truly been celebrated, either. His mother never forgot, naturally. She would provide him with a gentle reminder and a small gift over the years. Lucien, too, would send a small token of recognition every other year or so.
Since their union, Eris had never forgotten Nestaâs birthday.
No lavish celebration, no decadent gifts. She did not want that for her birthday. Nesta made that abundantly clear. She didnât mind other opulent celebrations - especially when magnificent galas were held in their honor. Yet never for her birthday.
In a similar fashion to his mother, Eris would provide Nesta with a meaningful gift, always heartfelt and well thought out. He would enclose a letter within the pages of the book she was currently reading, as well as a vibrant red, orange, or yellow leaf he would find on his walks. Often the letter would highlight her strengths, the countless reasons for which he admired her, the ways in which he adored her, loved her, cherished her, respected her.
On occasion, the letter would not be a letter at all. It would be a deliciously worded piece of erotic fantasy where Eris and Nesta were the main characters.
Nesta kept every letter. Nesta kept every leaf.
She couldnât recall the last time her birthday had been traditionally âcelebratedâ with a large gathering, far too many presents, and a feeling of emptiness at the end of the celebration.
She also found, with some amusement, she was beginning to have difficulty recalling the time she hadnât felt so unconditionally loved, respected, and seen for who exactly she was - just as she was - by the one who mattered most to her.
