#sisters!!!!!

though in her hasty retreat, she has left her cloak within. and is too stubborn to go gather it. her arms tucked around her torso, her shoulder hunched slightly. all the things her mother had once criticised her for, behaviours her grandmother had pinched her for indulging. but there is no one to mind now. no one to criticise.

instead, she is drawn from her unpleasant reverie by the gentle drape of cloth. the scent of jasmine and honey wafts through her senses calming her. elain.

elain was always the one who tried, she tried to be kind to her sisters, she tried to be good to their father, she tried to be everything everyone wanted. and in her outrage that her sister must mould herself into such shapes to please everyone — nesta had shaped her again. shoving her down in the pretense of protection.

but elain has grown. blossomed here in the night court. where she has made friends. made a place. but she is still kind. slate blue eyes raise to meet elain’s warm ones —

‘ you didn’t have to, but — thank you. ‘

her fingers sinking into the warm wool of her cloak. drawing it around her. the seasons change approaches. while the night court is trapped within a sort of twilight even at its brightest, the seasons still shift to warmer days. deceptively so, for once the shaded sunlight drops and the stars raise into the night sky… the winds pick up, and the nights cool.

a breath before —

‘ i don’t know how you do it. i don’t — i don’t know how you behave the way people desire you to. much less while… still being yourself. when i am — cordial to him — i feel like a puppet on a string. he does not like me, and i do not like him, but for feyres sake we try. yet it — ‘

her hands fall to her lap, picking at a invisible spot on her skin. her gaze falling down as she realises where she picks. once the backs of her hands had been marked by bruises, corrections for her misdemeanours. and now, she marks it herself. a hiss of breath.

‘ it’s a lie elain. everything i do is wrong for him, even when i try. and he — exists and i am incensed. ‘

rhysand makes her feel small. he makes her feel the way her mothers criticisms did, the way her grandmothers pinches did, the way the spiteful whisper of the townsfolk had. but she could endure all of that, because she could be angry. but she cannot be angry with him, she cannot be angry with him because the minute feyre reaches for him, or speaks to him - he is transformed. a softness and affection that speaks volumes.

‘ i’m sorry — this — this isn’t meant to burden you. i know you like it here. i just — it feels — like pretending. but i’ll do it. for feyre. for nyx. for you. ‘

her voice drifts off as she reaches for her younger sisters hand, taking it between hers as she leans against her warmth and stability. her cheek to her shoulder.