#a court of flowers and starlight

[illyrianhighfaerie]

A Court of Flowers and Starlight

Rating: E | Multiple Chapters | Tamlin's Daughter, Enemies to lovers, everyone is gay | Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Summary: Dahlia Sìdhe is the daughter of the Spring Court's High-Lord, and that burden has always hovered above her head. Besides her own court, little is known about her existence – the other Courts were informed of the birth of a child to Tamlin's blood, along with the fact that the Court was being restored slowly, and that had been it. 

    That was 63 years ago.

    In the meantime, a new agreement had been settled by North and South, and all seemed well for the time being. Every five years, one of the Night Court sentinels are sent to the South to watch over the lands that had been left without a ruler for so long. The field became a home for monsters and creatures of the worst kind, and as long as the sentinels did not get in the way of the High-Lord, they were welcome to do their rounds. 

    Even with outbursts and fights between courts, peace has ruled over Prythian since the war against Hybern. 

    But the tides in the West had changed, and war was brewing once more.

Warnings for graphic violence, gore, death, mentions of sexual assault, torture, incest, misogyny, ableism, pedophilia and self-harm.

Special thanks to @4nner @isterofimias @northern-star-polaris

Chapter One

Running was everything she could possibly do. For a time, she lost track of herself, focusing on not falling into those woods as she put space between herself and the creature that followed. Only when safety was a possible thought, did she stop, settling for the nearest tree to lean on. She was sure that, if she did not die from her head ripped off, she'd die from exhaustion or from her heart bursting with how fast it was beating inside her own chest. But the roar that came from meters behind was just a reminder that she had to keep going, even if her legs felt like giving out at any moment. She got away from the tree, taking a deep breath as if that was what her body was missing: breath, and not rest after what felt like hours of running away.

    The girl started to run again, her bare feet against the cold earth, jumping the roots and moving away from depressions of the ground in order to keep on the same path towards the border. If she crossed it, she was reasonably confident the beast wouldn't follow and, from there, she just had to wait until it got tired of waiting for her as well and went away. The sun, however, was already setting, and maybe she wouldn't have to wait too long, for the beast would most likely just leave her behind for the other monsters that hid in those woods to feast upon her body.

    Her almost-white blonde hair moved when she turned her head to look behind and try to see if the creature was far, but her eyes widened when she heard a grunt close. The girl did not know if she had grown unweary of her surroundings by the noise, or if a new tree had just sprouted off of the ground, still, she slammed her body straight into the hard surface, losing balance and falling flat on her arse.

    She looked forward to seeing what was the thing she had hit, expecting bark, but she saw legs — muscular and dressed in leather, and finally rose her eyes to look up and see the outlines of wings. They weren't bird-like, but shaped like those of a bat, and their bearer seemed enormous, more muscular than any of the men she had met in her life. Immediately she knew he did not belong there, and wherever he came from, definitely was far.

    The male stepped forward, finally leaving the light and allowing her to see him and his long hair, his bronze skin and the scars that amounted on his face, the seven red stones he bore were gleaming. Illyrian. She finally drew two thoughts together, remembering books she read where the warrior kind was described exactly like that man, and that made him an outsider, forbidden by the treaty between the North and the South; the only reason one of the northerners could be allowed in those grounds was through the vigilance that happened every five years. Had it already come to it? She did not know, those months seemed to blend into one another, the days stitching together one after the other without her knowing when one began or the other ended.

    — Are you alrig- — He started asking, stretching out his hand, but the girl took it way faster than expected, using it to help her stand on her feet.

    Another roar, this time louder, and she widened her eyes again, moving to stay behind the warrior. She was sure he could protect her, the number of blades he carried said enough.

    — Are you running from someone? — He tried again, and she agreed. He drew his sword almost immediately, already turning to face whatever it was that came closer.

    — No! — She exclaimed, for some reason, jumping to lower his arm.

    The girl looked at where she was running, swallowing dry.

    — Can't you just, — She pointed at his wings. — Take me away from here?

    He frowned, but puffed out a breath while pointing at his shoulders and getting closer; he knew his High-Lord would argue that he diverged from the main reason he was there, he did not truly care: — Put your arms around me and hold tight, kid.

    She did as she was told, feeling his arm wrap around her waist. Without warning and with a powerful blow from his wings, he took both of them to the skies. The girl didn't know if it was the reflexes or actual fear that made her close her eyes and hide her face on her own arm, letting out a squeal and refusing to look down, or up at all. As her heart pounded inside her ears, she knew it was raw fear that commanded her actions. It was one thing to dream of flying, and a different one to actually do it; she had never felt the cold air around her that way, surrounding her body with such intense force, or felt her hair being flung in every direction the way it was at that moment. And when her ears and nose started to feel cold, she gathered a small amount of courage to open her eyes and watch the sky.

    It was beautiful, she could never deny it to anyone that asked. The hues of orange and purple from the dusk became stronger every second that passed, and she was sure that no sight would ever match that first time she saw the world from above when she dared to look down, seeing the green treetops and the glades that opened all of a sudden; the small lake that shimmered like diamonds; the animals that flew and the ones that hid; every single thing she could never have seen on the ground. The girl rose her gaze to stare at the wings from the male and the way the dim light that still existed made the membranes look sheer, showing the veins and the scaring from – Mother knew – how many years of experience he had. She did not dare to touch it, though, scared of what it might feel like against her fingertips.

    At last, she noticed them getting lower until they had landed on the ground. As soon as he had stopped, she almost jumped from his arms at the same moment, feeling the grass on the soles of her feet and believing that the sturdy ground was indefinitely better than the open air. She knew that if she fell, there'd be nowhere else to go.

    She was sure he'd leave as soon as he found out she was fine, and with her being no longer be an issue, but it didn't stop her from turning around, swallowing hard as she stared at him. There was some rustic beauty to him, that much she could say.

    — Thank you. — She declared, gaining the attention of the warrior.

    He had a frown as he checked each of his blades, maybe counting if they remained in their baldrics after the flight. That same frown turned towards her when he heard her voice.

    — Why did you stop me? — He inquired, his voice rougher than usual. When he took a step forward, she took one backwards. — If you were being chased by some beast, why stop me? The natural thing to do would be to let me finish it off.

    The girl opened her mouth and closed it again, swallowing. Words vanishing at that moment, and she didn't know if what she said would convince him of the truth, he could very well not believe a single thing that came out of her mouth.

    — I don't know... — She said, low. — I- I don't think he deserved to die. That is all.

    The man continued to frown, but then he sighed, shaking his head in agreement. He did not wish to inquire any further, maybe she had instigated the animal and its reaction was a consequence of her own actions, and she probably knew that as well. She probably thought it would be improper to kill a being for its nature. That's what he told himself when he turned to look at his surroundings.

    He had no idea where he was now. The time passed and in that detour from the primary task he found himself lost; he looked for the clues to where North laid, and when he'd find them, he'd just need to go through that direction and he'd find home again.

    — Thank you again, sir-

    — There's no need to call me sir. — He interrupted her, shaking his head, and she looked surprised.

    — Some would say it's impolite not to.

    He almost laughed at that, shooting the blonde girl a smirk.

    — I'd say you're giving me too much credit.

    The girl crossed her arms, this time, her brows furrowed. She found herself hating to go against her own education for someone else's wishes to be respected, while he found it funny that someone such as himself would be referred to as "Sir", or even "Lord" by someone like her. It was obvious from the way she spoke that some way along the line that she came from a cultured family. He still had a slight smile when he turned to ask her:

    — What is your name?

    — Dahlia. — She answered, breathing deeply and crouching, ripping a patch of grass from the ground next.

    — I'm Cassian. — He said, and Dahlia looked at him for a second before returning her attention to her hands.

    — You're from the North, right? — She asked, and he agreed with a nod. — You were doing the rounds, weren't you?

    He nodded in agreement to her saying once more, like the soldier he was, but then he opened his mouth: — These lands went uncared for many years, we try to see if everything is doing well again.

    Dahlia did not look at him, instead, focusing on the threads of grass between her fingers. If he had found the behaviour odd, he did not say one thing, probably thinking it was just her response to almost being killed just moments ago. Each person had a different response to that, and not all of them confronted the fact immediately. He, for example, confronted death with jokes which, most times, made people around him angry. 

    — Beasts exist in every Court, Cassian, not just in this one. — She said, and he frowned.

    He didn't say anything, however, sighing and returning his attention to his surroundings. The sun was setting, and he turned until his left shoulder was at the sun's side, which meant the opposite side was east, and north was now ahead of him. The Illyrian did not know if he could leave the girl there, and she'd find her way back to her own home, or if he'd offer to get her there, but he turned around to watch her again, and the sadness in the way she now knelt on the ground, the back of her head turned to him as the wind knocked her hair to the side, made him regret the softness of his own heart.

    Cassian shouldn't offer, he needed to get back to his own home as quickly as he could and report himself back to Rhysand and, besides, he no longer would be able to keep in the sneezes that place made him feel building up on the back of his head at all times. But he finally opened his mouth again.

    — So, where do you live? — He asked.

    She turned her attention back to him.

    — I have no house. — She answered, looking down at the grass in her hand, as if desensitized to that own piece of sorrow. — Not anymore.

    Fuck.

    — You surely must have somewhere to stay. I can take you there, and you'll be safe.

    Dahlia got up, shaking her head and cleaning her hands by passing it on the sides of her simple dress.

    — If I did, do you think I'd be running in the woods from some monster?

    He was going to do it. He knew. It wasn't in his right or place to do so, and Rhysand would most definitely become puzzled at the reason he had done it, but Cassian placed his hands at his hips, lowering his head as he sighed. If he didn't offer, he'd hate himself even more than if he had.

    — Alright, listen. You have a choice. You can stay here, or you can go with me. — It certainly wasn't the softest way to offer refuge, but she frowned in confusion, not taken aback by his stiffness in the slightest.

    — Go where? — She almost laughed. It was craziness to even accept the offer from a stranger, no matter the circumstances of their meeting. Maybe he'd kill her and leave her body in the woods, or maybe sell her to a whore house, the possibilities were endless. And yet, he had saved her without even knowing her.

    He froze at the question before revealing:

    — To the Night Court.

[daisyy345]

aah yes. my favorite hispanic and latina author Sarita Jota Martinez

[justsimpleaestetic]

[biggestqiblifan]

Hunt Athalar 🤝Rhysand

Both of are self-sacrificing idiots, who have insane amounts of power and both reek terror.

Both of them will (and have) kill and degrade themselves (or anyone) without a second thought to protect the ones they love.

They can't breathe without their girl and would kill anyone who looks at their love funny.

They are both secretly little fluffballs of love.

[love-and-books320]

elriel, Elriel, ELRIEL, ELRIEL!!!!!

fucking elriel man

[acourtofinkandpapyrus]

About a Flower with Petals of Flame:

I am so sorry to do this, but until further notice notice this series is discontinued.

I know a lot of you guys liked it, but I've stopped having fun writing it, and I feel I wrote Eris completely wrong.

I may try to pick it back up in the future, but for now I'm going to move on to other projects that I am excited to write instead of something that feels like a chore.

Thank you all for your support and for reading my stories! It means the world to me!

Happy Holidays!

[foulduckperfection]

Rhys: *signs*

Amren: Okay. Marriage?

Rhys: *signs*

Azriel: *nodding* Mate.

Rhys: *signs*

Mor: Pregnant?

Rhys: *nods* *signs*

Azriel: Father?

Rhys: *nods frantically*

Mor: Marriage, mate, pregnant, father!

Rhys: *nods more frantically*

Cassian: Cauldron boil me! *to Rhys* YOU'RE MARRIED TO THE MATE OF A PREGNANT FATHER?!?!

Rhys:

Azriel:

Mor:

Amren:

*A FEW DAYS LATER*

Cassian: You know, guys, I wasn't entirely wrong...

[biankacarver]

Heeeeey ACOTAR fandom! I need you help with fanfiction. Could you please recommend some of your favorites? It’s been years since I read the books but my friend just got into them ( finished the 2nd book) and never read a fanfiction before ( she’s also 26 yo so spicy ones are okay). She’s very into Rhys. Would you please comment or reblog this with your fav fices? Much appreciated, let’s positively ruin her ❤️

[jamie-photo]

Adding delicate details one petal at a time✨🦇

A Court of Thorns and Roses inspired hand embroidery pattern. Coming to my Etsy shop soon!!

[audiobookfree78]

(via A Court Of Frost And Starlight by Sarah J. Maas)

Get this Audiobook for FREE NOW! 🎁 30-Day Free Trial → Click Here: www.bestaudiobookshop.online

[utterlyotterlyx]

A Fate Inked In Starlight

Eris x Fem!Reader x Azriel

Summary - After crashing into the Autumn Court with no idea who you are, where you are or how you got there, Eris takes it upon himself to hide you and care for you with the help of the Night Court. That is until souls from other walks of life infiltrate Prythian searching for you.

Warnings - mentions of blood, Eris being gentle 🥺, memory loss, kinda arsehole Rhys?x

Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Leaves of red and orange peered down at you inquisitively, and the earth was hard and slightly damp beneath you.

You hissed as you moved, a metallic sting coating the inside of your mouth. The world tilted, a dull thumping in your mind swelled behind your eyes and you pinched the bridge of your nose in attempt to centre yourself.

It hadn’t worked.

Looking about, you drank in where you had awoken, soil and an array of foliage welcomed your sight, dark bark held onto browning leaves, some of which floated around where you sat. Light birdsong and the faint chirp of crickets flittered around you with the occasional crunch of dry twigs that snapped under the weight of the mammals that trotted by, not heading much mind to you.

You were clad in some kind of black armour, a second skin that fit you perfectly as it curved around your breasts and hips, the material splitting open in the shape of lightening across your chest where yellow gems and light hummed. Jewelled metal talons were fitted to your fingertips, coated with dry blood that had worked itself into each crevasse it could. You were sure that whatever you looked like was not a pretty sight.

Something had kept you glued to your spot, swaying slightly from the brute force that had clearly been wrecked upon you. From what you had no idea.

From the distance, you heard the beating of hooves against the hard ground, growing louder with each passing moment before a brilliant white stag exploded into the clearing where you were. It was beautiful, those pools of emerald bore into you, there was terror laced behind them, and the stag readied his attack as he lowered his antlers toward you.

“I’m not going to harm you,” you told the creature with an extended hand, an extension of your surrender, “I promise.”

The stag surveyed you, noting the wild hair that had fallen from a once tightly strung braid, the blood that coated your neck and fingers, the bewilderment in your eyes. No, you certainly weren’t a threat.

“I’m not sure how I came to be here. I don’t know where I am,” you continued, as if the stag would be able to answer any of your questions.

The creature relaxed, taking a tentative step forward to sniff the outstretched talons fixed to your fingertips. He huffed and shook his head, one of his hooves tapping against the ground as another sound entered your earshot.

“Dogs,” you said softly, sadness laced in your rough voice that scratched at your throat. “Go. I’ll distract them,” you turned your hand, exposing your palm to him, he rested his snout in it gently, and only for a moment before he bounded away. Leaping over molehills whilst leaving you alone once more.

The barking drew closer and your breath caught in your throat at the obvious number of hounds that approached your position, perhaps mistaking your blood for that of the stags.

They hurtled into the clearing, the hedges and flowers parting for them as they surged through the air and landed in front of you, mouths pulled back and snarling teeth ready to tear you apart. You shuffled back as they circled you, snapping, slobber dripping from their canines causing your heart rate to beat in your ears. Hitting the trunk of a tree, you sighed, realising there were no weapons attached to the leather holsters at your thighs made your current predicament a lot more complicated.

You wouldn’t dream of harming an animal, at least, you thought so.

A flutter of your heart gave way to gentle excitement when you had seen the stag, and even the dogs despite them wanting to turn you into a meal.

A sharp whistle tore their attention from you, pulling them back to the source as he too entered the clearing. His head was tilted to the side and he examined you with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, assessing if you were a threat or not. Red hair and amber eyes found you, and he approached, splitting his gaze between you and your laboured breathing to the scene around you both.

“Who are you?” His voice was rough but held a stoic calm, the deepness of his words made your hairs stand on edge.

A simple question. Your name. You opened your mouth but nothing came out, you stuttered, eyes wide as nothing came to mind, “I, I don’t know.”

You were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Wide doe eyes staring at him in bewilderment, he knew your skin would be soft despite the mud and blood coating your surface. The sharp jaw and hallowed cheeks, full pouted lips and an elegantly pointed nose. Too beautiful for a human or fae.

The confusion etched into every inch of your features made the man relax a little, he knelt before you, his dogs happy with wagging tails brushing against his side, “Do you know where you came from?” By the looks of your armour, the blood coated talons, and the cuts dug into the side of your neck, it was clear to him that you weren’t from Prythian. You looked too advanced for his world.

You shook your head, muttering a faint and weak answer to him.

He hummed, reaching to tuck a strand of your dirty matted hair behind your pointed ear. Fae, he noted. Smiling when you didn’t flinch under his touch, he offered a hand to you, it was calloused and rough, but his pressure was gentle and guiding as he helped you from the ground.

“I’m Eris Vanserra, and you’re in the Autumn Court,” he looked down at you through thick lashes and offered a warm smile.

“Eris,” his name fell from your lips and he nodded in encouragement as you familiarised yourself with the sound of it. Yes, you definitely weren’t from his world, if you were, you’d surely cower from his name and the mention of where you were.

A pressure consumed your feet, and you found one of his hounds sat on them, staring up at you with its panting tongue flopping against the side of its jaw, its tail rustling the leaves beneath it as it wagged happily, “That’s enough, Duke,” Eris scolded the hound, rubbing between his ears in a bid to get him to move, “I’m sorry about him.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind,” you smiled, and he noticed the warmth in your eyes, the molten gold and ocean blue that could have him entranced if he wasn’t careful. “I’m sorry about this,” you motioned the air, the current situation you found yourselves in, “I wish I knew what to say.”

“It’s fine,” he frowned slightly as he peered at the still open flesh on your neck that leaked with every heartbeat, “Let me help you with that.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

Eris smirked, “You’re not asking,” he shrugged as he heading back in the direction from whence he came, adjusting his brown jacket which lay over a cream open collared shirt. You weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it before, the well fit pants and shirt, the adornment of fine rings across his digits. Eris Vanserra was clearly someone of high standing, and you felt stupid for not knowing. The disappointment felt foreign to you.

The male looked back at you expectantly, his well kept fiery red hair tousling over his forehead, freckles visible as the sunlight hit his face. “Thank you,” you followed his steps, Duke trotting alongside you like a personal guard.

Once you had made it back to Fir Manor, Eris’ private residence that was home to him and his hounds alone, he insisted that you bathe, that it would be easier for the healer to assess the damage if she could tell what was or wasn’t your own blood.

You didn’t need telling twice, you thanked Eris for the spare clothes, a sheer deep red dress, before you slipped into the bathroom and peeled off your second skin, paying no mind to the marks that littered your forearms and torso, the marks that covered every inch of your body.

It seemed silly. To be so trusting of someone you’d just met. But something told you that Eris wasn’t a threat to you. Something had allowed you to feel safe with him.

You sighed as the hot water worked to relax your muscles, the rest of the world fading away into blissful nothingness.

Rhys was happy.

Finally happy.

A mate and a babe. A family. No danger for the first time in what felt like a millennia.

Rhys watched them, watched his Nyx swaddled into Feyre’s chest as she painted, humming some lullaby to the dozing babe. Light poured into the room from the domed glass and he let a content sigh pass through his lips from where he leaned against the doorframe. Relishing in the sight for a moment longer before retreating back to his office and closing the door with a soft click.

He wasn’t sure where the rest of them were, Mor would be returning from the human lands soon, Cassian and Azriel were surely training, Nesta was probably nose deep in another book in the library with Amren at her side, and Elain was tucked away with Lucien somewhere revelling in their newly accepted mating bond.

Everything was as it should be.

The papers on his desk were too chaotic for anyone else to understand but him, he knew where each treaty lay in the stack, where each letter from a concerned citizen sat, when Az’s countless reports waited for his eye.

Though, one thing caught his eye that definitely hadn’t been there before he’d gone to check on his mate and child. A folded up rip of parchment, singed at the edges with an aroma of wet grass gripping to it.

It reeked of Autumn, of Eris.

Rhys wasn’t worried that the heir had contacted him. They were planning for a better Autumn once Beron handed over his title, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to hear from the eldest Vanserra at all. Scanning the parchment, Rhys felt his interest grow in the words, the vague message that beckoned him to Fir Manor, telling him that someone had dropped into the forest who Rhys may be interested in meeting.

So, the High Lord of the Night Court stalked through the halls, parchment in hand as the clash of swords and jostling laughter flooded his senses. Then he saw them, his two brothers in their training leathers, wide smiles and bruises that would fade within the hour as they jabbed another with playful words.

“Ah, did you call on Rhys to come and save you, Az? How desperate,” Cassian glimmered, his wings rustling and body keeping guard against Azriel’s oncoming attack.

Rhys stepped between them, holding the parchment in the air between his fingers with a smirk on his lips as Azriel to it from him, scanning the words, “With no memory of where she came from?” Azriel questioned, his shadows curling over his shoulders as though they wished to see what held their masters attention whilst he handed the written words to Cassian who pouted about being left out.

“Do you remember the visitor we had not too long ago?”

Azriel smirked at the memory of the redhead scouring through the caves of Prythian, “Bryce?”

“Yes, Bryce.” Rhys sent a glare to Cassian, no doubt still unhappy at his mates willingness to aid the girl, “She too fell into our world out of nowhere, didn’t she?”

Cassian stopped the thought before it could be shared, “Yes, but Bryce knew who she was and why she came here. It seems this woman doesn’t share that similarity,” he turned the paper over in his hand, like some newfound information was going to be inscribed elsewhere.

From the brief information that Eris had sent to Rhys, the woman who had fell into the Autumn had no idea who she was or where she was let alone how she found herself bleeding in a different world from her own.

“Regardless,” Rhys’ eyes glowed at the hidden message Cassian had tried to convey, that maybe this woman had nothing to do with Bryce and whatever war she was fighting on her shores. Though Cassian did have to admit that it was a coincidence that another soul had floated through into their world. “It needs to be investigated. Azriel, you’ll come with me. Cassian, you’ll stay here.”

The pair knew better than to convince Rhys otherwise, Azriel especially knew better than to refuse and potentially put his home and people in danger.

Another invader had dove into his world, his home, and he’d be damned by the Mother if he let another one trick him again.

Authors Note

Hi my loves!

It’s been a while. I know I’m usually a Bridgerton girly but I’m kinda obsessed with everything SJM right now.

So, here we are. My first Maasverse fic 🤷‍♀️

I am wanting to write a series on this so let me know what you think! I’ve been out of the game for a bit 🤍

[illyrianhighfaerie]

Me throwing subtle shade at SJM by writing:

"She (Feyre) was closer in age to Dahlia than she was to Rhysand"

And then leaving.

[readychilledwine]

Little One

Summary - After arriving home for the first time in 50 years, Rhysand is shocked to find someone so small in his sister's arms. (Azriel x Rhysands sister!oc)

Warnings - post UTM, broken Rhys, children

A/N - If this has posted, I have given birth and this is kicking off my maternity celebration. A lot of these next couple weeks will carry the theme of family. The good, bad, ugly, and happy sides of it. And of course, the angst and spice that comes with relationships. I wanted to start with a piece I wrote after my own brothers learned they were going to be Uncles for the first time, and will probably end the celebration with Light in the Hallway (dad!Eris x reader) because that piece is so... special to me.

"Well, welcome home!" Rhys nodded, looking at Cassian who was wearing a shit eating grin. Cassian kept looking at Azriel and back to Rhys. The high lord looked at Mor who was bouncing in place. Then Armen who was also hiding a smile.

Azriel was blushing, hiding in his shadows. Rhys was quick to notice the lack of black hair, golden skin, and long beautiful legs that normally stood holding Azriel's hands at all times. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Where's my sister?" Mor squealed at the comment, bouncing hard.

"You mean his wife?" Azriel shot a look to the blonde before his face grew more red. Rhys raised a brow before smiling ferally.

"Did you finally marry her? Azriel, that's-" Rhys face twitched to a half smile as the door opened and a familiar, "Where's my mate?" Came through the room.

He felt her exhaustion before he saw her. Her mind was a scattered mess of stress, and yet she was content and joyful. Rhys walked over to the doorway to the hall. He leaned against the framed out entry way from the greeting room to the living room watching the female.

Selene stood in the entrance, back to him as she removed her coat and then her heeled shoes. She was wearing a beautiful tea length black dress with tulle straps that tied over her shoulders. Her hair was longer, significantly longer, Rhys noted. "Stop staring Cassian."

Rhys smiled at the soft melody of her voice. The gentleness it held was a constant fresh air that comforted everyone around her. He cleared his throat, excited to see his baby sister for the first time in 50 years, "I apologize, Sel. I can't help but admire your beauty when I haven't laid eyes on you in so long." Selene instantly froze, her mind pausing to process the voice she heard. She moved again, standing up and stopping whatever she had been adjusting on the floor. She spun quickly, staring at him in shock.

He studied her face. It was truly the soft version of his. She had the same angular high cheekbones, the same starlight filled eyes, the same lip shape only hers were fuller. In fact, she in general was softer, fuller. She had gained a little weight, her breasts were fuller, hips a little wider. She was devastatingly beautiful before, but whatever had made her body scream "goddess" had Rhys thankful she was one of his spies and had not run off to another court.

She whispered softly, "Rhys."

"Selene."

They moved at the same time, her jumping into his chest, her arms finding his neck, his finding her waist. They laughed softly together. Rhysand's eyes closed as he took in the pleasant warmth of her body and the scent of flowers and honey. It took him a second, but his nose slowly processed something else. He dug his head into her neck, finding the scent of night air and cedar that clung to her skin. But there was something else.

Someone else. Rhysand's eyes snapped open while studying her. "Are you and Azriel welcoming other people into your bed again?" He smiled ferally at her, "The shields only been down for a day. He must be a good lover if you already ran off to him?"

The female threw her head back, her laughter ringing through the home like bells. She looked at Rhys, "One, your shields weren't that hard for me to get through. Two, we kind of are. Go sit on the couch and shut your eyes!"

Rhys raised a brow before following the orders of his sister. Mor was about to burst with joy, already holding back tears, Cassian was beaming. Armen smiled at Azriel as the shadowsinger softly smiled at Rhys. The high lord closed his eyes, "If this was a plot to kill me, just know im thankful it was your hands and not someone elses." Her laughter made him smile again as he heard her moving towards him.

The scent hit him again, stronger this time. He could finally place it. It was soft and spicy, as if it was still developing and wrapped heavily in the scent of Azriel. It reminded him of lavender and vanilla underneath all of the layer. Lavender, vanilla, and baby powder? Rhys questioned.

Rhys felt Selene's arms on his. She was moving gently and staying very quiet. In fact, the whole room had grown quiet as Rhys processed a soft fabric in his arms. As she removed her arms, leaving whatever she was holding in his hands, it hit him instantly. His eyes shot open, and a loud sob left his mouth.

"You had a fucking baby." Bright eyes stared back up at Rhys, studying him as Rhys raised a hand to stroke the rosy cheeks of the faeling in his arms. "Hi baby," He felt the first tear fall and didn't bother trying to hide the rest. "I'm your Uncle Rhys. What's your name?"

Azriel had moved, kneeling in front of Rhysand. He cooed his daughter softly as she stared up at her uncle with wide blue eyes. His blue eyes. His sister's blue eyes. "This is Estelle. She's just under a year old. I'm sorry we couldn't ask you about the name, but we just -" Selene and Azriel's jaws twitched. Selene had looked away and up, blocking the painful reminder.

"We knew," Cassian answered softly. "She looks just like sissy."

"She does." Rhys admired the tiny nose, chubby cheeks, and her perfect soft skin as he enjoyed this moment with his niece. She looked like a small version of his middle sister, the only key different was she had the same eyes as Rhys and Selene instead of the illyrian Hazel her namesake had inherited from his mother.

He held a hand out for Selene to take and the new mother did, moving to sit next to him. "Do you have everything she needs in all the houses?"

"We were only missing one thing, Rhys. And you're here now, so we have everything she needs," she answered softly, tears running down her own face. "I owe you some money and an apology, though. I had to break the shield for me to be able to get into Velaris, but I ensured Noone recognized me. I also spent a fair bit of money." She was playing with her long dark hair, guilt causing her shoulders to fall forward. "Cassian told me nothing she has could be used."

The high lord laughed, pulling his sister into him before kissing her head, "Oh no, how could you spend the money I would have spent on my niece anyways?" The sarcasm in his tone made the room laugh. "Should we get you and mommy matching dresses? Yes we should. My beautiful girls," Az hung his head in laughter before Rhys paused again, "You can feel the power in this little thing."

"She creates shadows-" Selene drug out the "s" as she avoided eye contact with Rhys.

"They're completely sentient. They have a mind of their own and only respond to her. They take the form of things she likes. Lately they have all looked like Armen. We also think something else is going on involving the stars. She almost… Glitters under the night sky." Azriel explained as his hand touched her head. Rhys looked to Amren, and the ancient being only smirked as she sipped her glass of spiced blood. Any ideas? He asked her silently.

Rhysand's eyes grew wide as he smirked at the giggling babe, her beautiful eyes locked on Auntie Amren, "Delightful. Tell me everything about her." The inner circle all moved to surround the High lord and new parents. Telling him stories about the baby girl chewing on his fingers before reaching out crying for her mother.

"I watched her rearrange the stars one night," Amren said slowly. "She must have missed Baba, because there's now a bat shaped constellation that wasn't there before. Isn't there, little one?"

"She's hungry. I'm sorry. I'll bring her right back," Selene moved with grace, collecting her daughter, and walking up the stairs, breast already mostly exposed as she cooed to the baby.

Rhys looked at Azriel and asked one last time, "You're sure you have everything she needs?"

Azriel smiled, "Like she said, you were the only thing missing. Stell has everything she needs, and I know we all will give her everything she could ever want." The inner circle nodded at the Spymaster's words. "Right now, the biggest argument we've had was if she'd continue tradition and we would take her to Illyria to train, or if we'd keep her here."

Rhysand watched as Cassian's jaw began a feather light twitch. "My niece is not training in Illyria unless things have changed completely and clipping is an offense punishable by death. Even then I will not leave her."

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose. "So we forsake our culture? You and I know that will never happen. She will always be a target-"

"Another time, brothers." Rhysand smiled at them, stopping the argument that was about to ensure. "I'm taking the two of them shopping tomorrow. I'm buying everything Selene touches. I don't believe you have everything my little niece needs." Rhysand wanted to hear it one last time. To hear what she and Azriel both said and genuinely meant just one more time.

Azriel rolled his eyes, "She will not let you do that, Rhys. All that was missing was you."

[bloomingdarkgarden]

To Taste Wisteria in Her Lullaby

A contribution to @elriel-month 2024

3,2K | Angst-Pining | Azriel POV | Shameless Garden Metaphors

This one shot is decicated to @tealeaves-and-rosepetals, @wingedblooms and @deathsweetblossoms my verdant darlings. The other day we were discussing our admiration of Elain as a plant lover, and well, I decided that Azriel needs to do the same thing. Low and behold, who does he find also wondering her gardens in the moonlight?

Sleep is a word he no longer remembers.

It was always an elusive hope. 

Now it evades him entirely.

A midsummer moon spilled upon the tranquil terrace of the river manor. How two seasons had come to pass in what felt like a handful of days, Azriel did not know. Solstice was long gone. Starfall came and went.

Both had faded like dreams in the ether.

And here he was, half the year gone by.

An evening breeze sifted through the garden’s verge. Warm, decadent, indigo-rich with the scent of night.

Elain was here, in these gardens.

Not physically. But in every blossom, every delicate unfurling- she was here. Her foresight and planning, her craft in the groundwork and choice of species. Her innate ability to nourish and grow beautiful things from a dark, empty void of soil. 

From a dark, empty void of a male heart, too.

Nights like tonight were… difficult for him. Listening to pleasant banter around the dinner table for hours, contributing to it himself in a false effort to bury his own misery. He thought the need for her might ebb, after so many months had passed, or at the very least, the mourning. That cold loss of what almost was.

But the need lingered instead.

It lingered, and lingered, and lingered, always.

The eden she had cultivated in the river manor was nothing shy of extraordinary. An illustrious, dream-ridden world of wisteria, lavendula, lily and countless flowers Azriel couldn’t wholly identify. Elain tended these courtyards in honor of Rhys and Feyre, with the grandeur of the high court in mind. The blossoms chosen were a range of whisper-blue, lilac and starlight, every possible shade in between. Yet while undeniably lovely, the royal gardens were a far cry from what she chose to grow at the townhouse.

Elain did not know, but Azriel occasionally ambled through that garden, too, in the dead of night. The townhouse felt closer to her heart than this place, somehow. Closer to who she was intrinsically. A little less refined beneath the surface. Etched with softer, wilder blooms far more tangled and lovely.

He strolled silently through the furthest of the terraces, shrouded beneath high walls of ivy. A clock somewhere far off chimed three in the morning and Azriel made an effort not to acknowledge the implication.

Sleep is a word he no longer remembers, after all.

In the quietest hours of the night, not even his shadows could seem to muster the energy to stay awake anymore. They lulled at his shoulders, slumbering for the most part, tracing silent footfalls. 

Which is why, as he rounded a corner lost in thought, the last thing he anticipated was colliding headlong into another person in the dead of night.

But there she was.

“Oh,” Elain murmured with soft surprise, halting her quiet steps.

She was only a half-breath away, just as taken aback as he was. The reflection of a night sky glittering in the sleepless chestnut of her eyes. So close that Azriel could count the stars within them.

They all looked as lost and lonely as those within his own.

She was clad in a soft champagne shift, a semi-transparent shawl wrapped around her slight shoulders. Her hair was-

unbound.

And the whisper of her soft curves could be seen through the moonlight.

Fuck, this was a cruel sort of dream.

His own descent into purgatory always began this way. With her, like this, in his arms. With his lips tracing a tender trail over every inch of her skin. With her being then stolen away from him by some cursed hand of fate he could never again reach.

Loose, natural waves of curl illuminated her silhouette in the dark hush of the garden. The need to run his hands through those curls would be his demise.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she explained by way of greeting.

Azriel swallowed, understanding all too well.

“I know the feeling,” he offered frankly in return.

Silence abounded.

Elain lowered her gaze momentarily, color blooming across her cheek. Azriel tried not to brand the memory of her this way- unbound, moonlit, and half-dressed- into his hindbrain for the next 700 years.

“I was just admiring your work,” he murmured, glancing to the nearby trellis.

A half-honest truth.

“I myself was doing the opposite,” she softly mused, leaning to study a stunning assortment of moonlily. “There’s much that could be improved, anyway. Though the rosaceae and mints have turned out nicely this year despite the late snow.”

Immediately, he knew Elain was exhausted. He could hear it in the drawn timbre of her voice.

He wanted to take her away.

Far away.

Somewhere he could be allowed to trace the skin of her entire body with the soft petals of her perfect primrose blooms. And whisper, all the while, that she didn’t know how to grow something that wasn’t breathtaking.

Azriel said nothing, ignoring the songs of impossible dreams. 

His shadows were awake now, observing the source of those songs. Curiously peering at her from their swirling perch.

He could hear wisteria in the lullaby of her. He could hear tiredness, and soil-ridden hands, and an ache so deep it put the sea to shame.

The song of her was as siren-dark as it always had been. Deep, haunting, and killing him slowly.

“I can’t say there is anything I would change,” he offered, “about this sanctuary.”

Elain was always most comfortable this way, speaking of plants, when other words could not be found. Or simply remained unspoken. It was a language they both knew well after countless late evenings at the townhouse. Plants were always a reason, or an excuse, they had to stay awake all night together.

That, it seemed, hadn’t changed.

“Are there any that you admire most tonight?” Elain asked quietly, stepping down a long wisteria corridor. He followed, unable to resist the urge. They slowly strolled, side by side, beneath a rippling sea of violet reverie.

Azriel motioned to a cluster of delicate flowers on the corridor’s trellis with notched, pale petals.  “This is one I admire often,” he murmured.

Night Phlox.

He knew as much from the library’s botanical volumes. Rich, detailed diagrams he was fond of combing through now again. He made a point to borrow those books every so often over the course of last winter. Just to know, just to understand the complexity of what exactly Elain was accomplishing that no one in the godsforsaken world seemed to notice.

Gardening was hellish work.

Elain finished her day bent, bleeding, and begrudgingly exhausted more often than not. No one seemed to recognize the toll it had on her. The least he could do was learn why she chose to undertake it all.

What he discovered, in the end, was that she liked the labor. She liked the marks the verdant battles left behind. She wanted to earn the beauty of a bloom, rather than being given it freely.

And Azriel began falling in love with her as a result.

“Phlox,” she offered, eyeing the flower and confirming his suspicion. “It has only just begun its course for summer, but soon you’ll see it everywhere I should think.”

“This, too, is rather taking,” Azriel strolled on, now admiring a pale blue primrose.

Elain nodded in agreement, tucking a curl behind her pointed ear. “Those are some of my favorites,” she admitted softly.

The pair crossed the end of the corridor, entering a secluded grove at the far end of the courtyard, lined with high walls of greenery. Azriel paused before a lush partition of fragrant, ivory flowers rustling in the wind.

“In regards to your question,” he murmured, “this is what captures me most,”

Elain’s gaze settled on the blooms and she swallowed, the moment hesitant.

“Jasmine,” she noted quietly. “Night blooming jasmine. Some call it poisonberry.”

“Lady of the night,” he added gently, looking at her now.

There was nothing in the world that carried a scent so lovely as that which lingered on her skin. This flower was making an honorable effort.

So there was no other choice, really.

He wondered if she knew, truly knew. And had a feeling she did.

Elain’s fingers brushed the soft petals. “What do you admire about it?” she asked carefully.

His throat bobbed.

“It is, of course, far more beautiful than the rest,” he said, brushing scarred knuckles over the jasmine stems. “But moreover it is prone to waking the moment the world stops paying attention. When all the world sleeps, this creature dreams,” he noted. “I find that rather…. alluring.”

“Alluring,” Elain repeated, a soft murmur.

He thought she might shy away, but she did not. He certainly would not. Not with her so near, and so decadent, and so sinfully lovely in the moonlight.

If that made him a self-serving bastard, so be it.

“You know more about plants than you let on, I think,” Elain muttered wryly.

Azriel’s mouth curled upwards. “You know more about most things than you let on.”

She shrugged, a grin now blossoming on her cheek, which might be the end of him. Elain was staring up at him now, openly. More pointedly, at the place just between his ear and his neck.

“You have them too,” she remarked.

Azriel swallowed, tracking her gaze. He realized she was speaking of the curls nipping against his skin, courtesy of the dew-kissed night.

“A gift from my mother,” he murmured back. “When it’s damp, anyway.”

His own eyes lingered on the ends of her long curls, pooled over her breasts, kissing against the small of her waist. Azriel craved every piece of her they could touch and he could not.

“I might also add that the scent of this particular flower is the only which bids me sleep at night,” he murmured, glancing to her beneath hooded eyes.

“Is that so?” she shifted marginally closer.

He nodded in return.

“Perhaps you might take some to bed,” she offered, eyes doe-wide. “I could cut a few stems for you.”

Azriel hesitated, but did not tear his gaze away. “Our High Lord may not approve.”

“Of taking a flower that soothes you to sleep?”

He swallowed.

“Of taking that which does not belong to me.”

Elain’s brow furrowed. She turned away, the rawness of those words having fracturing the fragile thing between them. He was desperate to have it back the moment it was gone.

She again regarded the wall of night-blooming jasmine.

“It’s true, jasmine has flowering patterns that are rather unusual. And if it is planted just days too early or too late in the season, it might wither before ever blooming. The plant is rather… delicate that way.”

“I’m not sure anything could quell the beauty of such a creature.”

Elain exhaled softly, bitterly. “I wish I had your confidence,” she uttered. “A great many enemies oppose the bloom. Disease, insects, unexpected shifts in weather- ” a pause. “I would have thought north of the wall they would be better adapted to the climate, but here, they face the same struggles they did in the human lands.”

Azriel measured the sadness in her eyes and hated himself for being the cause.

“Perhaps there are other foes aside from the usual elements contributing to their suffering,” he countered.

She looked at him keenly. “Such as?”

He swallowed, wondering how direct or indirect to be. And because he was exhausted and half in love with her, his brooding nature won out over reason.

“Invasive species taking root where they do not belong,” he muttered darkly. A terse pause. “Foxglove comes to mind.”

Elain seemed to bite back a laugh despite her own exhaustion.

“Yes invasives can indeed be problematic,” she tried and failed not to grin, “though only if the soil is willing to host them.”

Azriel swallowed, unwilling to muster a response that didn’t sound murderous.

Elain seemed to notice. And carried on gracefully, as she always did.

“I’ve found the soil of the night court rather unforgiving, anyway. When a plant roots here,” she met his eyes, “it is steadfast in its choice, no matter how ill-fated.”

His heart stopped beating for a moment.

Something aching reached for him from within her gaze, and it nearly split him in two. “What truly makes the bloom suffer most of all in the end is a lack of proper nourishment, Azriel,” she said quietly.

They weren’t speaking about jasmine anymore. They weren’t even speaking of jasmine to begin with.

He knew it. She knew it. And both seemed unable to look away.

“Why do you not find sleep?” he asked lowly.

Elain swallowed, lips parting with an answer that seemed stuck in her throat. She looked at him with soft eyes then.

“Why do you not?”

Silence followed. Heavy with sorrow and longing and all the rest.

“Elain,” his gaze shuttered, his voice barely audible.

“Was it-” she took a shaking breath, “-was it truly so wrong? So shameful to you?”

The words tore a true, gaping hole into his already-ruined heart. He stepped towards her instinctively, unable to keep from doing so.

“Nothing could be further from the truth.”

Hope bloomed eternal in her eyes and he needed to touch her again. The need was so arresting he couldn’t seem to move, on the brink of falling into an abyss.

Elain registered that need. And his inability to see it through.

So she took it upon herself to feed the need instead.

The bliss and agony of her touch was his undoing.

A gentle reach of her pale hands up to the base of his neck, resting her arms there as she twined his silk-black curls between her fingers. His hands snaked to her waist and relief coursed through him like nothing else at the warmth of her beneath his hands.

This is where she belonged.

Azriel lowered his head against hers, hazel eyes fluttering closed as that honey-rich, jasmine scent soothed every wrecked piece of him left jagged in her absence.

The silence between them fraught with a thousand lonely starlit nights.

“There it is,” Elain whispered.

Azriel murmured an inarticulate noise in question.

“The quiet,” she said, stroking the skin of his cheek. “How I’ve missed it, with you.”

She was incurably exquisite.

“I can’t,” he began, wondering if he was a fool for saying it aloud. “I can’t seem to share it with anyone else.”

“Nor can I,” she returned, without a moment’s pause.

A handful of words beneath the moonlight and he was already doing everything he swore to the forgotten gods he wouldn’t do again. Inhibition was a ghost on the wind.

Those gods had forsaken him long ago anyway.

He stayed like that for quite some time, with her beneath his hands. Listening to that blissful quiet. She stayed with him, hidden beneath the garden walls. Azriel had no idea how long they spent that way, but it would never be long enough. He opened his eyes again eventually.

And then, in those most endearing moment he had ever witnessed in five centuries of lonely brooding-

Elain yawned.

She haphazardly attempted to rub the sleep gathering in her eyes away before looking up to him softly.

He was ruined.

“I should bid you goodnight,” he murmured politely. His hands were still on her waist and they did not move.

“Should you?” she asked, taking her hand within his own.

This was by far the cruelest thing he had ever deigned to dream.

She pulled away, and every muscle in his body wailed in protest, though her hand was still wrapped in his own. Elain again studied the wall of jasmine with tired eyes.

“You say the scent helps you sleep,” she murmured. “You will not take it with you, so why not stay where it is strongest?”

Azriel knew he ought to contest, make some flimsy excuse, walk away.

“Elain-” he rasped, but the words went nowhere.

“Stay,” she whispered. “Just stay.”

Elain lowered herself to the garden floor, leaning against that wall of jasmine.

Two hours until dawn, and no fight left in him tonight.

Azriel succumbed to the pull of her small hand downwards. He sank to the ground, pressing his back against the wall of jasmine aside her.

Elain wasted no time. In a series of impossibly beautiful events, she curled into his lap- nestling her head against him and murmuring a sigh of relief as if she, too, needed this.

Her shawl was lumped haphazardly around her, so he carefully untangled it, wrapping it neatly before tucking her in close.

She stared up at him, and the stars in her eyes were no longer lost or lonely.

They were bright.

They were beautiful.

They were blooming.

The melody of her was immeasurably lovely, lulling his shadows back to slumber. A few of them began dancing over her skin, murmuring soft lullabies, enveloping them both from sight.

Elain loosened a soft, pleased noise at their sleepful sound.

“Do they always do this for you?” she asked carefully. “Sing you to sleep?”

“Often, yes.”

A quiet pause.

“Alluring,” she quipped.

His mouth quirked upwards and he ran a tender hand down the length of her back. As if this wasn’t a dream. As if she was his, and his alone, tonight.

Elain responded by gently reaching upwards to carefully tuck a single bloom of jasmine into the muss of his curls.

“I’d like to imagine feeling your shadows every night, like this,” she uttered, voice husky with sleep.

Azriel swallowed a low, strangled noise in his throat.

He took a long moment. Maybe two. She nestled closer to him, as if knowing why, finding his hand at her spine and encouraging it to stroke her all the way down once again.

“Do you know how often I’ve dreamt of you, this way?” Azriel’s words were quiet. His other hand now making its way to the base of her neck. He allowed his scent to wrap around her, truly, knowing he’d glamor it away by morning.

He wanted more, he wanted everything, but somehow, this was enough.

“I feel safe in my dreams with you,” is all she said in return. Sleep imminent in her voice. “I feel safer now than I ever have, I think.”

Fuck, that did something to him. Curled something low within him to life. Something male and possessive and needy and long since abandoned.

“You are safer with me than anyone else in this world.”

The words were a vow, carried on a dark wind. A promise that he would level the universe with cold fury to keep her from harm if need be.

His hand slipped to the root of her hair and her lips parted with a sigh as he tenderly rubbed the base of her neck.

“I know it’s impossible. I know the stars are set against it. But maybe we could just pretend,” she murmured softly.

“Pretend?” he echoed, his heart beating slowly now.

Elain looked up to him, eyes dazed with lost dreams.

“That we belong to one another.”

She was asleep in five minutes. Maybe less.

Azriel finally ran scarred fingers through her curls and savored every last moment as if they might be his last. There was nothing but the jasmine-sweet melody of her crooning in his ear. Pale and bright and spilling like moonlight over the darkest nights of his life.

In the last hour before dawn he lowered himself beside her, wrapping her fully into the warmth of his chest. He cradled Elain close, and she cradled him right back, hidden beneath a veil of greenery.

“Azriel,” Elain murmured, as the birds began their luting songs in the nearby trees. He hummed a quiet, deep noise in answer.

“I’m not pretending,” she whispered.

He pulled her close, closer than he knew was possible. And as the soft breath of dawn peeked over a far horizon, he did not let go.

“Neither am I,” Azriel whispered back.

[biggestqiblifan]

Am I the only one who thinks that Sirius, the Wolfstar, is Amren?

[suguwu]

the spring air is chilled.

you shiver in it, even as petals from the apple tree flutter down around you, as pink as can be. they catch in your hair, nature's finest crown.

"is my party so boring that you must escape it?"

you close your eyes for a moment before turning. "your grace," you say, making your courtesies with elegant ease. when you raise your gaze, you meet duke satoru gojo's comet-tail eyes. they burn through the night.

"well?" he says.

you blink.

"my party," he says, voice bordering on a whine. "it bores you?"

"i just needed some air, your grace."

"in the chill?" he asks, stepping closer. his eyes almost glow, and you think of will o' the wisps bobbing through the forest, beckoning, beckoning. he reaches out with one big hand; your breath catches in your throat. he plucks a petal from your hair. lets it drift through the air to land at your feet.

you watch it fall. then there are long fingers beneath your chin, raising your gaze until you meet his. you swallow.

he steps closer still. you can feel the heat radiating from him, like the hearthstones long after the fire has gone out.

"your grace—"

"satoru."

"it's not proper—"

he snorts, tossing his head back. his hair is like starlight; it catches in the wind and dances like a shooting star.

"proper," he says, "is boring."

his fingers trace along your jaw, down the curve of your neck. he cups the back of your neck. pulls you close, until you can feel his breath against your lips.

"you must think so too," he muses. "to be out here without a chaperone."

the world snaps into sharp, clear focus. ice pours down your spine, a waterfall of winter. you start to stumble back, but he doesn't let you go.

"don't go," he says, a grin spreading across his lips. "not when i finally have you within my grasp. courting is so slow."

"your grace!"

he kisses his title off of your lips. you freeze, a prey animal caught between a predator's jaws, and your hand fists in his fine jacket. he feels like fire against you, coaxing your mouth open with a slip of his tongue.

you whine into his mouth. his lips curve up against yours.

"your grace!"

your ears start to ring. satoru presses one final kiss to your lips before he pulls back. you stare past him, into the darkness of the orchard. the apple tree flowers wave in the breeze, a rippling sunset of color, the pink visible even in the dark.

there are murmurs from those who have assembled at the doorway. you turn your head slowly, as if your neck is made of wood. you know your fate is sealed.

the first thing you see is viscount suguru getou.

he's smiling.