"What would you do if I told you I was cursed?"
CASSIAN X OC
IN WHICH SHE IS HER FAMILIES BEST KEPT SECRET, AND ITS CASSIANS JOB TO FIGURE HER OUT.
PRE ACOTAR - ACOSF
' Nothing and no one can break this bond, like an image passing by my love, my life.' ~ My Love, My Life, ABBA. <>
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462 years before the birth of Nesta Archeron.
The youngest daughter to the infamous lord Ivan Carlisle was born into a warm May night, despite the rain and the thunder roaring within the darkness. A lions cry, her brother Archer had called it. His youngest, fragile mortal sister had been born in the depths of a lions cry.
Her father had simply called it a bad omen. He hadn't been there of course, nor had anyone or particular weight or note within the ancient Manor House that brimmed with the feral delight of power. The fae, legitimate children were upstairs with the governess, the lord of the manor, consequently, was visiting the old lord of summer - Leon. A good friend If such men could have such things.
And so after the midwife had left from the small human village nearby, Laura Archeron sat silently in the bed, small infant coddled in her arms within bundles of blanket. Feeling impossibly and yet not at all alone. It was rare, that was obvious from the look of disdain and dread in the woman's face when she handed her child to her desperate arms. Her little Florence was human when all odds state she should be fae. Laura would be lying to say it didn't fill her with dread too; to what the master of the house would think: the scandal of not only having a child with your human maid not two years after the lady of the houses passing, but having a mortal child.
Still the Archeron girl swallowed it down. The male wasn't here yet and she had precious moments to treasure. The babe, Florence, would be named after her grandmother. A wiry wilful but kind old woman - a healer if humans were ever granted the title to be one in a world full of far stronger magic. Maybe her little girl would grow up to be a nurse too, or a writer, a painter? She allowed for a small hand to grasp her pinky finger, pulling her babe even closer to her tired body.
"I'll always look after you." Laura swore in the firelight between thunder, "until my last breath you will be my diamond, my little love."
Footsteps, children's laughter. The male yell of a coat to be strung on the rap. He was back.
"I won't let them think less of you. I'll make your siblings swear. I promise."
The door swung open. A father taking one look at his newborn daughter in the fragile warm orange glow, one look before slamming the door again.
One sentence to declare his broken progeny is not to sleep in the servants quarters.
