𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫 || 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 ||

6. Something Special

DIFFERENT POV WARNING:

^^^^Meira's Room Aesthetic Up Above ^^^

Azriel:

"How is she doing?"

Rhys leans against the doorframe, looking up at me from where I sit in an armchair next to her bed, not moving, not even left for the past 3 days.

Her room is spacious with floor to ceiling windows, and further glass ceilings which reflect the night sky. This room seems to have a sort of celestial theme, with its dark blue bed frame and similar sheets and Feyre's final touches with painted moon and stars mural on one wall, a few lights and a dark spruce floor.

The fireplace on the wall further from the bed is lit, giving the room a warm glow. 2 armchairs were positioned near it but I'd dragged one over, the soft blue velvet seats with enough space for my wings as comfortable as anything.

"Better, I think. Madja said she's taking longer to heal, but she should wake up in a day or two." I reply.

"Good." Rhys studies me, violet eyes glaring intently.

I know my brother well. I know when he wants to know something.

"Just ask the question, Rhys."

He glances down at her sleeping figure, pale and thin-boned, looking weaker than she was at Windhaven. Her blonde, almost white hair is spread out around her head like a halo of sorts which I swear has gotten lighter, more white, since she's been here, but her eyes remain glued shut.

She whimpers every now and again. Flinches. Sometimes she twists and turns as if she's trying to run or escape something, but both Rhys and Feyre haven't been able to reach into her mind.

"It's like her shields are made of iron, or the strongest metal. The gates to her mind...they look like castle ones, with wild, overgrown flowers curling around the doors." Feyre told me when she tried to stop her from shaking, trembling. "She doesn't seem to want anyone in there. But I get the feeling she's had people in her mind before, and as a result it's very fragile."

She was a mystery, someone who seemed to be fine, but what did I know about her?

A strange yet peculiar feeling when our hands touched.

My spies had never heard of her. I'd asked all of them if they'd ever seen a High Fae with such pale hair and face, yet such vibrant eyes. They reminded me of my siphons, in a way.

But then here's the thing - she reminds me exactly of a Valkyrie called Rena.

She was quiet, but she could be bold, brave and she was beautiful- even through the training to become a Valkyrie, she hadn't lost her kindness or compassion.

Valkyries used to train in the extremes - middle of blizzards, sand storms, thick bogs, volcanic sands, normally they would find all of this in The Middle.

But she - Meira - seemed familiar, as if I'd encountered her before.

"You don't think she could be-" Rhys began.

I stare at her. And her unmoving body, apart from the slow but steady rise and fall of her chest.

"I don't know. But she's...something. Something special."

—————

"She's really something, isn't she."

Mor's voice jolts me from the light sleep I'd only just managed to take. Thoughts and theories and feelings were circling around my head, and the shadows sure as hell weren't any help.

The Golden Light, one likes to whisper

The Cursed Shadow another likes to insist.

The Seer, The Tamer, The Light.

I clear my throat, "Yes, she is." I say with a slight edge to my tone.

"Well, someone sure is protective." I can see Mor thinking, the cogs turning in her head.

"I don't think-" I begin, but she cuts me off.

"You need to rest. It isn't going to make her wake up faster just sitting here. I know you think you owe it to her because you saved her life, but someone can come and get you when she does."

"I don't want to leave her."

"Won't or can't? There two different things." Mor heistantly steps towards her, after seeing an okay from me, and takes Meira's  left arm, rolling up the sleeve before running her index finger down the forearm.

"What are you-"

And there. It appears with a sliver aura, glimmering and glistening like gold dust before setting into her forearm. The glamour fades, and I feel, for once, my jaw drop.

Appearing in black ink, 5 runes appeared on her arm, as well as a tally of...scars?

Neat rows of 5 tallies covered her arm - and Mor let out a gasp.

"What is that?"

But I know.

Hybernian kill marks.

——————
Hope this chapter is okay, I think at some point I'll redraft, but...what do ya think? I tried my best for this POV, not rlly sure if it sort of fits, but...

Things are gonna get interesting! I promise 😉 ;)