𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚖(𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔶-𝔬𝔫𝔢

a day early bc why not. might post another chapter tomorrow

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     During that first week back, neither of us were allowed out of sight of the house. Some nameless threat had broken onto the lands, and Tamlin and Lucien were called away to deal with it. We weren't told what it was.

     Feyre spent a lot of the week reading. I wandered the halls, the prison feeling so familiar to me. Feyre was new to all the rules, the overprotectiveness, how controlling he could be. But it was all I'd ever known. I was used to it.

    I frowned as I came across a faerie in the hallway, sitting on the stairs. No one was allowed in except for me, Feyre, and Alis.

    He was a lesser faerie, crying into his hands. I carefully approached, and he glanced up at me.

"She took my wings," he whispered.

"Who did?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me as I knelt to his level.

    He didn't respond. He just broke down, sobbing harder. I bit back my gasp as he hunched over, and I saw the bloody gapes in his back, where his wings had been.

"Who are you talking to, Mary?" a voice pulled me. I turned to Feyre, who was staring at me with concerned eyes.

"The fae--" I trailed off as I turned back, to see nobody.

     No. No, I hadn't seen the dead for a century, at least. I thought I'd learned to confine that power. Tamlin had hated it. He said it was disturbing and strange. So I'd learned to repress it.

"Was he dead?" she asked quietly.

    I'd forgotten I had shared that part of me with her Under the Mountain. We'd shared a lot with each other in that cell.

"I think so," I confessed. I wanted to change the subject. I didn't want to think about it. And I didn't want Tamlin to find out. "Where are you off to?"

"I was just going to my studio to get a book," she explained. She'd been reading a lot in the past week.

"I'll come with you," I decided, needing a distraction.

"No, it's okay," she declined, shaking her head and refusing to meet my eyes. That made me curious.

"Why not?" I teased. "Do you not want my company?"

"It's not that," she sighed, shaking her head. "It's just . . ."

"Come on," I pouted.

     She finally met my eyes, hers filled with shame. She sighed, giving in. I followed her up to her studio.

     At first, I saw nothing to be embarrassed by. Until my eyes found the corner of the room, which was littered in canvases. 

She had painted me. So many times. So many different paintings of me, in different dresses, different settings.

"I know, it's weird," she gushed, her cheeks pink. "You probably think me strange and obsessed. I'm sorry."

"No, I love it," I cut her off. "Nobody's ever done anything like this for me."

"You're sweet," she smiled, blushing.

I didn't want her to think of me as sweet. I wanted her to be as crazy about me as I was about her. I wanted her to barely be able to contain herself when she saw me. I wanted her to rip my clothes off and fuck me with her fingers until I couldn't handle it anymore.

    I shocked myself with the thoughts, flushing deep red. I reminded myself how wrong it was for me to think like that.

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