𝐑𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧
: ̗̀➛ In 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 the younger twin of Feyre Archeron
has to fight through the thorns of roses just
to survive.
〔Azriel x oc〕
╰┈˚ · ° . slowburn!
...
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╰┈˚ · ° . FEYRE AND I WALKED SIDE BY SIDE, almost coordinated. For a second I thought that we were back in the Mortal Lands, with fingers numb from the cold and legs tired from hours of hunting. But then, the sight of The Suriel, brought me back to reality. No winter, only Spring. Our hands clutching our weapons, not to hunt but to approach the being in front us caught in the snare.
"Are you one of the Suriel?" Feyre said quietly, being careful of the creature before us.
It went rigid. And sniffed. Once. Twice. Then slowly, it turned towards us, the dark veil draped over its bald head blowing in a phantom breeze. A face that looked like it had been crafted from dried, weatherworn bone, its skin either forgotten or discarded, a lipless mouth and too-long teeth held by blackened gums, slitted holes for nostrils, and eyes... eyes that were nothing more than swirling pits of milky white—the white of death, the white of sickness, the white of clean-picked corpses.
Peeking above the ragged neck of its dark robes was a body of veins and bones, as dried and solid and horrific as the texture of its face. It let go of the snare, and its too-long fingers clicked against each other as it studied us with his unnerving eyes.
"Humans," it said, and its voice was at once one and many, old and young, beautiful and grotesque. "Did you set this clever, wicked trap for me?"
"Are you one of the Suriel?" I asked, repeating my twin's question. It was just another being, I repeated to myself. It breathed, it could bleed, it could die.
"Indeed I am." Click, click, click went its fingers against each other, one for each word.
"Then the trap was for you." I continued, tilting my head while clicking my tongue on the roof of my mouth.
"I have not seen a human woman for an age. Come closer so I might look upon my captors."
We did no such thing. We were humans, not stupid.
It let out a huffing, awful laugh. "And which of my brethren betrayed my secrets to you?"
"None of them. Our mother told us stories of you."
