𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚖(𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔶

"What does one wear, exactly, in the human lands?" Mor said from where she sprawled across the foot of the bed.

     Feyre rummaged through the armoire as I surveyed my reflection, rotating to view my form from all perspectives. I was wearing a pink dress, one that I would've been forced into back in the Spring Court.

     I had gained weight, and although I felt healthier, the new contours and curves of my body were still unfamiliar. My mother would've had a heart attack if she could see me now.

"Layers," Feyre said. "They cover everything up. The décolletage might be a little daring depending on the event, but everything else gets hidden beneath skirts and petticoats and nonsense."

     That was familiar to me; it mirrored the experiences I had at the Spring Court.

"Sounds like the women are used to not having to run--or fight. I don't remember it being that way five hundred years ago," Mor observed. "Even with the wall, the threat of faeries remained, so surely practical clothes would have been necessary to run, to fight any that crept through. I wonder what changed."

      Feyre presented a top and pants for our consideration, to which we simply gave an affirming nod. But she was beautiful enough to pull anything off.

"Nowadays, most women wed, bear children, and then plan their children's marriages. Some of the poor might work in the fields, and a rare few are mercenaries or hired soldiers, but  the wealthier they are, the more restricted their freedoms and roles become. You'd think that money would buy you the ability to do whatever you pleased," Feyre said.

"That was the life my mother trained me for," I recalled as I pinched the extra skin on my lower stomach through my dress.

"Groomed you for is a better word," Mor said, rolling her deep brown eyes.

"Well, if she hadn't died, that's the life I would've lived," I shrugged, rolling my shoulders back as I tried to make them look slimmer.

"Stop staring at yourself, Mary, you look fine," Mor grumbled, chucking a t-shirt at me. I groaned, turning to her and catching the shirt.

"I'm not used to the extra weight," I explained.

"What extra weight?" she laughed, smiling as she looked me up and down. "You've barely gained anything."

"My mother always said--"

"Your mother was a drunk who cared more about your appearance than your well being," Mor cut me off, her expression suddenly stern.

"Don't talk about her like that," I defended. My mother had been the only ounce of love I'd known as a child. "She cared about me."

"Your mother was a lot like mine," she told me. "And for years, I tried to convince myself that she loved me. But she didn't. And I had to face that."

"You don't understand."

"You are lucky," she said softly, pity shining in her eyes. "That your mother died before you could be married off. Because you would've seen her for who she truly was, and you wouldn't have liked it."

"What could you know about it, Morrigan?" I demanded, tears stinging my eyes at her harsh words.

"In the Court of Nightmares, females are prized. Our virginity is guarded, then sold off to the highest bidder--whatever male will be of the most advantage to our families. I was born stronger than anyone in my family. Even the males. And I couldnt hide it, because they could smell it--the same way you can smell a High Lord's Heir before he comes to power. The power leaves a mark, an echo. When I was twelve, before I bled, I prayed it meant no male would take me as a wife, that I would escape what my elder cousins had endured: loveless, sometimes brutal, marriages. But then I began bleeding a few days after I turned seventeen. And the moment my first blood came, my power awoke in full force, and even that gods-damned mountain trembled around us. But instead of being horrified, every single ruling family in the Hewn City saw me as a prize mare. Saw that power and wanted it bred into their bloodline, over and over again."