Hell was where she burned, where she cried, begged and pleaded.
Azriel was her only way.
Nimou, Princess of the Kingdom of Seas is trapped in a storm of nightmares and pain that threatens to come alight with each step forward.
Azriel, her saviour...
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"The darker the night, the brighter the stars" - Fyodor Dostoevsky
CHAPTER FOUR ALONE IN DARKNESS
AN ANNOYED GRUNT echoed through the living space, her hands not moving nearly as quickly as she needed them to. She wiped part of the canvas with annoyance, she didn't like painting. She learned that quickly.
"Don't worry about perfection, just get the general concept onto the canvas." Feyre said in a light knowing laugh, her High Lady voice nothing but calm and confident. Nim wished she could be more like her. Carefree. Fun.
The High Lady was also painting, and Nim had no clue she was the art. Her pink hair messy but placed in a perfect bun, braids hanging and framing her round face. Paint splotches on her pink cheeks. Feyre had the idea the moment she saw Nim's eyes, she needed to paint those eyes.
Nim made it very clear that no one was to see her canvas, it would be put away until she was ready to face it. That was how Feyre explained the lesson, if that's what she wanted to call it. Nim couldn't paint, well.. She could paint, but it wasn't good. A toddler with sleepy hands could do a better job. So, they sat face to face, only two canvases covering their hunched figures.
White, red, and black were the only colors she requested. And that was all she would need. The High Lady didn't question or push, she just handed over the colors and collected her own. She was only here to help the forgotten princess who lost so many years. And Nim appreciated that. She would bolt upstairs if a bunch of questions were hurled her way.
And while her whole head was in the internal hell she was spoiling onto the canvas. Feyre peaked over, brows raised at Nim's quiet cussing. "This isn't meant to be.. Stressful." She giggled the sound still very much in her High Lady tone.
"I'm bad at very few things, which is the reason some of my sisters don't enjoy my company. But I'm very bad at this." She grumbled, thumbing the corner piece where the black seeped over the red when her hand twitched. "And unfortunately for me, I am a sore loser."
"You remind me of my sisters, gentle like Elaine, but you have that fire like Nesta." A breathy laugh escaped the High Ladys grinning mouth. "There is no winning in painting."
"You say that, but I don't hear it." She grumbled, slamming her paintbrush into the water, hoping to rid it from the black deep within the burs of the brush. "Do you happen to have anything else we can do to rid me of my horrors?" Nim said, finally making contact with Feyre's kind blue eyes.
"Keep trying." The High Lady urged, dipping hers into the pink. "How about some wine?"
"Gods– please. Anything, at least that way I can convince myself it was the wine." Nim laughed, eyes sparkling with a single moment of something other than sadness or rage.
