Females were very rare in the night court's ruling family as it was, all either die young or end up forgotten in the abyss of history.
Rhysand ever thought he'd have to father one of these, in fact, he did't believe he even deserve to be a father, u...
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CHAPTER NINE
my fourth drink in my hand, these desperate prayers of a cursed man
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The first time Elayla Astraea Anwar got drunk was when she was exactly sixteen years old. The age was pretty much young even by faerie standards.
She could remember very well how she had stormed out of house over a stupid argument with Cassian. She hated fighting with him, he was after all the one person who cared enough to stay around. Something even her own father didn't care to do.
She couldn't recall exactly what caused that specific fight. Rage had blurred her mind enough to block it out.
She remembered also the smells of the drinks in every corner of the room, the way all these folks looked like they were floating into new worlds, laughter and cheers and smiles plastered all over them.
She didn't really know what brought her there, maybe it was the fact that she witnessed Cassian drown his sorrows into a bottle a couple of times throughout the years, or that she wanted to prove herself that she was old enough to make adult decisions without the general coddling her.
A few glasses of wine later, she could barely stay up on her feet, and even her blue sundress felt heavy on her.
It wasn't revealing by any means, unlike what Morrigan tried to get her into, Elayla was very much comfortable covering herself enough, not that she wasn't proud of her body.
It just made her feel more in control of herself and her image.
"Oi, Darling, in need of some help." She heard the voice of a male scraatch at her brain in all the wrong way.
She didn't know much of social interactions beyond her father's inner circle, but she knew that whenever a male got like this with a female, shit was about to go down.
"No, thank you." She drunkenly stumbled away from the bar stool, only for a hand to clasp around her wrist.
"I wasn't asking, little girl." She felt his breath that reeked of alcohol hit her face. Her chest burnt in panic.
Her first reflex in case of danger was to reach for her daemati abilities, but her mind was too clouded to do so.
Even if she did, the first person she learned to reach for was years of memories away.
"Let go of me." She fought against the male as he forcefully pushed her against the wall. "Stop fighting it, and I'll make it feel painless."
She knew what he meant, the slide of his hand against her arm made her skin feel filthy.
Dirty dirty, dirty.
Something itched under her skin as she thrashed and he pinned her down, before something terrifying happened. He vanished.
He got misted into a mix of blood and nothingness, the red liquid splashed onto her, thick and sticking to her skin. She had misted someone. Elayla Anawar killed someone that night. A sob broke through her lips, watching as the red stained the skin of her hands.
Monster. Monster. Monster.
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