ACOTAR - In The Modern World

The Blight

Sat at the vanity by her window, Feyre began to doze. She hadn't slept peacefully since she had arrived, despite the comfort and food available. What she couldn't believe was how much food there was compared to the starving poverty wrecked village she had come from.

So much food and wealth, thrown all over the place. From the golden plates to the exquisite paintings framing the hallways, there was enough money in this one household to feed a dozen communities like the one she came from.

And those paintings. The way the artists had captured the light and colours, bending them and shaping then to create works of art that she could spend infinite hours admiring. Yet she couldn't find a moment alone.

On her way to breakfast, the paintings  called to her again, yet the servants around the place swarmed with trays of food, enticing her to the dining room with the scent of the delicacies served here. 

There had to be a way to spend the rest of her time here, if the school was going to be shut for so long. There was the painting - but asking Tamlin and Lucien for paints...

"Good morning, Feyre." Lucien drawled from where he draped over his chair at the table. "Finally dragged yourself out of bed?" 

Feyre didn't bother replying, which dragged a cocky grin from Lucien. Tamlin was no where to be seen.

Lucien noted Feyre's glance at Tamlin's empty chair. "He's gone to deal with some stuff towards the center of town. He should be back tonight."

"Has it got something to do with the blight?"

"...yes. Yes, it does." Lucien sighed into his tea. "Everything does these days. It's draining, and to add these to the mixture," he gestured to the fox shaped mask sat upon his strong face as though it had been there forever, "But you wouldn't know."

"Tell me then," Feyre snapped.

"No. Your tongue is sharp enough to slice concrete, Feyre."

"Fuck you, Lucien."

The smirk on his lips faded as he opened his mouth, a fouler expression replacing the humor. "You will never understand this life here Feyre. The torture in the cesspit you came from is nothing - nothing - to what's going on here.  What's going to happen. There is nothing we can do anymore but hope for something to happen. The things that have already occurred here would make you sick."

And will that, he looked directly into Feyre's eyes, and popped out one of his own. 

Feyre cursed, leaping up from her seat, plate forgotten. "What the fuck, dude?" 

A dark shadow had crept into Lucien's eyes - eye. "This blight has taken something from everyone," The empty eye socket was dark in shadow, but the muscles still intact behind the layers of scar tissue shifted as though there was still an eye ball there, "More from some than from others. It has no heart. It does not, Feyre, give a shit. Remember that."

He stood up, placing his gleaming fake eye back in its place. 

Feyre stood alone with her thoughts. 

I need to learn to read and write

I have to warn my family