Witch (Nessian)

Chapter 1

Nesta tried—tried and failed—not to feel the blow, the sting of the words. Though she didn't know why she was surprised by it.

There are no paintings of her in this house, they did not invite her to the parties or dinners anymore, they certainly did not visit—

"And where," Nesta asked , Her voice mercifully icy, "am I supposed to go?"

Ferye only looked at Cassian.

And for once the Illyrian warrior wasn't grinning as he said, "You're coming with me to the Illyrian Mountain."

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"Where is Elain." Not a question but a demand. It was always like that with her. When Feyre didn't answer, Nesta was quick to send a glare in the High Lady's direction. "Where. Is. She." A chill went through the meeting room, sending shivers to even the most powerful fae in all of Prythian.

"Feyre Sofia Archeron," The room shook a little as if it was in sync with the storm that had started roaring outside. "Tell me where!"

The High Lady looked at her feet, shaking her head. "Does she know?" asked Nesta.

Rhysand replied for his wife, "Elain is busy right know, or else she would have been here." He could have been lying or maybe Elain did know and thought Feyre was right to send her to the bat-fae mountains.

The thought that Elain knew they were exiling her to the mountains of creatures she despised hurt more than being kicked out by her youngest sister. "You will leave at dawn tomorrow, go back to your apartment and pack whatever you will need."

"I'm not going to a mountain full of pompous walking bats," Nesta spat. "I will leave Velaris and I swear on Elain that I will never come back, but there is no way in this stupid hellhole am I going to the mountains!"  

"Nesta —!" Feyre starts

"No. Fey— High Lady!" The curse-breaker winced at her older sister's choice of words. "I promise to leave Velaris. Hell I'd even go back to the mortal lands."

"Nesta—" Cassian started but Nesta cut him of and seethed at him, "No."

"Nesta, you will go to the Illyrian mountains. It's for your own good."

For her own good?!
What—??

Ferye was doing this on purpose. She was doing this to punish her for not being there for her or her family. But she helped her in the war. She tried mending the walls with magic she didn't know. She trained with Amren. She changed. She paid her debt. She should be free. Not shipped (or winnowed) to somewhere like an object. She wasn't that bad. She changed.

But no one sees her other than her being cold-hearted bitch.

No one cares.
Not even Elain, not anymore.

No one is there for her.
No one is there if she falls.
No one is there to want her.
No one is there to understand her.

She's all alone.

She's freezing.

No!

She's burning.

What?

Deep breaths in and out.

Burn the place to the ground, says a raspy voice from the back of her head. Burn the place to the ground, it says again. And again. And again. Go on, use that magic you stole.

Every word. Every syllable, every sound, feels like screws drilled into her head, then twisted out. Slowly and painfully.

Her skull felt as it was being hammered. Repeatedly. Cracking her head.
 
Everything freezes.
Everything burns.
Everything  numb.
Everything hurts.

"What is wrong with me?" She sobbed to herself. "What's happening to me?"

"Witch," that horrible voice screeched in her. Sense-heightening far-ears. Darkness danced in front of her face. Talons made of shadows swirled around. Chills. No. Emptiness trailed up and down her spine. Taking hold of her. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

One of the many talons gripped her chin and shook it aggressively. Like a toddler playing with a rattle. Nesta wriggled her wrists from  the shadows that had coiled around her.

"No one will help you. But you already know that. And I'm also pretty sure you know the High Lady and all of the Inner Circle are only 'helping you' because you're her sister." The voice barked out a laugh.

"Didn't your mother teach you stealing is bad?"

"No? Oh well." Something scratched her body nails digging deep enough to draw blood.

"I will poison you. Slowly. Painfully. First your body, then your—" Nesta wrenched her hand free from the frosty grasps and slammed it in the center of the masses of shadows.

They howled in agony as their companions dissolved into a pungent odour. Nesta continued to run her hand around them aimlessly, dissipating more and more of them with only her touch until none remained. She let out a shaky breath.

Where there were creatures of the night dancing in glee and mirth seconds or minutes ago, now only smelled like rotting corpse. Because they had been burned with flames.

Her silver flames.

Witch, they had marked her as. Fine then. She will show them how much of a witch she is, she promised