A Court of Wind and Fire // ACOTAR Rhys' Sister WIP

Prologue

All characters belong to the lovely Sarah J. Maas, this is simply my interpretation of her stories using her characters. Enjoy!

I dream about Rhysand.

I dream about his face, his hair, his laugh. His Cauldron-be-damned smile, the smile that never failed to delight me, to take me from whatever foul mood I was so often in. 

I dream about the way he looked at Velaris, not like a lover but like a husband, duty-bound and yet still in love. I dream about him. 

And yet I will never see him as long as immortality binds me to this hell I am forced to live.

It is the one part of me that has remained over all these years, that has not yet been tarnished by the other blackened parts of my soul. It seems almost comical that I have to protect it, the only part of me still enjoying the carefree childhood I can barely remember, from myself. 

In a way I protect it from others too; nobody knows of these dreams, these secrets. I hoard them away like precious jewels, only glancing when I need their beauty in my life. I suppose it makes me selfish to do so, and yet I don't care.

Clinging onto Diana, onto the girl who lived a life unburdened. Onto the girl who roamed the streets of Velaris till she was dragged back home, onto the girl who lived and loved freely. 

Free. Free. Free. 

For a long time the words rang through my head as a reminder of the future I was living for; after a while, it began to taunt me. Now I simply can't hear it. I can barely remember a time where I wasn't so jaded towards life. It sits in the back of my mind, clinging on for its life, drowning in the pain that has flooded through me and saturated my mind, my heart, my soul.

 I wonder if he would be disgusted by it, by the fact I do not blink at this world and a tiny part of me cries at thinking my brother would no longer love me. But it is quickly silenced by the ever-looming reality of my situation. 

How can I be judged by a man who will never know me?

I wonder if he mourned for me after he buried the body sent down the river masquerading as my own. I wonder if he sat very quietly near a tree with two graves beneath it, and thought of what our life could have been if we hadn't been born with targets on our backs, waiting for arrows to pierce our hearts. 

Sometimes, I wonder if he lies in a grave next to our mother, and to what he believed was me, but I don't allow that thought to come very often. I cannot, because I know that the only reason I live is for him. For his life, and his happiness, and his joy, because mine is all gone. I live for him, and thus I dream about him.

I never thought that dream would end.