The North Star
  • Reads 11,376
  • Votes 330
  • Parts 13
  • Time 1h 49m
  • Reads 11,376
  • Votes 330
  • Parts 13
  • Time 1h 49m
Ongoing, First published Feb 22, 2023
[DISCONTINUED UNLESS I HAVE READERS COMMENT ME THAT THEY WANT MORE, IF SO, VERY SLOW UPDATES]

As much as he'd like to forget, Rhysand isn't an only child. It's been a few hundred years since his sister had died, and every since that day, he had never uttered her name. It was too painful, even worse than the death of his mother. They had at least found her body. 

The Night Court had forgotten about her, and her name would be lost to the throngs of Fae history. 

Little did they know, Carina wasn't dead. 

She was trapped. 

What happens when she is finally discovered and rescued, learning that over 200 years have passed?

That there has been two wars that have passed, her brother was tortured Under the Mountain, and is mated to the savior of Prythian?

With other problems that arise, how will Carina navigate a world that has lived long without her?
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What if I lived? βœ”οΈ

20 parts Complete Mature

Two hundred years ago Rhysand lost his mother and sister in a grueling murder. But what if that sister had survived? What if the head in that box was just a tree-stump, transformed to look exactly like her? What if she had instead been sold for her knowledge on the mysterious Night Court? And what if that sister would now, just a few years after the war, find her way back, but with agendas of her own? ****************************************************************************** "Alright, oh wise one, my need for wisdom has run out now, so you can be on your way now" I waved my hand. "That's cold" Rhys put a hand over his heart, " I thought we were having a big-bro-little-sis talk here." I rolled my eyes, but he slid an arm around my shoulder: "We both already know what you'll do anyway." "Oh, we do, is that right?" He nodded: "You always been so predictable, if you would write murder-mysteries everyone would know from the beginning who killed the victim." "That's weirdly specific, how long have you been sitting on that one?" I snorted. "Since you insulted my taste in art" he sniffed theatrically. I laughed: "You are one petty High Lord." "I don't even know what to say to that insolence" he shook his head.