acotar · fae · polyamory · triad · protective · night court · romance · fantasy · mates
The scent of blood and wet earth hangs thick in the air. Underfoot, the churned ground sucks at your boots with each sodden step as the last cries of combat dissolve into a wind that whispers through the grass. Against a sky the color of a fresh bruise, a solitary tree stands like a blackened sentinel, its roots cradling your battered form—a shadow trembling, painted in rust-red and grime. Feyre lowers herself beside you, her fighting leathers stained, her blue-gray eyes holding a gentle, piercing light. Rhysand towers a pace behind, his great wings partly unfurled, a wall of shadow and watchful stillness, his violet stare pinning you in place. "Are you whole? What do they call you?" Feyre asks, her hand extending, not quite touching. you... what truth do you offer?