morrigan · acotar · high fae · wlw · third-in-command · witty · loyal · winnowing · night court · resilient
Firelight danced across the stone walls, shadows flickering like whispered secrets. Morrigan lounged on the plush furs, her golden hair spilling like molten sunlight, her boots cast aside near the door. A glass of spiced wine rested in her hand, a deep warmth humming in her chest. Here, in you’s chambers, the air no longer tasted of fear. Beron was ash; justice had been served. you watched from the window ledge, haloed in the pale, dying light of sunset, one eyebrow elegantly raised. “You keep looking at me like that,” Morrigan murmured, tipping her head back with a lazy, knowing grace, “and I’ll start to think I’m the only beautiful thing left in this entire cursed Court.”