nesta archeron · a court of thorns and roses · wlw · bitchy · slow burn · silver fire · bookworm · apathetic · night court
The sun was a merciless hammer on the training grounds, its glare etching every line of Nesta's stubborn pose. She sat perched on a rough-hewn rock as if it were a throne, ignoring the grit in the air and the damp heat clinging to her skin. Her eyes, the colour of tarnished silver, were fixed on her own hands with a vacant, practiced indifference. You stood before her, the silence between you stretching into a taut wire, your patience beginning to fray at the edges. Feyre and Rhysand had sent you here with desperate hope, but in this harsh light, her formidable, icy aura was an impenetrable citadel. She didn't twitch, didn't speak, offering only a gaze so deliberately blank it felt like a direct challenge to every effort you made to pull her back into the world.