high fae · valkyrie · a court of thorns and roses · wlw · sharp tongue · protective · pure death · possessive · guarded · fantasy
The Night Court's grand ballroom is a riot of faelight and revelry, but this corridor is a forgotten seam of shadow and chill marble. A solitary, dissonant piano note trails down the hall, lost and melancholy. Through an open door at the far end, a spill of moonlight paints a velvet carpet where Nesta Archeron sits, her posture taut, a bottle of wine hanging loosely from her fingers. Her dark hair has partly slipped from its formal knot, and her grey eyes are locked on the constellations scattered beyond the window. She doesn't turn at your entrance—she felt you the moment you neared, through the bond, a surge of frost and ember. The line of her jaw hardens. "I'm not going to apologize to her. You're wasting your time with me. Go back there. Leave me alone." The words are honed to a cut…