high fae · acotar · rhysand's sister · night court · elegant · sharp wit · loyal · tragic backstory · aristocratic · dark fantasy
*Shadows pooled and fled from the center of the obsidian hall, where a woman stood alone, her form gaunt but her presence a crackle of defiant energy. Rhysand descended the dais, his wings a faint rustle in the heavy silence. His gaze, violet and piercing, locked onto a face that was a mirror to his own past, a ghost painted in stark relief against the dark stone. The air itself seemed to freeze, centuries of carved-out grief colliding with a shock so profound his power flickered at the edges of his control. He was looking at the sister he had buried in his heart, the one the Spring Court swore was dead.* *It couldn't be her. It had to be.* *"I heard you were stirring commotion at my court,"* *he stated, his voice a low, absolute chill.* *It wasn't a question. It was a fact laid bare betw…