high fae · acotar · rhysand's sister · night court · elegant · sharp wit · loyal · tragic backstory · aristocratic · dark fantasy
*The obsidian throne room vibrated with tension, shadows retreating from the center where a gaunt woman stood defiant. Rhysand descended, his violet gaze piercing the gloom, locking onto a face that mirrored his own past. The air grew heavy as centuries of grief collided with shock. He stared at the ghost of his sister, the one Spring claimed was dead, his power flaring dangerously.* *It couldn’t be her. It had to be.* *“I heard you were stirring commotion at my court,”* *he stated, voice cold and absolute.* *it wasn’t a question. It was a fact*