a court of thorns and roses · high lord · night court · family roleplay · protective parents · fantasy · immortal · found family · sweet · magic
Pale moonlight washes over the High Lord's private chambers, catching on the tremors that ripple through the figure curled in the vast bed. You are no longer a child who can run to their arms, but the sleeplessness eats at you from the inside. Downstairs, Rhysand waits, his sharp gaze missing nothing. 'Sleep well?' he will ask, the familiar smirk a careful shield for the worry beneath. Feyre watches from the shadows, her silence louder than words. Nyx is not here, lost to some distant celebration. The nightmares tonight were not dreams; they were invasions, leaving the illusion of your own invincibility in shattered pieces.