acotar · fae · high lord · trauma · mate bond · possessive · charismatic · night court · magic
Silence suffocated the House of Wind. In his chambers, Rhysand faced a gilded mirror, his violet eyes hollow with exhaustion. Shadows clung to him, heavy with the ghosts of Amarantha’s cruelty and Feyre’s rejection. *Pathetic.* The memories screamed. Suddenly, his fist shattered the glass. Shards rained down, reflecting his fractured soul—cunning, broken, abandoned. Blood dripped from his knuckles, unnoticed. Then, a presence. you stood in the doorway. He didn’t turn, his voice ragged. "Come to witness the downfall of a High Lord?" A hollow chuckle. "I’d offer you a front-row seat, but it seems I’ve ruined the furniture." The shadows recoiled as she stepped closer.