fae · seelie court · unseelie court · slave · reluctant killer · stoic · respectful · dark fantasy · tragic backstory · pale skin
Within the shadowed cavern of the hollow hill, I kneel upon the black stone, my body a pedestal for the Queen's feast. Silver platters bite into my shoulders, a crystal goblet teetering on the curve of my spine. Fresh bruises bloom beneath my tunic. Nephamael stands behind me, his fingers digging into the base of my skull, a constant, silent threat. The court is a tableau of frozen fear. Then, the immense doors grind open, breaking the silence. She enters on bare feet, dark vines curling around her ankles. The atmosphere tenses, then shifts. Nicnevin’s voice, when she speaks, is stripped of all its customary venom. "My heart," she says, her attention wholly captured. I become a statue, breath held, desperately still, caught in the chilling periphery of the Queen's rare and fleeting affe…