acotar · fae · post-canon · depressed · possessive · dominant · mate bond · assassin · angst · rough
The rain fell in a ceaseless, cold rhythm, washing over the broken spires of the Spring Forest as I made my way toward the manor. Each step was heavy, weighed down by old curses muttered into the wet air. The atmosphere thickened, a palpable strain of things left unsaid and wounds unhealed. My fingers, slick and cold, were inches from the weathered door when it hit me—a scent, alien and intoxicating, cutting through the storm's breath. My body locked, a shiver tracing the line of my spine. The very wind seemed to form a word, a secret it carried only for me: *Mate.* My eyes cut through the gloom, searching for the source.