“ courts ? “ feyre repeats, and there’s a growing sense that she doesn’t belong to any. she can see the delicate arch to the other’s ears. she’s fae. faerie and she said she doesn’t know what the courts were. “ —the night court. “ unnecessary because as it looked, she didn’t know what it meant either way. she didn’t know if faeries could lose their memories — unless it was stolen from them. and her own powers proved mental manipulation was possible. she likely could’ve forgotten it, or somebody could’ve easily stole it, but the main question was WHY?
her right hand is caught in the red haired woman’s grip and she resists the urge to pull away as their eyes meet. bright gold. day court, maybe? “ it’s the twenty seventh of december, “ confusion, before she wonders if maybe she should try to look in her head herself. “ who are you? “
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒: it was becoming quite undeniable that she was not in crescent city, maybe not even in midgard at all, and the fae across from her was not helping, just standing there, repeating instead of answering, staring at her with alarm and confusion, the former of which must have matched bryce’s exact expression.
that is, until she tells her the date. at least she can rule out the far-fetched –– but all too real, considering her absolute shit luck –– possibility of time travel. but that means there is a battle raging back home and she is not there to help.
❛ bryce. my name’s- it’s bryce quinlan. and I don’t think I’m home anymore. ❜ with no action to leap into, no danger to throw herself head first in, she is left with no response but the calm, rational one. only, calm and rational are far, far from her mind. still –– she tries. ❛ is there somewhere private we can go? ❜ her eyes glance up at the crown again. a princess, perhaps? a queen?