feyre starter for @hiighlord
fingers reach behind her, scrambling and scraping for purchase to raise herself from where she has knelt. bloody and battered. weakened from fever, from lack of food, from lack of sleep ---... she is but a mortal in a world that is hard even for those of immortal stock. a thread of defiance as she rises to her feet, fingertips stained with blood as she steadies herself to meet his unwavering gaze.
she has known those beautiful eyes before. known them on a perfect spring night. known them when they’d met hers and for a moment she’d felt safe. safe and as if -- as if everything would be alright. but there was none of that in his eyes now. now those violet eyes shone coldly, like the longest winter night when stars dare not even light the sky. the kind of cold that shook your bones until you were frozen through. how had she ever felt safe with him? how had -- she ever not seen the predatory way he moved?
with every way that he walks, she angles herself towards him, as if to prepare for some onslaught, some attack. but what good would it do? without ash wood, without some weapon of some kind -- what could she do? feyre could not even summon the strength to scream. instead her voice is barely above a whisper as she meets his cold gaze and murmurs --
‘ what do you want? ‘
