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dee-writes-smut · 11 days

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SPRING

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY on a mission to discuss peace negotiations with the Illyrians, you find yourself in a tricky spot without your best friend. (part two is up)

CONTENT WARNINGS descriptions of injuries, pain, torture, depression, and misogyny. This one is dark, please ensure you are feeling comfortable and safe.

AUTHORS NOTE today I woke up and chose violence apparently. This fic is unbelievably long and It's been a while, so I thought I would appease you while I continue to work on the second part of the mark fic. I hope you all enjoy. <3

In the gentle embrace of spring, as nature stirred from its winter slumber, the world seemed to come alive in a symphony of sights and sounds. The air grew lively with vibrant colors of blossoming trees, their delicate leaves unfurling, whispering hope upon the wind. Each leaf and flower, each insect and animal all seeming to dance in the sunlight and bask in new chances of growth. It was truly a testament to beauty and resilience, to life.

But, amidst the beauty of renewal, there lingered a sense of sorrow, a deep heaviness that hung in the air like a dark cloud just breaching above the horizon. Spring had brough not only the promise of new beginnings, but a painful reminder for all that had been lost and forgotten. And as rain fell softly upon the earth, calling to mother nature to gift the soil with fertility, memories of pain consumed you. The gentle patter of raindrops against the earth did not serve to remind you of new beginnings, but set a somber soundtrack in your thoughts, a melancholy melody that echoed the ache you felt in your heart.

As pollen filled the air, coloring the wind and triggering allergies that left you sneezing and sniffling, you couldn't help but feel trapped within the confines of your own sorrow, isolated from the prospering world around you. Vibrant colors and sweet scents did nothing to comfort, rather building a prison of sorts, confining you to the memories of the person you once were, of the life you used to lead.

(Springtime, The Illyrian Mountains)

As you and Azriel ventured into the heart of the Illyrian steeps on a mission, the harsh terrain mirrored the cold, hardened demeanor of its inhabitants. The people of this unforgiving land, with their anger and hostility, were the only semblance of family you had ever known. Yet, their begrudging tolerance of your existence only fueled the resentment that simmered within you. How could you ever understand a people who would dare to strip you of your wings, your very essence of freedom, as a cruel display of dominance and worthlessness?

"Interesting how Rhys sends the two of us, who would sooner see the Illyrians burn, for peace negotiations," you remarked with a bitter chuckle, nudging Azriel to draw him from his thoughts. Azriel, your closest friend for three centuries, had become a steadfast companion since that fateful night when you first crossed paths with Mor at Rita's. Though the details of that encounter remained a blur, the bond forged between you and Azriel stood firm.

"Cass is stuck with Nesta. She’s been feeling off lately, she senses something stirring, but isn’t sure what. Elain shared her sentiments," Azriel grumbled, his countenance slipping into the stoic mask of the shadowsinger, overshadowing his gentle and kind-hearted nature that was generally reserved for you and the rest of your chosen family.

"So, Rhys sent the only other two Illyrians he knows. How convenient for us," you retorted, your wings instinctively folding in close as you navigated the lifeless streets of the Illyrian camp. By now, they had learned better than to challenge your presence for too long.

"Just stick close," Azriel advised, his voice tinged with caution. “There are still many men who wish to see you wingless and under their influence.”

You rolled your eyes and let out an exasperated huff but nodded in agreement. "Stubborn bastards," you muttered under your breath.

In hindsight, perhaps openly disparaging them while walking through their camp wasn't the wisest choice. But they were well aware of your disdain for them, just as you knew the depths of their animosity towards you. They had cast you out like prey when you were just a child, and you had since made it your life's mission to rise above them in every way possible. The mere thought of your superiority grated on them to no end, and you reveled in it.

Azriel chuckled softly, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. He nudged you back in the side as you approached Lord Devlon’s home, the both of you sharing a sullen look of understanding before Azriel knocked.

The response was immediate, Lord Devlon swinging the door open with a scowl that mirrored Azriel's own grim expression. "I don't care that you force us to let our women keep their wings," he spat, his tone dripping with disdain, "but I will not negotiate with one. Especially her."

Azriel's growl rumbled deep in his chest, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "I don’t give a fuck about your preferences," he snapped, his voice laced with barely restrained anger.

You sighed, your wings flaring behind you in agitation as you shot a withering glare at Devlon. Barely missing Azriel's own, which mirrored your movements, his solidarity unwavering.

Turning to Azriel, you spoke with a sense of resignation. "Go on. I'll catch up with Emerie and a few others."

Though reluctant to part ways, Azriel relented, “Fine,” he growled, knocking his forehead gently against yours. It was a gesture you both shared, a silent reassurance that you were never truly alone in the face of adversity. With a nod of encouragement, you turned and walked off Devlon’s steps, making your way back into town to seek solace in the company of the only Illyrian, aside from your bat boys, whom you found more than tolerable.

After sharing a drink with Emerie and catching up for a few hours, you felt a tug of responsibility urging you to check in on Devlon and Azriel. Yet, deep down, a part of you secretly hoped that Azriel had taken matters into his own hands and dealt with the pompous leader once and for all, though you dared not voice such thoughts aloud.

As you stepped outside, the tranquility of spring in the mountains enveloped you like a comforting embrace. The harsh winds of winter had given way to a gentle, cool breeze that whispered through the trees, carrying with it the promise of warmer days ahead. It was a peaceful scene, if one could ignore the harsh realities of life in this unforgiving land, and the unspeakable horrors inflicted upon its women.

You closed your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to bask in the crisp, cool air, a stark contrast to the warmer weather of Velaris. But before you could fully immerse yourself in the tranquility of the moment, they struck.

It happened so quickly, the ambush catching you off guard. Before you could react, a blow to the back of your head sent you reeling, darkness descending upon you like a heavy shroud. In the blink of an eye, consciousness slipped away, leaving you vulnerable and defenseless against the unknown assailants. If you had had the chance to process the situation, perhaps embarrassment would have crept in at being caught off guard so easily. But the darkness of unconsciousness claimed you swiftly, dragging you down into its depths before you could even muster a response.

"Wake up, whore," a voice hissed in your ear, jolting you from the haze of unconsciousness. Your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled to make sense of your surroundings, the harshness of the voice sending a shiver down your spine. Blinking against the darkness that enveloped you, you felt a heavy weight pressing down upon your head—a bag, thick and suffocating, that obscured your vision and when you moved—thrashed— against the seat you were in, you quickly realized that you were bound.

Shit.

The bag over your head muffled your senses, leaving you completely disoriented and vulnerable to your captors. Panic surged through you at this revelation, causing a sudden spark of energy to send you thrashing against your restraints, deep realization sinking in your stomach with sickening dread.

The voice that had startled you awake, one that sounded awfully familiar, chuckled darkly, a deep, cruel sound that sent shivers cascading down your spine. “No need to struggle, sweetheart,” he mocked, “you’re not going anywhere.”

Your heart hammered against your chest as you strained to make sense of your surroundings, to recognize even the slightest detail, but all you could make out was the stench of damp earth and mildew. Fear clawed its way down your throat, leaving deep gauges as you tried to keep your composure, to get out of this place, this nightmare, before it was too late.

“Where am I?” You growled, your voice heavy with defiance as you demanded your location, only a slight lilt of fear made its way past your throat.

“You're not the one making demands here,” he sneered, tone dripping with pure malice. He must have been an Illyrian. No one else would have the gall to try something like this, either too afraid of you, or too afraid of Azriel’s wrath. Just the thought of him filled you with a desperate longing, a flicker of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume you.

As you struggled to piece together your next move, the sound of footsteps approached, echoing ominously in the darkness. You braced yourself for what was to come, steeling your resolve to survive whatever horrors awaited you.

The bag was roughly pulled from your head, and you blinked against the sudden onslaught of light, squinting to make out the figure before you. As your vision cleared, you found yourself face to face with your captor, Lyris, who you used to train with as a kid, his eyes cold and calculating as he loomed over you with a wicked grin.

As the realization of your fate settled like a heavy stone in your chest, Lyris approached, his steps deliberate and purposeful. He wielded a gleaming dagger in his hand, the cold metal glinting in the dim light of the chamber. Your heart hammered in your chest as fear gripped you like a vice, every instinct screaming at you to fight, to flee, but the chains binding you rendered you helpless.

With a cruel smirk, Lyris loomed over you, his eyes alight with sadistic delight. "Time to finally take what's mine, what those bastard whoresons took from me so many years ago," he sneered, the dagger poised menacingly in his grasp.

Your breath caught in your throat as the blade descended, slicing through the air with a sickening sound that made your blood run cold. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the searing pain that was sure to follow.

The first cut came swift and merciless, a sharp agony tearing through your being as the blade bit into your flesh. A strangled cry tore from your lips, the sound echoing off the walls of the chamber as your world exploded into a whirlwind of pain and terror.

“Look at these pretty wings,” Lyris hummed, his voice filled with the rasp of adrenaline. “I cannot wait to hang them on the wall of our home. To keep you quiet, pliant, and filled with my children; as you should have been from the start.” His voice, one you used to cherish, one that reminded you of the little boy who would sneak away to help you, to train you against the backs of his mentors, was now torture.

But the torment did not end there. With ruthless precision, Lyris continued to wield his blade, each stroke bringing fresh waves of agony that threatened to consume you whole. You writhed and thrashed against your restraints; your cries of anguish lost in the darkness of the chamber. Through tear-blurred vision, you caught a glimpse of your wings, once symbols of freedom and strength, now mangled, bloodied and broken beyond recognition. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks as you watched helplessly, the realization of your loss hitting you like a physical blow.

And as the last remnants of your wings fell away, severed and discarded like worthless scraps of flesh, a hollow emptiness settled in the pit of your stomach. You were no longer whole, no longer the person you once were. You had been robbed of your identity, your essence, and in their place remained only the cruel scars of your torment.

In the oppressive darkness of your captivity, each passing moment stretched into an eternity, the weight of your mutilation a relentless burden threatening to crush not just your body, but your very spirit. Bound and helpless, you lay upon the cold stone floor, every breath a labored struggle against the suffocating silence that surrounded you. The air itself felt heavy with despair, pressing down upon you like a suffocating blanket, leaving you gasping for air, for relief, for any semblance of hope.

Your limbs, once strong and nimble, now felt heavy and leaden, shackled by chains that dug into your flesh with cruel insistence, leaving angry welts in their wake. Each movement sent a jolt of searing pain shooting through your battered body, a constant reminder of the brutality you had endured.

Amidst the shadows that danced like malevolent phantoms in the night, a soft rustle of wings broke through the oppressive stillness, the whisper of shadows weaving through the air like an ancient, mournful melody. Your heart surged in your chest as a familiar presence enveloped the room, a warmth that banished the icy chill that had settled deep within your bones, offering a glimmer of solace in the midst of the suffocating darkness.

Azriel.

With a grace honed by centuries of training, Azriel moved with silent determination, his movements a symphony of lethal precision and raw emotion. Each step he took seemed to reverberate through the chamber, echoing the pounding of your heart as he closed in on your captors, his eyes burning with a fierce determination that bordered on desperation.

The sound of steel meeting flesh rang out like a mournful dirge, punctuated by the anguished cries of your assailants as they fell before Azriel's relentless onslaught, their tormentors becoming the tormented. The room erupted into chaos, the air thick with the scent of blood and sweat as Azriel moved with a fluidity that bordered on otherworldly, his wings unfurling like a dark, protective cloak as he danced amidst the shadows. It was a sight to behold, a dance of death performed with a grace and precision that belied the brutality of its execution, a testament to the depth of his devotion and the strength of his love.

Through the haze of pain and fear, a surge of gratitude washed over you, a profound sense of relief that threatened to overwhelm your senses. As Azriel approached, his hand outstretched in silent invitation, you reached out to him, your fingers trembling with exhaustion and relief, your heart overflowing with a love and gratitude that defied words. In that moment, as his steady presence enveloped you, you knew that you were not alone in the darkness.

“Gods, what did they do to you,” Azriel breathed, his own hands shaking as he helped you to your feet, the weight of your brokenness heavy in his arms. You swayed unsteadily, a marionette with severed strings, before collapsing against him, the pain of your loss too great to bear alone.

“Did-” You are cut off by a hiss of pain, the sharp intake of breath a dagger through your chest. You took a moment to collect yourself, the darkness at the edges of your vision threatening to engulf you. Azriel, a bastion of strength in the storm, gently guided you to the cold stone floor, his touch a lifeline in the suffocating darkness. “Did you kill him?” you managed to choke out, the words heavy with desperation and fear, each syllable a struggle against the encroaching oblivion.

“Who?” Azriel's voice was a low rumble, his grip on your hand grounding you in the present moment, a beacon of stability amidst the chaos that threatened to consume you both. Outside the confines of your enclosure, the sounds of chaos echoed in the air, a symphony of violence and retribution made in your honor.

“Lyris. Did you kill him?” Your voice wavered, the weight of your words a burden too heavy to bear alone. You felt lightheaded, the loss of blood draining your strength with each passing moment.

“Lyris? He was here?” Azirel's growl reverberated in the cavernous space, a primal sound that sent shivers down your spine. He was the only one you confided in about your history with the Illyrian male, the scars of your past laid bare before him.

You sniffled and sobbed, the floodgates of grief finally breaking as you allowed yourself to mourn the loss of your wings in the safety of Azriel’s presence. His arms wrapped around you, a shield against the storm raging within you, offering solace in the face of unspeakable loss.

“My wings?” you asked through sobs, the words a whisper against the backdrop of your anguish.

“Not here.” He whispered mournfully, his voice a lament for all that had been taken from you. You felt yourself deflate further, the realization settling like a heavy stone in the pit of your stomach. Your once friend, now tormentor, had escaped with the remnants of your shattered dreams, leaving you broken and bereft in his wake.

In the aftermath of your rescue, the pain that gnawed at your soul was not just physical but a deep, unrelenting ache that seemed to permeate every fiber of your being. With each labored breath, you felt the absence of your wings like a gaping wound, a constant reminder of the brutality inflicted upon you.

As Azriel guided you through the darkness, his presence a flickering candle in the void, you stumbled and faltered, your body racked with tremors of agony. Each step sent shards of pain shooting through your mutilated form, a relentless onslaught that threatened to consume you whole.

The absence of your wings was not just a physical loss but a spiritual one, a cruel reminder of all that had been taken from you. Once a symbol of freedom and strength, they were now nothing more than cruel stumps, a mockery of what once was. With each beat of your heart, the pain pulsed like a funeral dirge, a haunting melody that echoed through the caverns of your soul. You longed to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all, but the darkness of your despair swallowed your cries before they could escape your lips.

And through it all, Azriel remained by your side, his presence a silent witness to your suffering. But even his steady presence could not chase away the shadows that threatened to consume you, leaving you adrift in a sea of despair.

As you emerged into the cool embrace of freedom, blinking against the harsh light of day, you felt a sense of emptiness wash over you—a hollow void that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The road ahead loomed dark and uncertain, a twisting labyrinth of pain and sorrow that threatened to swallow you whole.

[NEXT]

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dee-writes-smut · 7 days

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FALL

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY after falling down a flight of stairs, you are forced to realize that you aren't alone and that it's time to start healing.

CONTENT WARNINGS mentions of nightmares, apologies, scared reader, comforting Azriel, nosy Rhys, Amren (she's a warning), and injuries

AUTHORS NOTE I kind of hate this a lot, but here is the third part of the Season's series, Fall. Hope you enjoy! <3

Autumn descends upon the world like a tender-hearted healer, enveloping all in its embrace of warmth and renewal. The air takes on a crisp clarity, carrying with it the subtle scent of earth and fallen leaves, a fragrance that whispers of new beginnings. Trees, once adorned in the lush greens of summer, now don their autumnal attire, each leaf a masterpiece of vibrant hues—amber, crimson, and gold—painting the landscape in a tapestry of healing colors.

As daylight wanes, the sun bathes the world in a soft, golden glow, casting long shadows that dance gracefully upon the earth. The breeze, gentle yet invigorating, rustles through the trees, a comforting melody that speaks of resilience and growth. With each step, fallen leaves crinkle beneath our feet, a soothing reminder of the cycle of life and the beauty found in letting go.

In the fall, nature herself undergoes a profound transformation, shedding the old to make way for the new. Trees release their leaves in a graceful dance of surrender, preparing for a period of rest and rejuvenation. Yet, even in this quietude, there is a vibrant energy that pulses through the air, a reminder that healing is not a passive act, but a journey of growth and renewal.

As I found myself immersing in the healing embrace of autumn, I was invited to shed the burdens of the past and embrace the beauty of transformation. Like the earth itself, I was reminded of my innate capacity to heal, to grow, and to emerge stronger and more vibrant than before. In the gentle caress of the autumn breeze, I found solace, strength, and the promise of new beginnings.

(Early September, House of Wind)

Morning light spilled through the windows of the House of Wind, painting the stairwell in hues of gold and amber. Each step I took down the winding staircase echoed softly, the sound muffled by the quiet of the early hour. Shadows danced along the walls, elongated and wavering, as if unsure of their own existence in the gentle glow of dawn.

As I descended, a flicker of movement caught my eye—a subtle shift in the darkness that should not have been there. My heart skipped a beat as I turned to look, dread coiling in the pit of my stomach. The shadows seemed to solidify, taking shape in the form of a figure I knew all too well. It was Lyris, his smirk cruel and taunting, his blade gleaming with malice in the dim light.

Panic surged through me, my breath catching in my throat. It wasn't real, I told myself, but the terror it invoked was. Before I could react, before I could rationalize, my foot missed the next step. There was no time to regain my balance, no wings to unfurl and catch me. I reached out desperately, fingers grasping for the banister, but it was too late.

The world tilted violently as I fell, the sharp pain of impact shooting up my spine as I collided with the unforgiving stairs. Each jolt sent waves of agony coursing through me, my body bouncing helplessly until I finally came to a crumpled stop at the bottom of the staircase. Dazed and disoriented, I tried to gather my bearings, the pain a sharp, throbbing ache in every limb.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, growing louder with each passing second. Then, Azriel was there, his face a mask of concern as he knelt beside me. "Don't move," he said softly, his hands hovering over me with a hesitant touch. "We need to get you to the healer."

"I'm okay," I lied, attempting to push myself up despite the searing pain that shot through me. The room spun sickeningly, and I winced, sinking back down with a pained gasp.

"No, you're not," Azriel insisted, his voice firm but gentle. He assessed me quickly, his expression grave. "We need to get you off these stairs. Can you stand?"

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, frustration and pain mingling into a bitter concoction. "I don't… I can't…" I faltered, unable to voice the depth of my vulnerability.

"It's okay. I've got you." Azriel's arms enveloped me, lifting me gently from the cold, hard floor. I buried my face against his chest, seeking solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat amidst the chaos of my own.

As we moved, the memory of the fall replayed in my mind—the hallucination of Lyris, the terror of losing my footing. I had lost more than just my wings that day; I had lost a piece of myself. How was I supposed to heal when my own mind betrayed me with such vivid, haunting illusions?

Azriel's presence was a silent promise of protection, his concern a soothing balm to my fractured psyche. I clung to it, to him, as we made our way to the healer's chambers, the shadows of the stairwell receding into the background as we stepped into the light of a new day. I would allow myself to let him seep in my darkness for a moment. I would be selfish for just this moment and then it would be back to struggling alone, to protecting them, him.

Madja's room was filled with the subtle scent of lavender and sage, a calming ambiance that did little to ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach. The healer's hands were warm and gentle as she applied salves to the bruises that marbled my skin, her touch careful around the tender areas where my wings once were.

"You're healing well physically," Madja said softly, her voice soothing. "But healing the mind… that takes time, and often more than just my skills." She offered me a small, understanding smile, though her eyes were stern, hinting at the depth of her concern.

Before I could respond, the door creaked open, and Azriel stepped inside. His expression was unreadable, shadows swirling slightly at his feet—a sure sign of his inner turmoil. Madja excused herself with a knowing look, leaving us alone.

I shifted on the cot, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders as I faced him. "Azriel," I began, but my voice cracked, betraying my nervousness.

He moved closer, his movements graceful and deliberate. Stopping at the edge of the cot, he knelt so he was eye level with me, his gaze intense. "I've been patient," he said, his voice low and strained. "I've given you space, but we can't keep avoiding this conversation."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "I don't know if I'm ready," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel reached out, his hand hesitating in the air before gently brushing a stray hair back from my face. "I know you're hurting. And I know I can't understand everything you're going through. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to go through this alone."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I blinked them away furiously. "It's not just the pain, Azriel. It's the fear," I confessed, the words tumbling out. "Every shadow, every noise—it takes me back to that moment. And I feel so powerless."

His expression softened, the shadows receding slightly as if in response to my distress. "I wish I could take that fear away," he murmured. "But since I can't, I'll stand with you against it. Every step of the way, until you feel strong again."

"How do you do it?" I asked, searching his face. "How do you live with your own shadows?"

A sad smile tugged at his lips. "By knowing which shadows are mine to control, and which are simply part of the world. And by having people I love to light the way when it gets too dark."

"What if I'm not strong enough?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me like a heavy shroud. Despite my efforts to steel myself against the pain, I couldn't help but curl into myself, feeling small and vulnerable in the face of my own fears. "What if I never get over this and—" I choked back my tears once more, the fear gnawing at my insides too overwhelming to voice aloud.

Azriel's heart clenched at my words, the rawness of my pain mirroring his own. With aching tenderness, he reached out, his hand hovering over mine, a silent beacon of comfort in the darkness. "You are strong," he said softly, his voice a gentle reassurance. "Stronger than you realize. But even the strongest among us have moments of doubt, moments when the weight of the world feels too heavy to bear."

My eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, sought solace in his unwavering gaze. "And if you never get over this… if the shadows linger longer than you'd like, know that you are not alone. We'll face them together, every step of the way."

The weight of my fear trembled through my shoulders; the depth of my anguish palpable in the air. "But what if I pull you all into it too?" I whispered, my voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "What if my darkness becomes yours?"

Azriel's heart ached at the thought, but he refused to let me drown in my despair. "Your darkness is not a burden," he said, his voice steady, unwavering. "It's a part of you, just as much as your light. And I would walk through the darkest of nights if it meant I could stand beside you."

He reached for my hand, his touch gentle yet firm, anchoring me to the present moment. "Let me help you carry this weight," he urged, his eyes locking with mine. "Let us carry it together."

For a moment, there was only silence—a heavy, pregnant pause that hung between us, charged with unspoken emotions. And then, with a shaky breath, I nodded, my grip tightening around his hand as if anchoring myself to his steadfast presence.

In that moment, as we sat together in the quiet sanctuary of Madja's room, surrounded by the gentle scent of herbs and healing, Azriel felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. No matter how dark the path ahead, no matter how daunting the shadows that loomed on the horizon, we would face them together. And with love as our guiding light, we would find our way back to the warmth of the sun.

(Mid-October, River House)

The air in the room seemed to hold its breath as I gathered the courage to speak, surrounded by the Inner Circle whose presence felt both comforting and daunting. Cassian's warm gaze, Nesta's softened expression, Rhys and Feyre's silent solidarity, Amren's unreadable yet somehow reassuring presence, and Mor's gentle smile—all of them were a testament to the depth of their care.

With Azriel standing at my side, his silent support a steady anchor in the storm of my emotions, I began to speak. My voice, though laced with uncertainty, carried the weight of my sincerity as I addressed them.

"I want to apologize," I began, each word heavy with meaning as I met their eyes, one by one. "For the distance I've kept, for the walls I've built around myself. I've been… cold, and for that, I'm truly sorry.

A hushed tension hung in the air, anticipation mingling with apprehension as they waited for me to continue. But instead of judgment or reproach, I found only understanding in their expressions—compassion and empathy reflected in their unwavering gazes.

"I'm ready to try," I confessed, the admission a revelation in itself. "To try again.. To heal."

Cassian's hand found mine, his touch grounding and reassuring as he squeezed gently. "We're here for you," he declared, his voice a solemn vow. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it."

Nesta's usually sharp gaze softened, her features etched with genuine concern. "We've missed you," she admitted, her voice carrying a rare vulnerability. "But we understand. And we'll stand by you, no matter what."

Rhys and Feyre exchanged a silent glance, their unity a beacon of strength amidst the uncertainty. "You're not alone," Rhys affirmed, his voice steady and resolute. "We'll face this together, as a family."

Amren nodded curtly, her demeanor as inscrutable as ever, yet there was a glimmer of warmth in her eyes that spoke volumes. "Don't make a habit of apologizing," she quipped dryly, a subtle reassurance in her words.

Mor's smile was gentle, a flicker of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf me. "We love you," she said simply, her words a promise of unwavering support.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I absorbed their words, the weight of their acceptance washing over me like a tidal wave. In that moment, surrounded by the love and understanding of my chosen family, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for me yet.

With Azriel's hand firmly clasped in mine, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the arduous journey ahead. It wouldn't be easy, and the road to recovery would be fraught with challenges. But with the unwavering support of those who loved me, I knew I could face whatever lay ahead.

Night after night, the nightmares clawed their way into my sleep, tearing through the fragile fabric of my dreams with merciless intensity. Each time, I would wake in a cold sweat, heart pounding in my chest, lungs gasping for air as if I'd been drowning in the darkness of my own mind.

Azriel had been there from the beginning, his quiet presence a steadfast anchor in the storm of my nightmares. At first, he would come at the sound of my screams, offering comfort and reassurance until the tremors subsided and sleep reclaimed me once more. But as the nights stretched on and the nightmares showed no signs of abating, his visits became more frequent, his presence a comforting constant in the ever-shifting landscape of my dreams.

I would wake to find him sitting beside my bed, his gaze watchful and protective as he kept vigil over my troubled sleep. His presence was a balm to my fractured mind, a beacon of light in the suffocating darkness that threatened to consume me.

At first, I protested his presence, insisting that he had better things to do than waste his nights sitting by my bedside. But he brushed off my protests with a quiet determination, his eyes holding a depth of understanding that spoke volumes. He didn't need words to convey the truth—that he would stay for as long as I needed him, no matter the cost.

And so, night after night, I would wake to find him there, his presence a silent reassurance that I was not alone in my suffering. With each passing night, his visits became longer, his presence more palpable until it felt as though he had practically moved into my room.

I would wake to the soft sound of his breathing, the warmth of his presence a comforting weight beside me. His steady heartbeat echoed in the silence of the night, a rhythmic cadence that anchored me to the present moment.

In those quiet hours before dawn, with the weight of his presence beside me, I found solace in the knowledge that I was not alone. No matter how dark the night, no matter how terrifying the nightmares that plagued my sleep, Azriel was there, a silent guardian watching over me until the first light of dawn chased the shadows away. And for that, I was endlessly grateful.

(Late October, River House)

As Azriel sat across from Rhysand, the weight of the conversation about you felt even heavier upon his shoulders. His mind flickered back to the recent events—the trauma you had endured, the pain etched into your every expression, and the way you had leaned on him for support during your darkest moments.

"I've noticed the way you look at her, Az," Rhys's voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. "And I can't help but wonder… Are you two… a thing?"

Azriel's gaze softened with a mix of fondness and concern as he thought of you. "I… I care about her deeply," he confessed quietly, his voice tinged with emotion. "Especially now, after everything she's been through."

Rhys nodded, his eyes reflecting understanding. "I know you've been by her side through it all, Az. And I'm grateful for that. How is she holding up?"

The concern in Rhys's voice mirrored Azriel's own worries. Your recovery had been slow and arduous, marked by moments of progress followed by setbacks. Azriel had been there every step of the way, offering his support and comfort whenever you needed it most.

"She's… she's trying her best," Azriel replied, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "But the kidnapping still weighs heavily on her. Some days are better than others."

Rhys reached out a hand, placing it reassuringly on Azriel's shoulder. "You're doing everything you can for her, Az. And she knows that. Just keep being there for her, okay?"

Azriel nodded, gratitude swelling within him for Rhys's words of encouragement. Despite the challenges they faced, he was determined to stand by your side, offering you whatever solace and support he could provide.

As they parted ways, Azriel's thoughts remained with you—the strength you had shown in the face of adversity, the resilience that burned bright within you. And though he knew that your path to recovery would be a long and difficult one, he vowed to walk it with you every step of the way, for you had become more than just someone he cared about—you were his guiding light in the darkness, his reason to hope for a brighter tomorrow.

(Late November, Velaris)

Stepping beyond the familiar walls of the House of Wind felt like a liberation, a triumph over the shadows that had threatened to consume me. As I walked alongside Feyre and Mor, the streets of Velaris buzzed with life, each step forward a testament to the strength I had found within myself.

Beside me, Azriel's concern was evident, his worry etched in the furrow of his brow and the gentle pressure of his hand in mine. But this time, I was determined to show him—and myself—that I was stronger than the nightmares that haunted me.

"Don't worry, Az," I said with a reassuring smile, giving his hand a squeeze. "I'm ready for this. Feyre and Mor are with me."

Feyre and Mor nodded in agreement; their expressions filled with confidence. "We've got your back," Feyre said with a reassuring smile. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Their words filled me with a sense of reassurance, a reminder that I wasn't alone in this journey. With their support, I felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

As we walked through the bustling streets of Velaris, I couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration coursing through me. The sun warmed my skin, the wind tousled my hair, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I felt truly alive.

But amidst the excitement, a part of me couldn't shake the worry that lingered in Azriel's eyes. I knew he cared about me deeply, and the thought of causing him any more pain weighed heavily on my heart.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked quietly, his concern palpable. "We can turn back if you're not feeling well."

I met his gaze with determination, my resolve unwavering. "I'm more than ready, Az," I replied, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I've spent too long hiding away. It's time for me to start living again."

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