A Court of Shattered Dreams

Chapter 1 - The Day it All Began

"Feyre," a voice called out.

Feyre. A name that had taken me years to get used to. Feyre was the name of a fantasy character. It was a name that wasn't mine, belonging to a body that I didn't recognize, in a world I had only read about.

At least, the name had been nothing more than a book character to me until I was forced to claim it.

One day, when Feyre Archeron was twelve years old, she didn't wake up. Instead, I did. I was ripped away from all semblance of my old life, from the truths and safety that came with the normal world, where there were no faeries, no monsters, no High Lords, and no magic. I was hurled into a story that I had read and longed for once upon a time.

That was almost seven years ago.

Now, I lived Feyre's life, knowing things that she didn't. I became the omniscient narrator of my own faerietale. I knew of the curse, of Tamlin's true intentions, of the man that was truly to be my mate.

Unfortunately, the longer time went on, the more plot I forgot about the books. I remembered the basic details, but I couldn't quite remember the answer to Amarantha's riddle, the exact details of her trials and curse, and a few other specifics.

My mortal mind was my own greatest enemy, and it deteriorated every day I laid in wait.

Before, I had spent years wishing that I was Feyre, but I hadn't truly realized the burdens that came with it. I was responsible for keeping an entire family alive at the young age of fourteen, and I had a hard path ahead of me.

It might not have been so bad if I was able to freely move between the world of ACOTAR and my own reality, but I had to come to terms with the fact that I would never see my mother, father, little brothers, or best friends again.

I often wondered what had become of my actual body. Had Feyre taken over my life, as I did to her? Or had that version of me died when I woke up in Prythian? I didn't like to ponder that thought for long. It usually just led to a day of brooding and grieving a place I couldn't return to.

After that fateful morning, I spent the next seven years preparing for what was to come. I danced on a fine line of truth and lies when speaking to Feyre's family. My new family.

It was hard to fathom. For years, I'd hoped and prayed I could return, but it was soon clear to me that I was in Prythian to stay and live out the story for myself.

Daily, I trained, and trained, and trained. I began to learn the hunting skills Feyre Archeron was famous for, keeping my new family alive during the cold, bitter winters.

Sometimes, when I had time to spare, I went into the woods near our dilapidated hut and taught myself how to fight. I tried to build muscles by running through the woods, doing pull-ups on low branches, and lifting heavy rocks, amongst other manageable workouts.

While I trained physically, I taught myself to be mentally strong, too. I built on what I imagined mental shields to be, struggling to remember how Feyre strengthened hers in the book.

Once again, my faulty memory got in the way.

Still, I continued my endeavors, stacking layer upon layer over my mind, not even having an inclination that it was working. I supposed that when the time came, I would find out if it had been worthwhile.

I made a promise to myself, and to Feyre, if she was still present somewhere in the recesses of this body. I said that I would protect her and her family. I would not go into the events as blindly as she had. If she managed to muster the strength to be a fighter, so could I.

"Feyre," the voice called again, accompanied by a banging on the door. Nesta.

I blinked hard, completely snapped out of my reverie. I stood in the small bathroom of our cottage, staring into the dirty, cracked mirror. The image that looked back at me was both familiar and unfamiliar.

Feyre's freckles spotted across my nose and cheeks, along with her fuller lips and slightly more pinned back ears. Her pert and pretty nose was much smaller than mine, and her cheekbones were high and more pronounced.

Despite the fact that it was her body, I recognized flecks of myself here and there. Parts of my old body shone through Feyre's. Her hair color, eye color, and skin tone had shifted to match my own.

Across her– my body, I saw parts of my life that had occurred before I woke up in a young Feyre's body. A few scars from my youth were placed exactly on Feyre's body where they had been on my own.

There was a large scar on my knee from falling on a nail, and a small silvery scar on my lip from falling out of a chair while holding a fork. They were all marks that made me remember my life from before, that showed me it had been real.

For a while, Elain had teased my looks, saying that the older I got, the less I looked like me. I defended myself by saying puberty must have forced deep and hidden genetics to peak through. I no longer resembled the other two sisters, at least, not as much as Feyre used to.

Nesta didn't mention it to me once. She was silently suspicious for the first few years, her daunting presence always a shadow over my new life. Around the time when I began hunting, she accepted me as Feyre, or at least pretended to.

"Feyre, get out of the gods-damned bathroom!" Nesta yelled, nearly taking the rotting door down with her fists.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming." I opened the door, seeing my sister's enraged face waiting for me on the other side.

"Get out of my way," she growled, shoving past me and slamming the door once I stepped out. I sighed and rolled my eyes, dread filling my stomach as I saw the wolf pelt and deer sitting on a chair in front of the fire place.

I knew what was going to happen today, and I had been anxious about it ever since I released the arrow that killed the giant faerie-wolf the night before.

Another thing I had decided when I woke up in this strange world was to stick as closely to the plot as possible. I didn't want to stray completely from the story, and I was going to follow it through, even if it killed me.

Which, I already knew it would.

The book-lover inside of me still longed to experience all of Feyre's life, no matter how grim. I also wasn't sure what would happen if I went off script. I didn't think messing with fate was a good idea, and I figured that if I was put in this body, I was meant to live the life it was intended for.

My father sat next to the pelt, staring desolately into the fire. I cleared my throat loudly to get his attention.

He jumped slightly, turning to face me. "I'm going to the market today to sell the pelt. While I'm gone, start skinning the deer."

He nodded once before turning back to the fire, that glazed look taking over again. I walked into my sister's and I's shared bedroom, grabbing my torn cloak and a small satchel to keep the pelt in. Elain and Nesta took one look at the skin, also pulling on their coats and boots.

I followed my them out the door a few minutes later, pulling it shut behind me before looking into the forest, remembering a line from long, long ago.

The forest had become a labyrinth of snow and ice.

How very right Feyre was.