FROM HER ASHES³ ━━ Bellamy Blake

𝐗𝐕: Lexa

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LEXA

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HUGEEEE thank u to MissAndreaPartridge  for helping me w a rly big decision that changes canon.

a few chapters that have already been published have been changed: they r IX, VI, and VII from this book.

the change doesn't affect much this season so u don't have to reread them, it's mainly me taking out a few things. it'll b more noticeable at the end of this season, which obviously hasn't been published yet lmao.

anyway happy reading!

EVEN BEFORE SHE opens her eyes, Lyra knows she is no longer in the real world.

     Heart scrambling, hands glazed with sweet, bile blazing in the back of her throat, Lyra reluctantly peels her eyes open. Everything is dark. It almost reminds her of the bunker, only no longer is she caged by rock walls thick enough to withstand a nuclear blast, shunted beneath the earth like a grave for the living. This time the walls are reed-thin and slightly ━━ slightly ━━ more elegantly carved from wood.

     Everything is soundless as Lyra surveys the room. There seems to be no visible exits, as if she is trapped in a serpentine belly. Cavernous ceilings look largely overhead while oil and wax crawl down thick candle stubs that litter the room. Everything is dark and smoky, the air heavily perfumed with the overwhelming scent of ashes, and Lyra would have been able to nod off to sleep if she wasn't so apprehensive of what was coming. A massive table cut from wood dominates the chamber, seven matching chairs along each length while one throne sits at the top.

And sitting upon the throne, dagger twirling insouciantly in hand. . .

Lexa.

It's as if time had frozen over: Lexa is the same has she had been six years ago, before she died. Frighteningly beautiful. Lounging with a certain, casual prowess, bronze skin set aflame by shadows, full lips smoldering as she gazes down upon Lyra. Tresses of dark hair are pulled back from her wolffish features just as they had always been, striking black war paint staining her cheekbones and eyelids with startling accurate sharpness. Even in death, her lithe structure is clad in armor, strapped with various holsters and sheathes, glittering menacingly. All that is absent is the blood red cloak that had used to be swung over her shoulders; it seems that the cloak can belong only to the current Commander.

Lyra feels a chill shoot down her spine, the same one from the day she first met Lexa. In the meanwhile, Lexa stares her down, waiting, calculating.

Finally, Lyra asks, hoarsely, "Why me?"

Her voice rings oddly in the hallow, coming at her from all sides, surrounding her, suffocating her. Echoes stalk her every movement.

"Much has changed," begins Lexa in that familiarly sharp rasp. A void that swallows enemies whole. "You have changed, Lyra kom Skaikru."