ᴍᴏᴏɴʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱꜱɪɴꜱ「 ˢᵒʳᵘʸ ᵛˢ ˢᵒᵏᵉᵉᶠᵉ 」

27 [lightning]

The girl was happily chatting with her friend, Alvar, at the drink station.

Her party sucked—if it could even be called her party.

Winnowing gala, whatever.

The hidden meaning behind this was still her parents and the Council only wanting her to get hitched mainly for some pompous ass to control her.

So the best remedy was to get drunk. Like so drunk that no man wanted to step in a hundred foot radius—but that was stretching it a bit too far. She just wanted to seem reckless and a horrible pair, then it would scare everyone away.

Especially those fuckers who wanted a sweet, docile trophy wife...cough cough Fitz.

"You looked like you needed saving," Alvar muttered, drink in hand, resting his disguised body against the table.

He looked different without Della's eyes and the Vacker brunette hair, but underneath the elixirs he was still the same Alvar he'd always been. Even when she didn't know who he was except for Fitz's older brother, even when he'd been one of her best friends at Elysian.

"I did," she agreed, "one more second with Fitz and I would have erupted. Maybe he'll say something and Raynne will put him in his place."

She made the universal prayer sign that made Alvar chuckled before taking another sip of his drink. It wasn't something from the table, they only had fruity kid drinks—Alvar had his own flask and discreetly poured them each a glass full.

"Oh would you look at that," he belched with a cackle.

Raynne was all up in Fitz's face, "Me and Ruy soo owe her ten lusters, but I've never been so happy to lose a bet."

The look on the Vacker middle child was just priceless. Disdain with a mix of confusion and fear.

With a look of disinterest, Raynne was an amusing person to say the least. She never controlled her emotions and facial expressions unless she actually wanted to, and at this moment, she didn't. Dex was ranting about something, a boyish grin on his face, while Raynne gave him a dead look.

"Raynne looks one second away from murdering all your friends."

"I hope she does." She whispered under her breath, taking a large gulp from the drink, already feeling a slight buzz. Gods, she was such a lightweight.

Laughing and inhaling the rest of his drink, he went to pour himself another when a man who looked vaguely familiar entered her peripheral vision and distracted her from whatever she was about to say to Alvar. He was walking up to her leisurely, a powerful move—but he was a bit too old for her liking.

Sure the elves never aged, except in their ears, but there was a way about how the man was carrying himself that made her raise a questioning brow.

"Sophie—!" Alvar began, drawing her attention over just as the strange man grabbed her arm.

As soon as the skin on skin contact triggered her senses, she froze, looking the man straight in the eyes. His pitch black hair shining, malice in his stare, "Sophie Foster, I was wondering when I would get the chance to meet you."

But the crazed look in his eye told her he meant anything but.

All of a sudden, the urge to throw up hit her—hard. Pulling away from him, she got down on her hands and knees before her legs gave out, hyperventilating as the air from her lungs was lessening.

"Limbium!" Someone shouted.

And as her vision started to blacken, she watched as a mob of people began circling Alvar.