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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎

"𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 "

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╰┈˚ · ° .  ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜɪɴɢ mixed with grunts echoed through the sparring ring atop of the House of Wind. The air felt more alive and charged as the two Illyrians sparred between each other.

Frustrations bubbled under the shadowsinger's skin at his failed attempt to infiltrate the queens' palace. Azriel's face grim and tight as he continued to spar with Rhysand. Despite the sunny winter day, they'd removed their leather jackets and shirts exposing their tattoos. The ink flowed across their shoulders and over their sculpted pectoral muscles. Between their wings, a line of them ran down the column of their spine right beneath where they typically strapped their blades.

Not far from them, Feyre continued her training with Cassian, slamming her fists against the sparring pad. Again, again, again.

That morning, Maiven woke up with a heavy weight on her chest. Her nightmares worse than ever. She knew what she wanted but the chains of her past continued to drag her away, suffocating her with the weights of the lives that she took, drowning her in the blood that she shed without any remorse.

Because Maiven didn't feel any remorse for it. She killed and killed and she never felt bad about it.

She did it to survive, she would whisper to herself. All those lives were taken by a shadow. Not a girl, not a person. Not by Maiven. She was just a tool. Forged and shaped as a weapon hunting from the shadows.

The memory of the feelings of a life that slipped from her fingers still vivid in her mind as it was carved in her entire being. The lives that she took. One after the other, it darkened her soul but not a single drop of remorse could have been found.

She did it to survive. For her sisters, she would repeat to herself. She had to do it. But what kind of human or fae can take a life and not feel any kind remorse.

Not human. Not fae. A tool. A weapon.

A monster.

Sat on the stone-made floor, Maiven watched her sister. Her presence passed unobserved by everyone as they were all too much in their own words.

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐝 - acomafWhere stories live. Discover now