Olethros

one - azriel

The scent of blood has my stomach churning. The hairs along the back of my neck stand as though death herself stood behind me. Maybe she did. I had grown lucky in the war, and perhaps the Cauldron decided my life was not worth that luck. I'd be a means to an end, a balance to the tilting scale. Maybe that's what I need.

A hand on my shoulder has a sharp inhale tearing into my lungs and my fist already hitting hard flesh. Cassian coughed out a wheeze, stumbling back as he gripped his side. His sweat coated hair fell over his face as he glared at me.

"What was that for?"

"I don't like to be touched," I spat, turning my eyes back to my brother. Rhysand was washing the blood from his skin- a sparring match gone too far. I hadn't meant it, but I do things I don't mean too often now.

"Get over it, you touched me when you fucking punched me," Cassian argued. He still massaged the sore area. I shot him a look through the corner of my eye, regretting it when I felt the too cold climb of my shadows up the side of my neck. My eyes fell shut, breathing slowing as I hear the constant nagging of their presence.

He bleeds.
Do you smell him?
Your skin is marred by violence.
Have you found a cure?

Half of the time, they don't make any fucking sense. It's irritating whispers of intangible voices that surround me. I gritted my teeth, snapping my eyes back to Rhysand. He ran a cloth over his chest before throwing it to the side and walking up to me. He held out his hand, violet eyes dropping down to mine. I hide my grimace as I raise my hand and take his, allowing the touch to act as forgiveness between us.

Rhys's eyes shifted to Cassian behind me as he dropped my hand. As he walked past me, I wiped my gloved palm against my thigh. I didn't deserve his forgiveness.

"My mother is bringing Freyja to the Moon Palace to visit Morrigan. She said we are welcome to join. My father will be holding court in the Hewn City," Rhys announced. I turned to them, seeing Cassian wiping a cloth over the back of his neck. He was still glaring at me. I deserved that.

His blood stains the scars on your hands.

"Yeah, Mor's been gone for a while. I want to go," Cass said, nudging Rhys's shoulder. They both looked to me. I felt the foolish flush on my cheeks at the idea of seeing Mor. I nodded, praying to whoever would listen that it was enough. It seemed to be, because the two of them turned and began making their way down the stairs that lead into the House of Wind. I let out a slow breath, feeling the coolness of the shadows retreating down my spine.

I followed my brothers into one of the many homes we were allowed to stay in. I'd been wanting my own apartment for a long while, but the High Lord was still considering hiring Cassian and I. We'd earn our own wage rather than feeding off of Rhys.

The House blessed me with already warmed pitchers as I filled the tub in the adjoining bathing chamber to my bedroom. I didn't enjoy bathing- or instead, I didn't enjoy seeing my skin. There was a continuous cycle of always feeling unclean but hating the act of running a cloth over my body. Nonetheless, I stripped myself of the sweaty clothes and lowered into the tub.

I kept my eyes shut, not wanting to see the scars of my past as I ran the cloth over my skin. I focused on the sensation of the soap suds popping along my arm and knee as they rose above the surface. Another painful exhale escaped me at the sensation of the raised and ragged skin on my wrist. I wanted my gloves. I wanted my gloves.

The moment I felt like every speck of grime and dirt was scrubbed from my skin, I left the water. I dried myself and tied the towel around my waist. My eyes kept to the wardrobe as I approached. That familiar sense climbed up my spine.