These Wings Are Made To Fly

Daewyn let out a heart-wrenching sob as her entire world collapsed in on itself. Outside the room, birds native to the Spring Court were chirping. Inside, wails of grief bounced off the walls of the slum cottage they had made their own, despite cracks in the foundations and a tremendous hole in the roof.

Daewyn's mate was dead. And it was all her fault.

The wings that he had gifted to her, that he had ultimately given his life for, dragged on her back.

She didn't want the wings, she didn't want the world free of Amaratha's sadistic grip. She just wanted her Noah, with life back in his veins.

She wanted to hear his laugh ring out one last time, like the trickle of the sweetest bells. She wanted his smile, which could light up even the darkest of nights, the most horror-filled of nightmares.

She also wanted Tamlin's head on a pike. But that would wait.

In the midst of her angst, Daewyn had not felt times presence relentlessly drag forwards. She hadn't fully noticed when Andras had stormed out after Noah's suffering had finally ceased. Daewyn had not moved since Noah had died.

Died. Because of her. Because of her stupid, shallow yearning for permanent wings which Noah had inevitably picked up on. And found a way to deliver on it. Even if it cost him his own life.

Daewyn would never blame Noah. All pent up anger and desire for revenge was plastered upon the pompous, egotistical High Lord of the rutting Spring Court who could burn in hell for all she cared.

Tamlin had refused to help his nephew, Noah, when he was dying. Refused, because Noah had refused to cross the wall and set himself up for a sacrifice, for some self-indulged human girl to destroy. Because Noah was not just fighting for freedom. He was fighting for the earth-shattering, galaxy-destroying love and passion that they had.

Daewyn's dawn-tinted hair was crusted in Noah's lifeblood. When the bargain he had made with the Mother to give her wings back - that her abusive prick of a father had cut off all those years ago - had been called in, Daewyn's mate had started to cough up blood. The torture had continued for a year until Noah's now fragile body wasn't able to continue the pain-riddled game of cat and mouse.

His heart had exploded, and he was gone.

A blow on the door aroused Daewyn from her recollections.

The force on the shaky strength of the door tore it from its hinges.

Lucien Vanserra - Tamlin's best and only companion was standing there, distraught.

"Andras," He whispered, "He went over the wall."

Andras, her mate's twin, the only source of happiness in this cruel, masochistic world.

"He was killed," Lucien continued, "By a human girl. Her name is Feyre. She is at the spring court now."

Another sob wracked her starving body.

"Oh, Daewyn." He comforted.

Lucien rushed over to the Dawn Court girl with the tanned skin and the pinkish-red hair, enveloping her in the warm embrace she hadn't realised she needed.

"You're not alone," He murmured into the expanse of her unwashed locks.

However, she was, and Daewyn secretly knew that Lucien was aware of that. There was no one left to call her Dae, to dance with her until the soft light of dawn embalms the sky.

Her wings were made to fly.

But first, she was going to fall.