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Gwynriel - Blog Posts
Okay so I’ve had the Gwynriel head canon for a while and I need to share it.
Imagine it’s “Family Dinner” for the IC and gang and they’re down at the River House
I mean everyone is there, including Lucien and Varian
(for the sake of the story and the fact that I’m a huge Elain/Lucien shipper let’s say they are together at this point)
They’re all eating and all of a sudden Feyre turns to Azriel
She then says “Hey Azriel, there is this girl in my art class”
(at this point the rest of the table shuts up real quick)
She then, with the help of Rhys, tells him all about this girl who they think is just perfect for him
But what no one at the table knows is that he’s been seeing Gwyn for almost a year (they swear they didn’t mean to make it a secret, it just kinda happened)
And Azriel has to tell them “she sounds great but I’m actually already seeing someone”
Dead silence
Then the room ERUPTS
(Let’s remember, Azriel only had feelings for Mor for 500 years, then another women who was unavailable. And this friend group also has absolutely no concept of privacy, so this would be big news.)
Cassian and Rhys are trying to be calm but they are effectively losing their minds
Mor is just grinning and hammering him with questions
As is Feyre
He eventually agrees to bring her to Family Dinner™️ the next time they all get together
So the next day he tells Gwyn
She is understandably very nervous, but excited to officially meet everyone
(Of course she already knows Nesta and Cassian, and she’s met Mor a few times. She met the rest of his family very briefly at Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony but that’s it.)
She then insists they have to go shopping so she can find something to wear, since all she has is her priestess robes and training leathers, she also has that dress she wore to Nesta’s mating ceremony but she’s meeting her partner’s family, it’s a special occasion
And it’s not like she can go with Nesta or Emerie without raising alarm bells
So Azriel goes with her
And she has to look perfect, she insists she can’t overdress and she certainly can’t underdress, not when she’ll be dining with the High Lord, High Lady, and the Morrigan
So she eventually finds this dress that she thinks is just perfect
She tries it on and shows Azriel and he is blown away
“You look so beautiful Gwyn”
He says a bunch of other cute shit
Needless to say she buys it and heads back to the House of Wind with Azriel
The day of the dinner, Gwyn is surprisingly calm
Azriel on the other hand is freaking out
I mean he is so nervous
He knows he is in love with Gwyn, the way he feels about her doesn’t even come close to how he felt about Mor or Elain
And she’s about to meet his family
When they get to the River House, they’re the last to arrive
They stand outside together for a moment, Gwyn can tell he’s nervous
She comforts him somehow idk
They walk in, hand-in-hand and are greeted by a grinning Rhys and Cassian standing in the entry way (á la Cassian and Azriel meeting Feyre in ACOMAF)
And Cassian busts out laughing
Rhys just stares, eyes wide
Once Cassian recovers, he says “Oh Nesta is gonna be so pissed I found out before she did”
Rhys, ever the gentleman, steps forward and shakes Gwyn’s hand, introducing himself
They chat for a few minutes before heading into the living room, where everyone else is
Nesta is the first to see them
She looks right at Gwyn and says “oh you bitch”
After somewhat awkwardly introducing Gwyn to everyone, they all sit down for dinner
The group grills Gwyn with questions
They chill out after Gwyn says something that has Azriel burst out laughing
Long story short they all end up loving her and are very happy for the couple
And if they notice his shadows are more lively around her, they don’t say anything
I have so many Gwynriel headcanons so let me know if anyone wants more
Okay but I want Azriel to be absolutely head over heels for Gwyn in a way that the other Bat Boys weren’t for their mates (before they got together).
I want Az to become a blushing mess when Gwyn compliments him. (Or even just smiles at him)
I want Azriel to go from “blank face, unreadable, scary shadow singer” to absolutely beaming when Gwyn walks into the room.
Give me the whole inner circle being confused because he’s so relaxed and comfortable around her and LAUGHS (which before ACOSF we had seen him do once, maybe twice) out loud.
(“He’s only known her for like 6 months guys, what is he on?”)
Give me Azriel being completely at ease and visibly relaxing when she walks in the room.
Give me nervous Azriel because “oh my gosh she’s right there and I think she’s looking at me oh my word she’s so perfect.”
Give me Cassian and Rhys subtly teasing him about Gwyn and his face turning bright red.
Give me Azriel getting nervous to ask her to dinner but willing to be straightforward with her because even though it’s terrifying he’s willing to face the chance of rejection (literally something he struggles with, ya know, the whole “I’m not good enough” thing) if it means he also has a chance to spend time with her.
I want this man to be absolutely head over heels for her and and for everyone to be aware of it.
The Elriel vs. Gwynriel vs. (insert non canon/ non confirmed ship here) debate has my head SPINNING.
I am WEAK
and FORGETFUL
and I have not read the books in a little over a year.
I have trouble remembering major canon events! Let alone every side relationship in perfect detail!
So when I see pro ship quotes from the books taken out of context, I’m like “ yeah, that makes sense”
I’m switching alliances every five minutes 😭
I don’t care who the next ACOTAR romantic pairing is I swear if I don’t get a WELL THOUGHT OUT AND COOKED MATING MEAL….
I’m gonna freaking lose it
Enough of this elriel vs. gwynriel debate. There is only one person Azriel should end up with…
and it’s me
If you haven’t read either I highly recommend them!!!
Seeing a lot of Azriel ship discourse on here lately
So now it’s time for a poll
When I first joined Acotar tumblr I followed ALL of the tags because I wanted the most content. Now my feed is a war of ships and pros and antis.
I’m here for the drama tho.
If you send nasty anon messages to people who support a different ship than you...
Please know that I absolutely hate your guts. I don't care if you support the same ships as me or not; don't fucking do that shit. It's juvenile and beyond stupid. All you do is make yourself look like Mor a clown.
So this could possibly mean the 6th book will be an Azriel/Gwynriel centric book or Elucien (SJM already strongly hinted to Elain and Lucien going through a healing journey together).
I'll be happy with either, tbh.
"might break us" is someone going to finally die and actually stay dead?! As long as it's not Nesta, Tamlin or Eris, I don't care who it is. 🤣
Ugh, I am desperate for more information! 😭
ooookay buddy boy time to pack it up
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 💙🦇🩵
Art by @jessi.brasilart
PLEASE DO NOT REPOST
the acotar fandom is so weird. i love feyre and nesta. i love gwyn and elain. why are y’all determined to put women against each other? it reeks of misogyny.
bro ship wars aside, if azriel doesn’t end up w gwyn (which he might not bc let’s be real no one knows who’s endgame) i want them to be friends so badly. like their friendship could be unmatched. same thing if he doesn’t end up w elain. i just like all the characters and i think their relationships, platonic or romantic, are important.
This whole Elriel and Gwynriel debate has turned into a very messy, toxic, and violent capture-the-flag event with every single word SJM has ever written, and it's both very upsetting and exhausting. The complete lack of respect for other people in the fandom just because they believe different theories or ship a different couple or whatever is ridiculous. Please just chill. If you find yourself mad enough to send unwarranted hate to a random artist because they made fun fanart of a couple you don't ship, maybe you need a glass of water and some food. Redirect that energy into taking care of yourself instead of tearing down others for no reason.
Shein has been stealing ACOTAR fanart
It has come to my attention that Shein has been stealing art made by ACOTAR, Fourth Wing, Throne of Glass and possibly other fandoms and selling them as sticker bundles.
Some examples: Throne of Glass, ACOTAR, ACOTAR again, Fourth Wing
Those are not the only sticker bundles in each fandom. From what I've seen, they have also been selling bookmarks, pins and tote-bags as well. I suspect that their AI program is scrapping sites like redbubble or etsy.
Some of the artists I can recognize among others are: @/itsirene on ig, @/frostbite.studios on ig, @silketara, @cccrystalclear, @taratjah, @charliebowater and @luardraws
Please reblog this for exposure and if you are an artist, make sure you check if your art has been stolen as I've not been able to find everyone. Copyright infringement is a serious crime and something should be done about this.
Valkyrie pinups 3/3: Gwyn
Nesta, Emerie
✨please do not repost or use in any AI programs✨
You know, I keep seeing headcanons that Lady Autumn and Helion are mates, but I would prefer if they weren't. That they just fell in love.
Especially if Lucien and Elain don't end up together. It would be a way for Lucien to see that it's okay to not have your mate, that you can still be happy. It would be a wake up for Rhys and Feyre a bit too, I think.
Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel
Part 1 - Azriel | Part 7 - Gwyneth | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |
Word Count: 593
My sweetest Azriel,
What despairing thoughts you have, to consider yourself the sinner in my story, to see yourself as nothing but an evil spirit, a demon as if I am clean and pure and the epitome of goodness. In fact, it is quite the contrary; I have blood on my hands from the lives I couldn’t save while you have blood on your hands for the lives you took.
But if there is anything I have learned as a priestess, it is this: we are not born sinners, but rather it is our actions that decide our fate, that decide if we get entry into the immortal land of milk and honey. Sin is something we choose to do despite knowing that it is wrong, despite knowing the repercussions.
I know you, Azriel, perhaps more than you give me credit for. I know that you do not hurt people out of spite. You hurt only yourself. You withdraw into yourself so deeply and isolate yourself, building impenetrable walls and fortresses, I wonder each time if I will be able to coax you out of your shell, your sanctuary which you hide in that will become your prison if you refuse to let the light in. I see you, Azriel. I know you think of yourself as non-existent, not quite there, your pain invisible to all, but I see you. I see all of you, and I will not balk. I see your kind heart, your lively spirit, and your dry, witty sense of humour that I have come to cherish. I see your courage and your sacrifice, I see all that you do. There is not a single part of you that is undesirable or unlovable, and I need you to know this.
I see your actions, which are crafted of so much care and a love so deep I am in awe each time I witness it for my own. Each action, each deliberate movement holds so much love in it I am entranced by how a single person may hold such large amounts of it and not combust, how one can manage to hide these parts of thesmelves and not go insane. I certainly would have.
I do not see a sinner in you, Azriel. I never have. I see is a male who works tirelessly, day and night, come what may, to support his family and his court, who fights with honour and has dignity embedded into his soul, who poses such a threat to my heart, to the borders I have erected around it so that no one may penetrate. But you have managed to do just that; not with an army, but with a few kind words that had me crumbling. I had not known such support was needed until I had someone to lean on, to share the burden with, until I had you beside me.
All I see is a male who is valiant in his glory, resplendent in his awe, who never balks, never falters; a loyal, kind male, who saved a priestess from a temple after a horrific crime, my own knight in shining armour. A patient teacher, a ravenous lover, a kind husband. A male so multifaceted and varied in his personalities I struggle to keep up with all that you are.
I can only hope to wake beside you each day and discover a new side of you that I have yet to see. I doubt that you will ever stop surprising me. I certainly don’t intend to.
Unconditionally yours,
Gwyneth
Part 8
Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings
Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel
Part 1 - Azriel | Part 6 - Azriel | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |
Word Count: 398
My precious warrior,
You are shaped like a dagger that somehow knows its way to my heart no matter the obstacles that it faces. You will seek me out no matter what, you will seek me out with such undying precision and terrifying clarity I am left breathless each time you see me vulnerable. You will find your way to me against all odds, I am left breathless each time you manage to read me like a book. It is the certainty with which you behold me that has me shaking, as if your eyes can see all the way to my battered soul and extract all the parts of me that are unlovable with a care so gentle my already fractured heart cracks just a little more, bruises a little more deeply, aches just a little more. I do not know if I shake with fear, with love, with relief, or something else entirely I do not know. I do not think I want to know, for it might just destroy me.
It is if I am shedding layers of myself around you so slowly many would not even call it shedding, or perhaps you are simply too skilled at peeling them back with those steady, stunning, unmarrred hands of yours, with a light in your eyes that is wholly unfamiliar to me.
I had not known how flimsy my walls were until a scraped nail along them, the lightest brush of a finger had them dissolving and disintegrating into nothing, leaving my soul bare and open and utterly yours to take or consume or destroy or set fire to. Whatever you choose to do with it, whatever you do with the ruin that is me, I will willingly accept my fate, even if I am condemned by God for loving a creature as breathtaking as you, for I should have been aware of the consequences when I first became infatuated by you. When I first laid eyes upon you, when I first talked to you, I truly do not think it was possible for either of us to predict that something as explosive nor fervent could have enveloped us, a fire so purifying and cleansing it rids me of every sin I have ever committed, every malevolent thought and deed of my long-suffering existence, simply because you were not by my side.
Your eternal love,
Azriel
Part 7 - Gwyneth
Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings
Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel
Part 1 - Azriel | Part 5 - Azriel | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |
Word Count: 509
My precious warrior,
Surely it must be a crime to make a five hundred year old Illyrian cry, and yet here we are. But I will admit that I sobbed upon reading your letter like never before. My tears did not stop, even as I am writing to you now. I apologise for any dark spots on the parchment, my love.
I truly have no words, Gwyn. Truly. No words, save for this immense aching and longing in my chest that increases every moment we are forced to spend apart. This chasm in me; this hole, it only makes me wish for your presence, even more than I already do.
I had not known such unconditional support and love existed in the world, least of all concentrated in such large amounts in the heart of one person as they are in you. I had not known how full of light you were until I was blinded by it, awed by the glory in front of me and stunned by its briliance. I will admit, it took some getting used to, but now I can look at the light, if not for a long time then at least for a little while and not consider myself completely unworthy. It is a process that is taking far longer than I would have liked, but it is a process nonetheless and so I must be patient as I have been patient with love.
I must learn to be patient with myself, and I have no doubt that you will stand by me always.
I am learning to rest, learning to love, learning how to thrive, learning how to simply be, because I had not been living until I met you. Not truly. I was an empty shell of survival, a hollow husk that encased my body but had no soul. A being that wandered, searching for its purpose, until it found you.
While the fire that is embedded in my memories destroyed a part of me, your fire ignited my own. Those flickers of light, those initial, weak sputters came together to form such a raging inferno, one that burns only for you, I will be surprised if I do not burn along with it. I will be surprised if it does not swallow us whole and leave nothing but ash and ruin in its wake.
But I do not mind. I will burn happily; I will die happily, knowing I was someone who got to spend even a moment with you and consider you an integral part of my life.
Perhaps this is ironic, coming from a male who spent the better part of his life fearing fire, to say that I was entranced by a being of such passion, such love, and such unending blazing. But I have learned to love, learned to love you and life and all the wonderful things it has to offer.
I cannot wait to experience them with you, and I can only hope that you want the same with me.
Your eternal love,
Azriel
Part 6 - Azriel
Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings
Letters of Grief
Part 1 | Part 6 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |
A/N: Inspired slightly by this Tumblr post
Word Count: 2516
Each week, each visit had done nothing to quell the rage and grief within Azriel. He’d gone on missions for Rhys, spent time with his family on Solstice; had even managed to go to Illyria and assist Cassian with keeping some of the camps in check.
Despite it all, despite his routine, the hollowness within him only grew. It was a festering wound, he knew, and would cause him to bleed and explode over people who had in no way wronged him. The problem with being far too self-aware was, he didn’t know what to do with this terrifying piece of knowledge about himself.
As the Night Court’s Spymaster, it was his job to notice subtleties about others that a usual glance or once-over would miss. The slightest pinch of a brow, the crook of a mouth, the barely-there shrug of a shoulder…Azriel had accustomed himself to observing and cataloguing anything and everything that he came across. The trait was as much a part of him as his wings. He didn’t know who he’d be without it.
A moment of weakness on a more recent mission when he’d failed to do exactly that, however, had nearly cost Azriel his life. He’d been scouting the continent for any sign of the mortal queens, any whisper from his spies that indicated a plan or even movement towards Prythian. Sitting on the roof of a ramshackle little hut that was no doubt abandoned, he got the perfect view of the palace they lived in. The decrepit little cottage sat on a small mound (it was too small to even refer to it as a hill) and provided Azriel with enough of a view that he could easily monitor any movements through the main gates.
He’d scoured the smaller, less frequently used drawbridges, though his shadows and his own findings had only ever led to the same conclusion: only the main gates were used. The queens likely preferred their servants to be kept out of sight and thus encouraged them to use to side passageways. Azriel had only ever found servants leaving to get to the stables or go to the market. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
At least, that was how it had seemed until a naga had pounced on him. Azriel barely had any time to react before it had ripped a decent chunk of armour off, penetrating through the metal until the muscle. He’d hissed in pain and barely fought it off, finally killing the damn thing, before he’d winnowed straight home.
There was no way in hell he was surviving a naga attack when one of his limbs was rendered immobile.
Azriel didn’t remember how he ended up in a warm bed at the House of Wind that night. Cassian must have seen him and called for Madja.
Indeed, she was a talented healer who’d patched him up in less than an hour. He’d felt guilty for coming back so soon with no intel, nothing to report, but he also knew his body’s limits. He wasn’t about to stretch it for the sake of his pride, not when his ignorance had nearly gotten him killed. By a naga, no less.
Upon further contemplation, Azriel made a mental note to ask Rhys about the naga. He’d encountered a few here and there on his countless missions to the other courts, but he couldn’t remember them ever hunting faeries specifcally, or the ability to scale trees with such ruthless efficiency. From what he remembered, they preferred the safety of solid land beneath their feet and only ever hunted mortals for sport and entertainment.
Az? Why are you still awake? As if summoned by his thoughts, the High Lord of Night spoke into Azriel’s mind. A naga attacked me while I was doing reconnaissance of the palace. I’m fine, nothing for you to fret over, but I did have to come back and get Madja to heal me.
I don’t care that you had to come back halfway through a mission. I care about you. Damnnit, Az, why didn’t you tell either of us? There was irritation lining Rhys’ voice, yes, but also concern. It was palpable even through his absence.
I told you, I’m fine. Visit me in the morning. Cass will probably startle awake like a frenzied boar the moment you land. If this was what Azriel had to do to avoid Rhys getting all worked up like a mother hen then that was what he would do.
He’s a deep sleeper. I doubt he’d notice my presence until I made it glaringly obvious to him that I was staying for the night. A pause. Then…Good night, Azriel. I hope you feel better soon.
Sunlight streamed in through the now-open window, the House having drawn the curtains. Azriel still wasn’t used to the fact that the House was sentient, and had found it extremely odd to utter a ‘thank you’ when no one was around. Was it wrong to want a magical house which summoned nearly everything under the sun to like you?
Azriel was awake, and was propped up with a mountain of pillows surrounding him. He hadn’t had the heart to tell Madja that so many pillows would make him feel as if he was drowning in cotton; not as she’d fussed over him and groused over his deteriorating health.
By deteriorating health, she’d meant his lack of a structured sleep schedule, irregular meal times, lack of hydration…the usual. It wasn’t odd for Azriel to receive these comments from most of the healers he visited, each one expressing varying degrees of concern over how and why his regimes were so lax.
This time, however, it seemed that the female wasn’t going to leave without a proper argument. “You need to start taking care of yourself. This neglect and unwillingness to listen to you body’s needs is going to catch up to you one day, and you’ll be worse off for it.”
“I do listen to my body’s needs,” he protested halfheartedly, looking up at the healer who had her arms on her hips in a clear show of disappointment. “I came to you when my arm was nearly bitten off by a naga, didn’t I?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Madja.” Azriel’s tone had softened. “My body does fine on its own. There’s no point interfering in things that are working well enough unattended.”
“Except you’re not.” It seemed that Azriel’s placating voice had done nothing to ease the healer’s worry. “You neglect yourself. Your needs, your wants.”
“I go to a mind healer once every week.” That had Madja sobering up, a newer, more assessing look in her eyes as she took Azriel in again. “Since when?”
“A few months.”
“And have you found that it has helped?”
Azriel fell silent. No, the visits weren’t helping, but he wasn’t getting much better, either. It was hard to tell. A couple of months was hardly anything to the Fae, after all. The loss of his mate was still fresh as ever, the wound just as deep as the day he’d seen her die.
“I see.” Her brow furrowed, clearly interpreting the silence as a negative. Azriel didn’t even know why he’d told her. Maybe he’d needed someone to talk to, and Madja had been the closest person, the one most willing to listen. It wasn’t like there was a line of people outside his door ready to listen to his plights and tragedies, but…it felt good getting that particular truth off his chest. Azriel trusted her. She’d tell no one without explicit permission from Azriel. She was discreet that way, and that was perhaps one of the things he admired most about Madja, aside from her healing abilities.
“I will check on you once this afternoon. If the wounds are not fully healed then I will have to visit once more.”
Azriel knew his body, knew that the wounds had begun healing and would likely disappear by the next afternoon.
✦ ✦ ✦
“I just…I want to go back. To her. To a time when we would have been happy simply because we had each other and we needed nothing more. Every day, I wake up and my first thought is of her. Every morning, I think about what I wouldn’t do to go back. Just once.”
Azriel had been encouraged to go back to the mind healer even if he felt as if the visits weren’t helping. No, encouraging was too weak a word for what Madja had done. Despite being nearly a foot shorter than him, the healer had nearly threatened to freeze his balls off if he didn’t go. It had been amusing, at the very least, to see Madja so worked up, and Azriel had thought nothing but her agitated expression as he made his way down to the too-familiar, all-white room.
All laughter had evaporated, however, when she’d asked how he’d been doing and Azriel hadn’t quite known how to answer. The response he’d given had been an echo, a glimpse into the true stumbling mess that he was.
She’d looked at him as he told her the words he’d been willing to give voice to; an odd, contemplative sort of expression that Azriel hadn’t been able to place. “You could go back. But there is nothing and no one waiting for you there.”
“I am waiting for her there,” he’d answered as he fought not to let his temper get the best of him. “I’ve been waiting for her, and I will continue to wait for the day I die because then it will mean that we will be together.”
“And what will you do once you are together?”
“Simply hold each other. Bask in the other’s presence. She was my light, my sunshine, my everything, and I cannot imagine myself in a world without her.”
Audrine sighed. Not an exasperated sigh by any means, but a quieter one. No, there hadn’t been an ounce of displeasure on her face, only an exhaustion that had Azriel wondering if she was alright. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, though, and Azriel didn’t have any more time to contemplate her well-being as she asked him another question.
“What made you decide to come down here once more?”
As always, her question had caught him completely unawares, and he was only able to utter a one-word response. “Madja.”
“She forced you?” Audrine quirked a brow, but it seemed that the situation was not unusual for either of them: Madja for having to force patients to the mind healers, and them expecting nothing less as they took in patient after unwilling patient.
“No. She…persuaded me.”
The priestess snorted. “Trust me, I know exactly how persuasive she can be.”
Despite himself, Azriel snorted. “She did play a role in getting me to come visit, yes, but that’s not the only reason I came down. I was…involved in a mission recently, so to speak. The outcome wasn’t as I hoped it would be, and I found my thoughts getting the better of me once more. I thought being in the company of others in a quieter environment would help.”
“And these sessions have helped you so much that the first thing you decided to do was to talk to me?”
“Not quite,” Azriel replied with no small amount of hesitation, attempting to soften the blow. “But I told her that I take counselling when she healed me, and she encouraged me to go even if it doesn’t help. She said I lack routine, and that this will help build it. According to her, training for hours on the roof of the House without a break isn’t acceptable,” he finished with a snicker.
“No indeed.” A small smile graced Audrine’s lips as she made more notes, hastily scrawling them in the margins of her notepad. “I do have to ask, though,” she began. “Is there any specific reason you train for so long? I mean, you’re well over five hundred now. Surely the lack of training for a few days, maybe even weeks, wouldn’t be the end of the world?”
How was it possible for someone to see through him at every turn? He’d managed for a long time, so why were his walls beginning to crack now?
“No. I suppose not.” His reply was more brittle, more jagged than he would have liked it to be. At his unwillingness to supply more, she asked again. “Then why do you train so much?’
“It’s…the only way I know how to channel my emotions. It keeps them at bay. That’s how it’s been for as long as I can remember, and I can’t think of another explanation other than old habits die hard.”
“Have you tried journaling?”
“Yes.” This time, Azriel looked away, his eyes finding the wood panelled floor in front of the priestess’ feet far more riveting than their current conversation.
“How did it go?”
“I couldn’t write more than half a page. My hand cramped up.”
“Have you been to a healer to see if anything can be salvaged underneath the scarring?” It was noble of her to care so much for wounds that would never fade.
“Yes.” These were questions Azriel had endured for as long as he could remember. The condescending, pitying tone that most took on when talking about him and his hands nearly had the male seeing red. He was tired of being infantilised, dammnit. “Nothing could be done. The healer did as much as she could, and now I must live with them the way they are.”
The finality with which he said the statement might cause a fresh wave of pity to rise in some, believing Azriel was being pessimistic. He was not. He was practical, and many seemed to confuse practicality with pessimism. If others chose to believe in fantasies they’d spun out of the seemingly endless depths of hope they somehow possessed, they could not complain when that same hope crushed their spirits as it tumbled down like a house of cards blown away with the wind.
Azriel had hoped once. Long ago, before High Ladies or mates or the inevitable grief which followed death like a shroud, an invisible veil he couldn’t seem to rid himself of. He had hoped there was a better life, one where there was no pain, no punishment, no cruelty. They had been the fickle dreams of a child, and he’d held onto them so tightly his nails and cracked and left crescent-shaped marks on his palms, until his fingers went numb and all he could think about was holding on lest he was left behind in the aftermath.
Azriel remembered the days the healer had tried for hours to save at least some part of his hands, to ensure he retained some mobility. When nothing good had come of it, he’d been given a salve for the pain until that too, and rendered the scarring permanent. He’d long since given up on trying to fix it. It was too late now.
Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings
Letters of Grief
Part 1 | Part 5 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |
Word Count: 2380
Azriel’s visits to the healer became more frequent after that. It had taken a significant amount of bravery (more than he cared to admit to himself, let alone anyone else) to make his way there a second time lest the priestess think him a weeping, whining mess. He’d gone, though, so that had to count for something. At least, that was what he told himself.
He never shared the contents of his visits with anyone, preferring to unpack each session in the privacy of his own mind or room, where he had time to reflect or merely cry depending on how it went.
Audrine, the priestess who had helped him, had been nothing but patient and unconditionally kind. Overly kind, he thought to himself sometimes. How was he to deserve this kindness, accept it as part of himself, his heart, when he’d let his own wife die?
The sessions had helped in that regard, too. He was now steadily learning how to get rid of those thoughts that had dominated his life for more than five centuries. To Azriel’s chagrin, he hadn’t made any progress at all. Audrine had reassured him that such deeply rooted ways of thinking required unraveling the knots and tightly wound beliefs; only then was it possible to weave it into something new and steadfast; a clearer, better, healthier way of thinking that wouldn’t harm him nor those around him.
They had progressed from soft hellos and awkward silences to hesitant hugs and smiles, and Azriel was starting to enjoy the relationship they had built.
It was tentative, but it was something. A budding relationship. Now, he had someone outside the Inner Circle he could talk to without judgment or remorse or comments that would set him on edge and cause him to retreat further into himself.
As much as he loved his family, their remarks often became too jagged, bearing thorns that cut wounds which lay buried so deep it was impossible for anyone to know they even existed. The thin, barely noticeable cuts they left stung with each movement, even as they were invisible to the naked eye. But they were visible to Azriel, for how could he forget the story behind each scar he bore?
Until he’d come across Gwyn, he’d had no idea how to separate himself from what had happened to him and himself. She’d taken one look at him and known exactly what it was that bothered him, which demons he harboured and hosted, and which battles he fought every day; for she had fought the same battles too. It killed something in Azriel every day to know that another sort of battle had won, had taken her from him too soon, too quick.
He took a deep breath, inhaling for four counts, holding for four, and exhaling for four, then holding again and repeating the process until he felt like he wasn’t about to explode. She’d taught him that, how to still one’s mind when grief overtook it like an unwelcome guest who’d overstayed their welcome; pushing and prodding and shoving at every pleasant memory until they were all tainted by charcoal and soot and ash and dust, until all that was left was a hollow husk.
✦ ✦ ✦
“I hate myself,” Azriel rasped finally, the words coming out breathlessly panicked and mumbled as he fought to keep his composure. Audrine had reassured him that crying was more than okay on multiple occasions, and that it was necessary for the heart to let out the emotions that had been building up like a dam ready to explode.
“Why?” She asked, voice clear and devoid of judgment, instead sounding curious but not surprised. It must be commonplace then, for people to come to her with doubts of self-loathing that haunted them on their darkest nights, the body too empty and the soul too full.
“I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.” The words echoed around them, but Audrine’s voice disspelled the shroud of insecurity that had begun to take form, waving away the wisps of smoke and uncertainty, filling the room instead with a clarity and surety that left Azriel feeling more grounded than he ever had before. It settled deep into his bones and calmed something restless in him, something that had awoken again after Gwyn’s passing; as if the demons he’d kept at bay had been unleashed once more.
“What makes you feel that way?”
“I..I’m not sure.”
“Is there anyone or anything that triggers these thoughts? A specific event?” She clarified. Azriel shook his head, unsure himself of a trigger that might have led him to believe such thoughts. He’d had them rooted in his mind for so long, he hadn’t stopped to reflect on how, exactly, they came to be.
Audrine snapped him out of his superficial reflection, and the speed with which she changed the conversation had Azriel reeling as he fought to regain his metaphorical footing. “Did you ever visit a mind healer after you were let out of your cell?”
“What?” Azriel barely registered the words as unwanted memories, and the distinct scent of mildew, fear, and blood clouded his mind. Soft cries filled his ears, and he couldn’t tell if the sobs were his own or not.
“No.” He barely managed a coherent response, and it took more willpower than he cared to admit to suppress those feelings that had resurfaced, like grime on a clean plane that had taken immense amounts of energy to be rid of.
She merely hummed and continued, “I assumed so.” “What gave it away?”
One thing the Spymaster of the Night Court prided himself on was his ability to keep his emotions hidden and locked away in the deepest crypts of his mind so they wouldn’t ever come to light. It was less of a bother, and it allowed him to focus his energy on more important matters. It grated on him to know that someone who’d known him for a few hours could pick apart his carefully crafted facade, rip it down like it was made of nothing but paper and fragile hopes.
“The way you struggle to keep eye contact, how your eyes always dart to the all the exits in a room, your struggle to open up emotionally…it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” she supplied gently. “We’ve been seeing these signs in countless patients of centuries. Each one thinks that they’re doing a wonderful job keeping their feelings hidden, but they’re not. All it takes is one observant eye.”
“Please-” Azriel swallowed, his throat tight. “Please don’t tell anyone about this.” The last thing he needed was his family pestering him about his sessions, why he felt like he couldn’t talk to any of them instead of an unknown third party. What he most definitely did not need was anyone else outside of this Court knowing. It would create unease in his spies, and the security of his home was something Azriel would not risk, even if it came at the cost of his own sanity.
“Of course,” she replied easily. “Whatever you say within these chambers is, and will remain, strictly confidential.”
The certainty with which Audrine said those words had him nearly believing her. Nearly.
“Forgive me,” Azriel began, shame coating his features as he attempted to get the next words out in a way that wouldn’t ruin whatever friendly purgatory he and the priestess had entered. “But I’d like to make a bargain. I know you said you wouldn’t tell anyone, but…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish his sentence lest he dig a deeper hole for himself.
“Oh, there’s no need. All the healer’s chambers are warded so that anything discussed or done in them can in no way be accessed by anyone that is an outsider. It was one of the many shields the High Lord put up when he came into power.”
“It’s why we encourage patients to open up as much as they can,” she continued, clearly oblivious to the newfound marvel Azriel had found for his adoptive brother. “It gives them a safe space to open up about things that the outside world might not be as accepting of.”
A part of Azriel considered himself a coward for coming here, for seeking help when everything was seemingly fine. But it wasn’t, another whispered, taking its place. More insistent and demanding to be heard, it diverted Azriel’s attention from the usual self-loathing that filled his mind.
Maybe it was a good thing that he’d come. Maybe it had been time for him to seek help.
Despite that, Azriel also knew he could never tell her everything about his life. Some knowledge was best kept close to the heart. After all, he’d hidden and hoarded away secrets like precious jewels his entire life. What was one more in the grand scheme of things?
His heart would become lighter with these sessions in due time, and he’d make room for other, more vital matters.
Of course, Azriel was far from well. There was easier, and there was healthier. Azriel had been taking the easy way out in life, he’d realised. In his relationships and caring for himself, he often did the bare minimum, sustaining the relationship just enough so that it wouldn’t wither; watering it just enough so it wouldn’t die. But growing a relationship was much like growing a plant; it required much more than water. A proper foundation and soil, the right nurturing and care, and enough light in its life.
Azriel had to trust in Audrine, in his own ability to overcome the adversities that lay ahead. He couldn’t live life with the hesitation of thinking what would happen if he got hurt. He’d done that once, long before Gwyn had even come into his life, and Azriel knew he had been miserable for it. A shell of a person. He refused to go back there.
Noticing the change in his demeanor, Audrine’s face softened. “I know that loving again will be hard. No one here is saying that you have to find romantic love right now. Or ever, if you wish. But you must trust in your own ability to be hurt and get over it. It will prevent you from enjoying the wonders that life has to offer. Quite frankly, it’s a silly thought to have when your whole life is a testament to your resilience and spirit.” “You think I’ll be able to love again?” He asked quietly. “I think that you can love someone up until the very day you are no longer here. Our past relationships don’t define our ability to love. Our strength and willingness to come back, either as who we were before or a different person entirely, does. Our willingness to sacrifice, to communicate, to care, does. And you, Azriel,” she finished, “Are one of the most caring people I know.”
He only nodded, unsure of how to accept the compliment. Whether Audrine noticed his discomfort or not, she did not let on.
A comfortable sort of silence settled over them, not nearly as damning or as nerve-wrecking as it had been previously.
“What if…” Azriel swallowed, trying to rid his throat of the dryness that had begun to accumulate. “What if I can’t love again? What if it’s not the same?”
“You won’t if you don’t believe. But you have to trust in yourself. If not in yourself, then you have to trust in whatever you believe in that things will get better. Not immediately, not suddenly, not all at once, but so gradually that you won’t even feel it until one day, you’ll wake up and realise your life has been tilted on its axis entirely. You’ll notice these subtle changes in yourself, and you’ll have woken up a different person. Your scars might not have faded, but at least they won’t hurt, and that’s what matters.
“Besides,” she continued. “Love isn’t supposed to feel the same. It’s unfair to yourself and to your mate to expect a love that will look and feel exactly the same, because it won’t. You’ll create new memories and you’ll experience life differently, but that doesn’t mean your old life and your old memories will disappear. Your heart will only have more love, not less, simply because you choose to love. But that’s the hardest part. You have to choose to care and cherish, because the only way we can crawl our way out the hole we’ve dug is to choose our best interests every time. It’s going to be difficult, but it will be worth it.”
He’d been clawing his way out of that hole that he called his grave since the day he’d been born. It was his birthplace, and yet he felt no love for it, only hatred and a chilling sort of calm that only came with over five hundred years of surviving.
Surviving, because he hadn’t truly been living. What he’d thought was pleasant and mildly comforting, when he’d confused his lust for love was when Azriel had believed that he’d been happy. Oh, how wrong he’d been.
Love is something we all deserve, no matter what your mind might tell you. It is not a reward or prize that we must earn for being supposedly ‘good’ people. We deserve it because we exist. It can be hard to believe, and there might even be some days when you feel the exact opposite, when you feel such immense hatred for yourself it can feel as if there is no other emotion in your heart. But that is precisely when we must choose to be even kinder to ourselves, because that is when we need it most.
It was a conversation that played in Azriel’s mind constantly. No matter where he was, what he was doing, it was her words, his mate’s words, that got him through the days when he felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest by bloodthirsty talons determined to shred him to pieces.
A/N: Inspired by this and this Tumblr post. Also, I highly encourage you to check out @persianmom for motivation and quotes!
Part 6
Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings
Letters of Grief
Part 1 | Part 4 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |
Word Count: 1465
He hated it, how everyone seemed to walk on eggshells around him, as if they were afraid he would combust at the slightest trigger. It grated on him to know that they thought him so fragile and breakable.
It had started with averted gazes, hushed conversations and oddly sympathetic looks from everyone around him. He hadn’t told anyone what was going on, but it was clear that they sensed a change in Azriel’s already tense demeanour.
He was haunted by the memory of her; so much so that it was like carrying in a shroud with her name on it everytime he entered a room. How was he supposed to carry on with this life when fibers of her being were embedded in the very heart and soul of the Hosue?
No one had dared to mention it, at least not to his face, but even Azriel could see that his grief and in return their worry, was palpable.
Tension had begun to seep into a room every time he walked in. Gradually, but it increased with every additional breath he spent in there. It was why he’d taken to fleeing a room when it became overcrowded with people.
Azriel had struggled initially with that. He remembered it vividly, how he’d shut down, refuse to speak or make eye contact until it was a socially acceptable time to make up a pathetic excuse and just leave. The only thing that had grounded him during large social interactions of any kind was his mate, kept him from spiralling entirely.
But she’d loved social events, and so he’d found a way to stay. She’d thrived with hordes of people around her, basked in the light, and so he had too. Azriel didn’t regret it one bit, but it hurt like hell.
He didn’t know how long it would hurt for.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Good morning, Clotho,” Azriel began in a voice that sounded far too happy, even for him. The High Fae female sat at her desk; hood drawn while a pen wrote something on a piece of parchment in an elegant handwriting he couldn’t help but envy. Said pen paused mind-sentence, and the sounds of scribbling on parchment filled the air once more.
Good morning, Shadowsinger. What can I do for you today?
Azriel’s eyes flicked down to the note, reading the words swiftly. “I…is one of your healers available?”
A quizzical tilt of the High Priestesses head and next sentence had Azriel rushing to explain. Is everything alright? Of course we have healers, but I believe the High Lord’s preferred one is Madja? Is she unwell?
“Madja’s fine” he started. “But I meant…not-not normal healer. A…mind healer. For me.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he swore he saw the faintest smile on her lips before it vanished like perfume on the wind.
Certainly. Is there anyone specific you’d like to see? “Whoever’s free and available right now.” Azriel didn’t want to disturb a priestess from their routine for something as simple as this.
I’ll direct you to a room in just a moment.
“Is there anything specific you wanted to tell me?” Azriel’s brow quirked up.
It was clear she was smiling now.
I want you to know, Shadowsinger, that what you’re doing is incredibly brave. It takes a certain amount of courage to face demons on the battlefield, but an infinite amount more to face the ones inside our minds. Good luck.
Azriel thought his throat might close up, but he managed to get a raspy “Thank you” before gesturing for Clotho to lead the way.
✦ ✦ ✦
It still took him a decent amount of twists and turns to avoid getting lost in the labyrinthine maze that was the House of Wind’s Library, and he could only speculate at how the Priestesses managed to do it with such efficiency. The countless levels, ramps, and shelves were like home to them now, he supposed.
Like anything, he presumed it took a healthy dose of patience and an iron will that wouldn’t bend. He couldn’t help but admire the efforts they’d taken to acquaint themselves with the Library, and then take care of it as if it was their own.
Azriel was wrenched out of his thoughts and Clotho took a sharp turn, causing him to swerve and lean his hand against a bookshelf to avoid toppling over. He avoided shadows as often as he could, especially in places like the Library where he knew his covert presence wouldn’t be appreciated.
Evening out his footsteps so as to keep a steady rhythm (and hopefully calm his racing heart down) he continued further into the heart of the Library.
✦ ✦ ✦
Azriel took a shaky breath, hand raised as he stood, preparing to knock on the door in front of him for the past five minutes.
The fact that he’d even made it down here without turning back was a feat in itself. He hadn’t been too sure about this in the first place, but he supposed there was a first time for everything. Better late than never, he supposed.
Closing his eyes, he let his knuckles rap sharply on the door, the sound as cutting and damning in a way he hadn’t known a simple knock could be.
✦ ✦ ✦
He didn’t know how long he’d been sat here for. A priestess had opened the door, looking over him once and asking him to take a seat. He’d complied, only because he didn’t know what else to do, and had to resist the urge to fiddle with the locket now permanently clasped around his neck.
He’d been sat on a light grey sofa staring at the blank wall for the past…however long it had been. She hadn’t said anything, only perched on the edge of a chair, hands folded neatly on her lap, and waited.
It was his first time at a mind healer’s clinic. They were effective, he’d been told, slowly and methodically working through one’s issues until they were no longer there.
Azriel only hoped she could salvage whatever ruin was left of his mind and soul.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” Azriel finally started, voice far softer and insecure than he would have liked. “I understand.” The calm, cool voice of the Priestess in front of him settled some of the roiling anxiety in Azriel, and he fought not to let his hands fidget like a nervous teenager.
“I’m not quite sure what to say,” he admitted after the silence had begun to become unbearable. “Anything,” she prompted. “Anything you’re feeling or something you want to talk about. Something that’s happened that’s making you feel a certain way.” “My-” he swallowed, clearing his throat as the lump that had formed threatened to take over. Not here. Not now. “My mate passed a while ago and I’m just…having a hard time coping, I suppose.”
Well. The words were out now, and he couldn’t do anything save for praying that the ground would suddenly open up and swallow him whole, hopefully saving him from the imminent embarrassment that was sure to come.
Instead, the priestess nodded, bright brown eyes glinting in the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. So young. She was so young. He wondered if she’d found her mate yet. If she had, he prayed to the Mother that she’d get longer with them than whatever fleeting moments he’d gotten with his own wife.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can only imagine what you’re going through.” Not I know what you’re feeling or Oh, you must be so sad, but rather a grim admittance that she didn’t know his feelings; had no idea of the inner turmoil that hounded him every day.
“I had her for such a short time, and now she’s…gone,” he finished lamely. He didn’t know what else to say. It was what he’d been thinking, and he owed at least that much honesty to himself after locking his emotions away in the dusty, undiscovered crypts of his mind.
He owed it to his Court, to his family to not spiral, to get better, to heal. He owed it to his mate, damnnit.
“What was she like?” It was the first question she asked, and yet it pierced something in Azriel. She likely sensed his aversion to the question and added, “You can tell me as much or as little as you would like. But I’d like you to try.”
“Kind.” The word escaped his mouth in a whisper.
Something wet landed on his hands that he’d kept in his lap. Tears, he realised. He was crying.
It only took one card falling for the entire house to come crashing down, and suddenly, Azriel was drowning in his own grief.
A/N: I’ve never been to a therapist before, so sorry if something is inaccurate! I also sort of extrapolated based on which healers we've seen (and my own imagination of course)
Part 5
Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings
Letters of Grief
Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |
Word Count: 949
Clutching a locket in his hands, the cold metal biting into his skin, he let out a shaky breath. Perhaps flying would be a better option today. He didn’t trust himself not to collapse on the way home.
Azriel checked that his mental shields were up for what seemed to be the thousandth time today. It wouldn’t do to have Rhys or Feyre checking in with him. As much as he understood their concerns, they were busybodies, no matter how much they tried to deny it. It wasn’t like Azriel was in the mood for interaction, anyway.
It hadn’t stopped Rhys from knocking on his mind a few times. He’d promptly ignored, it, and Rhys had given up. If something was truly an emergency, Rhys would shatter his walls with little more than a thought.
He took off into the air, the thoughts swirling around his mind like the air he’d blown up as he took flight. The calming, relentless sound of his wingbeats filled his ears, and Azriel was reminded once again for his love of flying.
To be a spectator of people’s lives and not an actor, to be given an outside perspective as he pondered were opportunities Azriel wouldn’t ever forget. He knew he was blessed by whatever higher power there was, to be able to fly despite starting so late. Not many managed to do that, but he had. It hadn’t been a matter of choice; rather one of survival, but he tried not to dwell too long on that.
Azriel had still not let go of the locket he’d bought moments ago. Flat on one side and engraved with a compass on the front, it was slowly becoming his lifeline.
A compass, he’d requested the jeweler, because that was who Gwyn was. His true north, his guide through his most trying times, his north star. His light, who would make sure that he never sat alone in the dark for too long. His confidante, his nymph, his love. His, his, his.
Every beat of his heart thrummed with the knowledge that they were made for each other.
The tears he’d been holding at bay threatened to spill over, and his throat tightened to point of pain.
Veering to the right, he made a beeline for the House of Wind. No one would be there at this time of day: Cassian was in Illyria to make sure the laws were being upheld, Rhys and Feyre were at a meeting with the Governors of Velaris, and Amren was in Summer. Mor was probably out in the Palaces, shopping. Azriel didn’t think she’d make it back past midnight, or without a partner in tow.
Seeing everyone pair off with their significant others had left Azriel feeling more adrift than he cared to admit. He was supposed to have had that, dammnit.
Azriel only increased his pace, wanting to get to solid land before he broke down again. The crackle of the shield that surrounded the House buzzed through him, sending small jolts of electricity through his veins.
He landed in no time, feet touching down on one of the larger balconies. The only people who might be here today were the Valkyries, but he knew they had a day off. Nesta and Emerie tended to spend their holidays curled up in a wing of the House, reading with enough chocolate to make any decent person sick, or downstairs in the Library.
Thankfully, his room was far away from theirs, so the chance that he’d bump into them was minimal.
As he walked, Azriel couldn’t help but ruminate over the initial days after his mate’s death. How he hadn’t been able to bring himself to eat and how Rhys had to nearly shovel food in his mouth lest he die. How he hadn’t trained for weeks, staying holed up in his room and refusing to talk to anyone. It was too painful, to heart-wrenching to see her friends try to move on with their lives as he tried desperately to piece back his. To be honest, he didn’t have much of a life before Gwyn. It was her who showed him how to live, to thrive, to enjoy life and its glorious moments.
How sleep had evaded him, elusive as ever, how his nightmares forced him to live through the memories of that horrific day, as if the waking thoughts that plagued him weren’t enough.
At long last, he reached his bedroom door. Unlocking it, he stepped inside, and fished the locket out from where he’d tucked it into his pocket mid-flight. It was too precious to lose.
With shaky hands, he stroked a thumb over Gwyn’s letter. It had been lying on the mantle of his fireplace. No matter where he’d been these past fw days, his mind and his heart had been right beside her. Close to the letter she’d written him, as near as he could get to that declaration of love.
He hadn’t been able to let go of it, no matter how much he’d tried, and so Azriel had decided that the best way to preserve what little was left of his mate was a locket.
Folding the note into crisp, neat sections, he slipped it into the locket. The click of the locket as it closed echoed around him; through the room and into his heart, as damning as the final peal of a bell before the grief struck, uyielding and unreleting.
It was over, he knew it, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to move on. She was his, and he was hers, in all the ways that mattered, and then some more.
The only thing that wasn’t there was her.
Part 4
Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings
Letters of Grief
Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |
Word Count: 395
The letter had become as much a part of his soul as was Gwyn.
He slept with the piece of parchment every night; Truth-Teller and the letter sharing the coveted, dark space under his pillow. Kissing it goodnight as a lone tear slid down his cheek, he closed his eyes, and the only thoughts that occupied him were those of his mate, as he drifted into a deep slumber.
He dreamt that night.
Of a meadow filled with sunshine and flowers, where they would run through the tall grass, Gwyn’s giggles echoing around the area like warm honey poured over his cracking heart. The sun would be shining, resplendent and glowing in all its glory. He’d hug her around the waist, press a kiss to her neck, and they’d lay down in the meadow, holding hands as they gazed at the sky, talking about everything and nothing all at once. A light kiss on the cheek, a deliberate brush of their hands as they lay together. A pointed finger at the sky, and soft laughter filling their souls. He would gaze into her eyes, and fall in love with her, all over again, just as he had the first time.
Time would slip through their hands like water as they had eyes only for each other. They would lay there, drinking each other in like starved lovers.
But the fog would soon dissipate as soon as it had arrived, and Azriel would wake with a pit in his chest so deep he didn’t know how he’d survive. He’d wake with the soft scent of water lilies so deeply embedded in his nose he didn’t think he’d be able to forget it if he tried.
Love, in all its wild, unruly, unforgiving forms, had decided to haunt him, too.
It was a nightmare, in the most agonizing way possible, to know that Gwyn would never be his other than a memory. A memory that he couldn’t touch, couldn’t hold, couldn’t be close to, a memory that brought him so much pain as his heart overflowed with all the love he had. The love that he harboured for her was now quickly turning to grief, faster than a fire setting ashes to all they had built. Their life, their home, their family, all crumbling to dust after the tragedy that left nothing but ruins in its wake.
Part 3
Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings