DV

“I felt the ripple in the darkness without having to look up, and didn't flinch at the soft footsteps that approached me. I didn't bother hoping that it would be Tamlin. 'Still weeping?'

Rhysand.

I didn't lower my hands from my face. The floor rose toward the lowering ceiling- I would soon be flattened. There was no colour, no light here.

'You're just beaten her second task. Tears are unnecessary.'

I wept harder, and he laughed. The stones reverberated as he knelt before me, and though I tried to fight him, his grip was firm as he grasped my wrists and pried my hands from my face.

The walls weren't moving, and the room was open- gaping. No colours, but shades of darkness, of night. Only those star-flecked violet eyes were bright, full of colour and light. He gave me a lazy smile before he leaned forward.

I pulled away, but his hands were like shackles. I could do nothing as his mouth met with my cheek, and he licked away a tear. His tongue was hot against my skin, so startling that I couldn't move as he licked away another path of salt water, and then another. My body went taut and loose all at once and I burned, even as chills shuddered along my limbs. It was only when his tongue danced along the damp edges of my lashes that I jerked back.

He chuckled as I scrambled for the corner of the cell. I wiped my face as I glared at him.

He smirked, sitting down against a wall. 'I figured that would get you to stop crying.'

'It was disgusting.' I wiped my face again.

'Was it?' He quirked an eyebrow and pointed to his palm- to the place where my tattoo would be. 'Beneath all your pride and stubbornness, I could have sworn I detected something that felt differently. Interesting.'

'Get out.'

'As usual, your gratitude is overwhelming.'

'Do you want me to kiss your feet for what you did at the trial? Do you want me to offer another week of my life?'

'Not unless you feel compelled to do so,' he said, his eyes like stars.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“This book is dedicated to the voices inside my head, the most remarkable of my friends.
And to my wife, who lives with us.”
― Fredrik Backman, Anxious People

“Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.”
― Rebecca Yarros, Fourth Wing

“As if you understand that people need fairy tales as well, not just narrative.”
― Fredrik Backman, Anxious People