A Court of Dreams and Wishes Part I
Yeah, so, apparently working on a Feysand AU and a WIP novel at the same time wasn’t enough for me. I had to add another fanfic! Just as a disclaimer: I am not writing this to ‘correct’ what SJM wrote in any way, shape, or form. I’ve actually done this with multiple other books, Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins being the first. I think it’s fun to rewrite books the way I thought they were going to go. I’m doing this for the pure fun of it.
Please don’t hesitate to like/reblog/reply/send an ask! It’s really petty, but a big part of the reason Across the Stars is on hiatus is because I saw my notes go from over 200 a chapter to 68 notes. It’s really, really discouraging. Please show your support if you like it!
Without further ado, here is the first chapter of A Court of Dreams and Wishes!
Charcoal skies enveloped the sun, blotting out its rays and wrapping the city below in never-ending darkness. The city never woke to the chaos around it, never so much as cracked an eye to the screams and the anguish that poured through the streets like blood. Its denizens relished the pain and the torture, fed off the fear and adrenaline the darkness brought with it. Eyes as black as the abyss pierced through the smoke above the city, a beast’s clawed wings shredding the clouds with half a thought, all the starlight I had come to love and cherish buried deep beneath in the High Lord’s heart, where no one but me could find it.
I chewed on the handle of the paintbrush, my own hands stained gray and black. What I painted was the truth, of sorts. Or, it at least had the potential of being the truth. I painted my nightmares, I’d told Tamlin one night as we sat by the fire together. The paintings were horrific, I’d allowed, when he’d tried to suggest that I paint something more beautiful, more dreamy to chase the numbing terror away. But I needed to let my broken soul bleed onto the canvas, I’d claimed. If I bled it all out, if I let the darkness and the trauma splatter itself into oblivion, I could convince myself that what I’d experienced was well and truly in the past.
Rhys can’t hurt you anymore, he’d said, running a hand through my unbound hair, his rage barely controlled. I could feel his claws poking through his knuckles and prayed to the Mother he couldn’t feel my shudder of revulsion. You’re home now. You’re safe.