[ 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ]
: ̗̀➛ In 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 the younger twin of Feyre Archeron
has to fight through the thorns of roses just
to survive.
〔Azriel x oc〕
╰┈˚ · ° . slowburn!
...
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╰┈˚ · ° .ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴄʜᴇʀᴏɴ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴅɪɴᴇᴅ ᴏɴ roasted venison that night. The dinner, as usual, was filled with chatters from the eldest sisters. Nesta was complaining about the villagers—they had no manners, they had no social graces, they had no idea just how shoddy the fabric of their clothes was, even though they pretended that it was as fine as silk or chiffon. Since the family had lost their fortune, their former friends dutifully ignored them, so the eldest sisters paraded about as though the young peasants of the town made up a second-rate social circle.
"Well, I said to him, 'If you think you can just ask me so nonchalantly, sir, I'm going to decline!' And you know what Tomas said?" Arms braced on the table and eyes wide, Elain shook her head.
"Tomas Mandray?" Feyre interrupted. "The woodcutter's second son?"
Nesta's blue-gray eyes narrowed. "Yes," she said, and shifted to address Elain again.
"What does he want?" she glanced at their father. No reaction—no hint of alarm or sign that he was even listening. Lost to whatever fog of memory had crept over him, he was smiling mildly at his beloved Elain, the only one of them who bothered to really speak to him at all.
"He wants to marry her," Elain said dreamily. Maiven blinked and then blinked again. Disbelief and amusement grew into her at the thought of Nesta marrying the woodcutter's son.
Nesta cocked her head. Just like a predator would'd
"Is there a problem, Feyre?" She flung her name like an insult making Maiven's jaw ache from clenching it so hard.
The youngest sister blinked again, and she knew it was foolish to react to her sister's taunts but she couldn't help but let out a loud laugh saying "You can't chop wood for us, but you want to marry a woodcutter's son?"
Her laugh was so loud and definitely not expected that for a second she swore she had seen everyone at the table jump a bit.
As her laugh died she noticed the look on Nesta's face. Like always, a predator ready to bounce on its next prey.
Nesta squared her shoulders facing Feyre again "I thought all you wanted was for us to get out of the house—to marry off me and Elain so you can have enough time to paint your glorious masterpieces." She sneered at the pillar of foxglove that Maiven's twin painted along the edge of the table.
