➸ 𝙄𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 the youngest sister
of four has to fall into the deepest
pit of hell to reach heaven.
（ azriel x fem!oc ）
↳ slowburn!
𝗝𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗝𝗲𝘄𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗱𝘂𝗲𝘁 - 𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑜𝑛𝑒
[acotar - acosf]
-› ᴄᴇ...
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-ˏˋ𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬ˊˎ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
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SITTING IN FRONT OFher desk, Ana wrote into her leather-bound journal. She was writing down notes about ways she could escape the ball her father held for Feyre—plans and backup plans with lots of detailing. The escape needed to be fool proof, so that if she went through with it nothing could go wrong.
The day was two days away, and the house was already a flurry of activity. Such money being thrown away for things they had never dreamed of having again, even for a moment. Feyre had begged the Archeron man not to host it, but Elain had taken charge of planning and finding Feyre a last-minute dress, and. . . it would only be for an evening of enduring the people who had shunned them and let them starve for years.
No big deal, right?
Her sisters, Feyre and Elain, were outside, working for the latter's next garden. Anastasiya remembered seeing the horrified expressions on the gardeners' faces, when they saw another Archeron sister in the garden—as if they would be doing all the gardening themselves and get rid of them. The staff had grown very paranoid and even started to prepare the gardening tools for Elain, Ana and Feyre—to show they were still of use and didn't need to be fired for slacking.
Ana had tried to reassure them and gave them the order to plant some more apple trees for the horses in the front of the manor. It was slightly funny to see people be thankful for being given work, but Anastasiya also felt at ease, knowing the gardeners wouldn't stress anymore.
Freya and the other horses would for sure love them and the trees—or more so the fruits growing on them.
Sighing, Ana held her head in her hands. She had a writers block, again. The blonde had trouble concentrating on her writing, more so her tries to write something—anything. It got to the point that she was just frustrated and confused—enough to throw the journal on her bed. She apologised to it though, feeling bad for letting her anger out on it. She just didn't know how she could get a career when she hadn't the motivation to write.
