A Court of Weeds and Whispers

. p r o l o g u e .

p r o l o g u e.

Feyre

<<>>

NESTA AND SOLYS ARCHERON WERE twins in every way. In mind, in body, and in soul. When they breathed, it was like they shared the same lungs; when they blinked, it was as if their piercing eyes, although different colors, belonged to one unified form. When one bled, the other always knew about it. It was like they were the same being, made of the same fragment of soul, identical sides of a single piece of copper. They shared a love for our sister, Elain, as did I, that went unmatched by every other kind of love. They would walk until they reached the end of this earth for her, and although they would never dare let on, they would do the same for each other if it ever came to it.

As soon as one twin spoke her mind, the other was there to shoot her down. All hell broke loose when they argued, for even I could feel the heat from the flames of their words for days after they had forgotten about it. One could not live without the other unless one sister or another was there to bite back and belittle constantly. To snap and snarl. To rant and rage. Nesta was a fighter with words, tepid sounding but fuelled by molten anger. Solys was like a bull at a gate, always waiting with something just as cruel to say. She was not above incorporating the use of her fists, and never was she sorry for it.

They were both powerful, both unafraid to say what they thought. That was where the similarities ended, because if Nesta and I were opposites, I did not know what to call her and Sol. They were something else. They were the same, and then they weren't. There were similarities where there were differences. There was resentment where there was also affection, even at its weakest link.

Nesta was like a queen without a throne– devastatingly beautiful, and tragically stoic. Solys was a loud, truly wild thing—a vengeful lioness commanding respect.

If Nesta came into this world like a blazing fire, fierce and vicious, but ruthlessly loyal, then Solys was a mighty storm, wild and relentless, but dangerously loving.

Nesta wanted comfort and contentment to roll her way as efficiently as possible simply because she wanted to see if anyone else would do it for her. The only thing missing about her regality was her throne; she would never move from it if she had one. She stood tall and terrifying, a still facade bandaging her emotions, which seldom cracked through. She did care, somewhere in that heart of hers.

Solys was never one for taking the easy road because there was much more fun to see in what resided in uncertainty. Her beauty lay in her flamboyance and her unpredictability. Solys wore her emotions like armor, unafraid to speak her mind and lash out to hit where it hurt. She was impulsive in favor of collected, and when she spoke her mind, the ground beneath her shook. Solys cared openly. She cared too much, and that was why I loved her.

Solys always did whatever she could, whenever she could do it. Our father wasn't the only one to receive a beating after he lost his fortune when compiling debt had summoned blood-thirsty creditors to the estate. 

Sol could refuse to acknowledge it all she wanted, but although the creditors had smashed our father's knee to bits, damaged beyond repair, he wasn't the only one who walked with a limp these days. 

He wasn't the only one who got away with scars, because Sol had stayed and fought and tried to defend him, our home, while my other sisters had fled into another room. I waited and watched as they incapacitated him, and then turned on my sister in the same breath. I watched as she fought back with everything, clawed at them, bit them, and stabbed her fingernails into any vulnerable part of them she could reach. I regret not running after them as they tried to drag her down the front steps of the house, regretted following her orders to stay with Nesta and Elain.