A girl in disguise. An heir in hunt. A world divided.
Iris Lavera is born into the civilization of the least respected ones. The lineage where it's predicted to birth a curse. A low born who will be the downfall of an entire nation if left alive.
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You may want to skim the little of previous chapters to brush up the understanding of the plot. A lot will be revealed in this massively long chapter which will bring Erixs nature to light as it's his side of narrative that's untold. This chapter is from the night when Avlothsattacks and Ezdan becomes a king. It shows the other side of the story that is unheard. Hope you'll have fun reading it. :)
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E R I X
THE NIGHT OF THE BALL
Erix had a personal revulsion against the night that falls for him. He finds himself often nocturnal in bed- waiting for sleep to consume him or sometimes fighting the fatigue so it doesn't. But mostly in the depths of shadows - he battled with his nightmares. It has become an essential part of him. Food, air, and his constant need to wake up before he is devoured by the darkness that seduces him into the abyss, it's his ordinary. Even in its outbreaks he seldom trashes or struggles to get away from it. As maniacal as it is of him, he listened to the screams of thirsty spirits and whispers of fainting hearts. He hears the echoes of lost souls telling him of how he will bow in the pits of hell and the cruel destiny that will impale him.
He accepts their dreams to destroy him for what he did to them. He embraces their hate with his own until the line blurs and he feels nothing. He welcomes it because he knows he deserves it.
He watched the unmade bed, not a clinch of crease in the pale satin sheets from where he stood by the poster. He hadn't fought last night either and a glimpse at the half-moon through his window alerted him that it was another night already. But Erix hasn't returned to his room for the sake of sleep, but to find someone who he knows would be hiding figuratively somewhere in the Morana's Manor.
He had suspended his position in the founds ball as the cunning Lord he paints himself to be, but not to wrong the right - he inherently was vile and twisted as one person can be with a beating heart. Rare was it for him to feel the changes in them, his heart. They remained a uniform set of rhythms in the most atrocious moments for him enough to wonder if he even had one.
