These Cruel and Wicked Things | ACOTAR

・❥・v.

She faced forward again as her gaze trailed up to her face. The image was no better. Her cheeks were sunken, her full lips dry and cracked, her eyes darkened by weariness. She fixated on the long scar over her left eye. It was vertical, appearing on her forehead just higher than her eyebrow and reappearing under her eye where it curved over her cheek bone. Another line of dark pink extended obliquely from the bottom of her eye, the effect rather severe. The part that upset her most, however, was her glassy, empty iris. There was no pupil anymore, and the color did not match her right eye - a once striking jade color - it instead appeared much greyer, milky and bloodshot. She was almost completely blind in this eye.

Tears welled up quickly, for she hadn't yet really looked at herself since the injury was inflicted. She had little idea of what she looked like now that it was part of her, this irrevocable declaration of her lack of ownership of her own body. This constant reminder of her torment.

She was once beautiful. It was a thought she couldn't escape from, no matter how bad it hurt. It reinforced how much she'd lost. This person that appeared before her now could not hold a candle to who she used to be. To the likeness she once possessed of her mother, who has always been the most beautiful person she'd ever known.

The sorrow which accompanied her grief of her past self, quickly sizzled into rage. This was their fault. Those wretched beasts who stole her for themselves, her wretched father for letting them. Encouraging them. Being paid by them.

And then, before she even realized it was her fist which shot out before her, she screamed as thousands of slivers and shards of broken glass rained down over her.

Her eyes widened, zeroing in on her hand as it trembled, small rivers of blood spreading over it and dripping onto the floor.

What had she just done?

The panic set in immediately, her stomach twisting. Mother above, she was in trouble. She knew she was. She was sure the High Lord of the Night Court would not take kindly to vandalism of his own home.

She shook violently, unable to bring herself to action. Her hand remained held out in front of her, her elbow crooked. It was all she could see. The blood, the way it glistened in the light, the tiny points of broken glass lodged in her skin.

For a moment, she was floating above herself, viewing from behind. Her senses so muffled, she barely heard it as the door flew open, the rumbling of frantic footsteps, until she fell back into herself, her ears ringing as she regained some control of her motor functions.

She looked slowly to the side.

"What the hell is going on?" the voice belonged to Cassian, he looked around wildly, Azriel, to her horror, was right behind him.

They both stopped short at the same moment she herself realized her naked state, completely bare before them with big and small knicks and cuts oozing blood over her skin.

She couldn't bring herself to feel embarrassed, she was still just in shock at her outburst.

"I-" She opened and closed her mouth, unsure of what she could say.

Despite how hard they tried not to, she felt both of them, their eyes as they traveled up and down. She was sure if she had the nerve to hold either of their gazes, she would see the stain of horror or disgust within them. For her body was broken, bleeding, grotesque.

She reached for the robe where it still sat undisturbed on the counter next to her and wrapped it around herself, cringing and flinching as the fabric brushed over the glass which littered her flesh.

"Are you okay!?" Cassian seemed to refocus, breaking the silence.

"I did it," She told them.

"What?" His brows furrowed.