𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚃𝚘 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛(𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢

We feasted on venison again that night, and this time Nesta didn't scold me for my appalling manners.

Nesta and Elain had spent every copper Feyre made before Nes had dragged us home to berate me.

Elain had bought me some new fabric. Eight yards of periwinkle cotton and a few yards of lace.

We were all gathered by the fire, Father whittling, Nesta and Elain whispering and laughing together, me sewing, and Feyre observing us quietly.

"Careful, little Sammy," Feyre cautioned as I pricked myself with the needle. Her voice was lilting, sweet the way you would speak to a child.

While I was closest with Feyre, I hated that she treated me like a child. Everyone did. Speaking for and to me like I was a little girl, always saying no, never letting me leave the house without one of them holding my hand to help me walk steady.

Though, I didn't mind being called 'little Sammy.' That was something both Elain and Feyre had called me since I was a child. It reminded me of the days before we lost our wealth, when the four of us were close.

We had needed to be close growing up. We had no one but each other. Father was always off on business, and Mother was too busy with her parties and high class friends.

Mother had been tired of us by the time I was born. Nesta had raised me herself. And after the accident, Mother only ever spoke to me to insult or hit me. My sisters all had different ways of making me feel better when Mother hurt me.

Nesta took insults against me personally since it was her job to take care of me. If Mother said my hair needed taming, Nesta took extra care with it the next day. If Mother criticized my manners, Nesta would spend the next hour giving me lessons on etiquette.

When Mother hit me, Nesta would take me to her room and rub ointments on the bruises. She would tell me to stop crying, the words always sharp and scolding.

Elain would always wipe my tears away and kiss my cheek. Sometimes, she would hold me until my tears stopped. She would let me sleep in her room those nights, not caring that my sobs kept her up.

Feyre was the only one brave enough to stand up for me. She would loudly dispute the insults Mother threw my way and yell at her for hitting me.

I was the only one who didn't cry when Mother died. I grieved the relationship we could've had if she had been a better woman, but not her.

If anything, I had felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. I would never experience that fear I held every time that I had to face her. I could leave my room without being terrified of running into her.

I was lost in my thoughts when a roar sounded from the doorway, an enormous growling shape appearing as the door was thrown open. Elain and Nesta both screamed, our father dropped his knife and wood, and I flinched.

Feyre was on her feet immediately, her hunting knife in hand.

The beast was large, his head like a wolf's, horns protruding from his head. His claws and fangs were sharp enough to make me shudder.

Feyre carefully stepped in front of us, protecting us as it reared on it's hind legs and bellowed: "MURDERERS!"

I realized at the same time as my sisters that it must've been a creature from Prythian. Fae.

Nesta gripped my arm, yanking me towards the hearth. Our father crouched in front of the three of us.

Feyre took another step toward the faerie, keeping the table between them.