Elain is worn down by sleepless nights spent caring for Nyx, but it's not just exhaustion that keeps her awake. A deeper pull-one that tugs at her heart-leads her thoughts to Azriel, the shadowsinger whose presence stirs something inside her. As the...
A/N: Hello everyone, thank you for reading "Invisible String| An Elriel Story." This is somewhat of a sequel to my previous one-shot, "Guilty As Sin?| An Elriel Story." However, you do not need to read that to enjoy this piece— though it could make a nice addition to your library! I might eventually compile these one-shots into an anthology, so for now, enjoy the influx of Elriel content! Happy Reading!
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Elain winced as a thorn pricked her finger while tending to a rose bush outside the townhouse. The sharp sting was nothing in comparison to the cries of Nyx that echoed through the night, disrupting everyone's sleep. In a bid to ease the burden, she had volunteered to help Feyre with the nighttime shifts.
Caring for Nyx came naturally to Elain. She had learned to decipher his cries— each sound a distinct message, whether he was hungry, tired, or teething. She knew exactly which lullaby or soft tone would soothe him back to slumber.
Yet the sleepless nights were catching up to her, and today, the exhaustion had finally settled in. Feyre suggested she stay at the townhouse during the day, offering a refuge from the chaos of the river house in hopes of finding some peace and quiet. Although most of Elain's belongings had been moved, including the furniture, Feyre's bedroom furniture remained, providing her with a comfortable place to rest.
Still, sleep continued to elude her, especially with the fantasies of a certain shadowsinger that had begun to haunt her thoughts.
Peeling off the glove, she examined the small cut on her finger. The skin throbbed, and she brought it to her lips, sucking the blood from the wound.
She headed inside the townhouse, walking through the narrow hallway and up the winding stairs that led to Feyre's old bedroom. The bathing room, lined with white marble, greeted her with its elegant clawfoot tub and sink. From the windows, she could see the garden wall and the line of cypress trees, a view she found soothing.
Elain turned the faucet on and washed the injury. Reaching for the small first aid kit nearby, she carefully wrapped her finger in a bandage, her movements delicate and practiced. Pricking a finger, was nothing new for her.
She left the bathing room and moved toward the bed, the creamy duvet seemingly calling to her. Her eyes grew heavy as sleep tugged her, but the moment she closed them, she was met once again with those hazel eyes. She settled on her back, letting out a slow breath. This had almost become a ritual now.
She lifted her skirts. Where there had once been a flicker of shame, now a growing confidence in her movements. Her fingers found the most sensitive spot, her touch deliberate, as she imagined scarred hands sliding over her body. The bandaged finger grazed her breast, a sensation she enjoyed, the faint sting of pain from the rosebush only heightened the thrill.
Her arousal built as she slipped two fingers inside herself, a soft moan escaping her lips, the mix of agony and ecstasy fueling her motions. She tried to add a third— had been trying to since she started this devotional time. She imagined his golden skin against her ivory, his weight descending on her, but her body resisted as usual, leaving with just the two. She sighed, a sound of both gratification and frustration.
