You Are My Life

Healing

I had almost forgotten just how quiet the house was at night. The lack of guards and the usual hustle and bustle being asleep echoes a calming silence in these early hours.

The kitchens are slightly different to the rest of the house, however. There is the crackle of the torches lining the walls to illuminate the room, the occasional pop from the fire within the oven which is heating up the metal box and the sounds that result from my actions.

I once again tug up the sleeves of Rhys' shirt and my dressing gown to prevent the batter before me covering them. I pick up the spoon and continue mixing the ingredients within the bowl until it forms a ball of smooth dough. Tilting the bowl on to its side, I extract the dough onto the slightly floured counter before me.

The sound of footsteps reach my ears and I look up sharply to see Mor stopping in the doorway, her eyes wide when she notices me. I look back down at the biscuit dough, removing my beautiful ring from my finger and placing it away from anything that that could cover it. I push the dough into the counter, pressing it outwards before picking up the rolling pin and running it over.

I hear Mor picking up a glass before I see her stop on my left hand side by the fireplace in here, filling up her glass with the milk she has apparently been heating over the flames. I continue rolling out the dough to the right thickness as she moves to stand beside me, watching my movements.

"I am so sorry, Feyre." she whispers to me. I keep my gaze on the dough, reaching for the knife on my right to cut out the shapes. "I didn't mean to let something like that happen."

I place my first shape, a paintbrush, onto the tray I have ready. I push in a side slightly to hold the shape before returning to cut more of the dough.

"Feyre, please." Mor says and I see her reach out a hand before dropping it, rethinking her decision. "I can accept you being angry with me, I can deal with you lashing out at me but please don't do this; don't be silent."

I pick up my next shape, a star this time, and place it beside the paintbrush whilst ensuring to leave space between them in case they spread. I pinch one of the points to make it more prominent before moving back to the dough.

"Feyre," Mor says, her tone begging now. "talk to me."

I slam the knife down on the counter before sharply turning to face Mor. I feel flames boiling within me but I temper them down; I don't need another break down on my hands.

"You want me to talk to you?! Fine, I'll talk." I say, my voice deathly calm. "Being that person in the Court is a necessity and you are fully aware of that. Now ask yourself, if the roles were reversed, would I have held it against you? Would I have treated you so harshly, so coldly as you did me?"

"Feyre, I-"

"My life in Prythian has never been easy, Mor," I interrupt, cutting her off. "I finally found my home, my mate and then I had to be separated from it all to save you, to ensure your safety whilst risking my own.

"Being back in Spring, being prisoner once again was a complete nightmare. Being away from my home, my family, was torture."

"I know that, Feyre."

"I don't think you understand it from my point of view, Mor." I exclaim, resisting the urge to throw my arms up in the air. "You have no idea how thrilled I was to be back here - to be back in my mate's arms, to be back with you all - but my experiences have damaged me. I have sleepless nights, nightmares, sudden breakdowns and my powers going haywire. As much as I wanted to, I could not be Feyre at Court, I had to be the High Lady to ensure the cracks were covered; to make our Court look strong."