Honestly At This Point I No Longer Use Hashtags That Get My Posts Seen Yk. Like This Is My Personal Rant

Of Talons and Light | ACOTAR Fanfiction

Chapter Five

It was about as close to winnowing as chopping off one’s hand was to clipping a hangnail. The black noise dissipated gradually, and Feyre found herself hunched on the ground, gasping and trembling and doing her best not to vomit onto the gleaming marble biting into her knees and palms. She heard Nesta nearby in much the same condition.

Their ragged breaths echoed off the glossy smooth walls and floors and pillars, all just planes of white in her periphery as she drew her focus inward. On not being sick. On staying whole. The jasmine-scented breeze helped, cooling her face and calming her stomach. An eternity later, the shaking stopped. Her battering pulse slowed, and her vision cleared. As Feyre finally lifted her face to take in their surroundings, she nearly cried.

The Moonstone Palace. They’d made it.

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the hypocrisy of western people telling average russians to go protest while gloating about our savings becoming monopoly money and cheering for sanctions that leave us stranded with a totalitarian government that treats these protests as treason 😳

this post needs more attention !!!

More ACOTAR Psychological Musings

Part II: Future Directions re: Trauma

TW: sexual trauma (seriously: huge TW!)

I am writing this in response to questions and commentary I’ve received subsequent to my original post regarding Gw*n and sexual trauma.

Disclaimer: I am a licensed clinical psychologist. I’m not here to diagnose fictional characters with mental illness via the DSM. I am simply sharing some clinical insights from a professional lens.

Several people wrote to me directly expressing thoughts regarding Rhys and his sexual trauma history. Specifically, there was commentary about how Rhys was able to jump into a sexual relationship within 1 book following 50 years of sexual trauma by Amarantha. For context, I had argued that this would be challenging for Gw*n to do the same from my professional lens. Let’s dig into this some more.

First, let’s talk about what trauma is.

Connectivity and exposure to mental health via social media has been a blessing and a curse. I love the destigmatization of mental health that has come from honest conversations and normalization via social media platforms. Many people suffer and never discuss it; living their lives doing the best they know to do with what internal/external resources they have at their disposal. I will, again, repeat that sexual trauma survivors are brave, resilient, and capable people. They are deserving of love and capable of having healthy sexual relationships. I work with sexual trauma survivors daily: These are facts I speak. Not opinion.

The metaphorical “curse” of social media has (partly) been the spreading of the definition of certain diagnostic terms and diagnoses so thin that we are slowly losing the essence of what clinical/statistical significance means and looks like. To the point it has become harmful and hurtful; oftentimes, weaponized irresponsibly and ignorantly against others. Throwing buzzwords as an assault against others who think differently, even in this fandom. I can’t look on social media these days without seeing somebody’s ex being labeled a “sociopath” (which is not a MH diagnosis btw) or a “narcissist.” Without somebody saying “so and so needs therapy” (more on this later). I have seen it a lot about fictional characters, as well. Especially having journeyed into this fandom. None of SJM’s characters have been safe!

But we’re here to talk about trauma. And trauma is something I see thrown around so loosely and used in our common vernacular so much, that I truly fear we are starting to debase what trauma actually is and undermine the struggle of people who have actual clinically significant trauma. When we talk about clinically significant trauma and trauma symptoms we mean a few things:

That the trauma meets the criterion to be considered a traumatic experience. What does that mean? Threat of death or severe bodily injury. Exposure to death or severe bodily injury of others. Compromised physical integrity. Hearing about a close friend or family member go through said traumatic experience above. I often differentiate between a “traumatic experience” and a “tragic experience.” Tragic experiences are normative difficult life experiences. Stressful? Yes. Traumatic? Not necessarily. Traumatic experiences are non-normative life experiences.

Functional impairment. Say it with me: just because somebody has been through a traumatic experience does not mean they have ptsd or clinically significant symptoms that necessitate treatment. A trained MH professional will assess the extent to which functional impairment is involved in a trauma response. I have seen plenty of people go through the most unfathomable experiences in their lives and not meet diagnostic criteria for PTSD.

I’m not going to show my true geek hand and bust out statistics, but just know that the base rates of PTSD in highly trauma exposed populations are quite low (like the combat Veteran population, for example). Meaning- even in populations with a ton of trauma exposure, it is rare to have PTSD.

ACOTAR is filled with traumatized characters who have variable trauma responses. Some of these trauma responses are more severe (Gw*n) and others are present, but I wouldn’t consider them severe (Rhys). This is not to say his trauma isn’t “as bad” or “easier.” It is not a reflection on the trauma itself. I am speaking to the symptom presentation. Clinical significance is less about the nature of the trauma itself and more about the response. Rhys is not written as a trauma symptom laden character; whereas Gw*n is.

“So and so needs therapy”

Even in a fictional universe this bothers me and it should stop. You want to know why? Because every single human being on this planet probably could benefit from therapy in some form. We have all had hurts and aversive experiences. We have all struggled. We are all subject to experience these pesky human emotions of ours that are distressing. The reality is that some people do not actually *need* trauma-focused therapy. For some people, it might actually be harmful if their symptoms are not impairing their lives. Treatment actually can make symptoms worse before they get better. Just because you don’t understand something or it doesn’t fit your narrative, it does not mean other people need to change to align or “just go to therapy.” Obviously I would love for anybody who feels they need therapy to go, but who are you to determine that? And therapy doesn’t exist in ACOTAR world anyways so can we just stop? Please.

Trauma is Subjective

I have worked with trauma survivors who endured the exact same situation and came out with completely different presentations, symptom manifestation, and impairments. There is a sexual trauma spectrum and it is inclusive of an array of different traumas associated with compromised physical integrity. Notice I didn’t say that the spectrum was a severity spectrum..bc trauma is subjective. It’s comparing apples to oranges to compare the MH of 2 people and to compare their respective trauma. Sexual coercion and sexual assault are both sexual trauma but they are also different.

This is how I view the parallel I was asked about with Rhys and Gw*n. How I can say that for Gw*n, it would be difficult to get there in 1 book while Rhys did. First, they have different trauma on the sexual trauma spectrum. Rhys was more of a coercion situation whereas Gw*n experienced a violent sexual assault with the associated death of her sister. I’m not quantifying these by saying one is worse than the other- that is by the subjective perspective of the person having endured the experience.

With Rhys, he does not demonstrate the same level of symptom severity that Gw*n does. He isn’t uncomfortable around the opposite sex who perpetrated his trauma. He isn’t homebound for years. His circumstances were terrible, but his reaction is simply different. Now he does have some symptoms- the nightmares. Possibly a little re-living and hesitation while physically intimate. Some insecurity and issues with worthiness. But Rhys has also had healthy physical relations in his life predating his trauma. He is written as a sexual character. His relationship to sex is different than somebody who has no sexual experience outside of trauma, as far as we know (which is not sex). Again, our reactions to trauma are different bc we are all different- different experiences leading into trauma, different proclivities in thinking and feeling, different levels of emotional reactivity, different traumas, etc etc.

With Gw*n, she is essentially agoraphobic, is uncomfortable around men, has to be warned about different men even being present for the qualifier..and even after all is said and done is still at the library. These are severe trauma symptoms. She was violently assaulted. Her trauma reaction is simply and understandably different.

Comparing readiness for on-page sex between Gw*n and Rhys is comparing apples to oranges. People who question the narrative and have concerns about the sensitivity of an adult romance novel featuring a sexual assault survivor, who is still extremely symptomatic, is not dismissive of any individual trauma journey. It’s also not dismissive of the character. It is not belittling of real-life sexual trauma survivors either. To the contrary, I think it’s extremely sensitive and in-tune to offer the thought that this is something that might be very uncomfortable to read about for a variety of reasons. Trust. Intimacy. Power dynamics. If Gw*n was leaving the library and had even willfully entered Velaris, I might have a different perspective. There is a lot of ground to cover that would have to be navigated very carefully and sensitively to get there.

I, yet again, argue that this would be a huge leap for SJM to take on with where we left off with Gw*n. To get to smut in an adult romance novel in a timely manner, it would cheapen this trauma journey so much, that I don’t think I could read the book. I honestly cannot fathom a way to responsibly give the proper recovery journey owed for this character without repeating the plot/romance from the last book and deviating significantly from the overarching plot that has been set before us: Koschei, Queens, Dread Trove. I cannot see a way to responsibly and respectfully give this the sensitivity it requires. Further, it would cheapen the experience of so many men and women who have endured and severely suffered.

I truly hope this clarifies some of the questions that were posed.

Reputation is amazing not just as an album but also because I can open any article about Taylor and if it says something like "Reputation, Swift's darkest and most angsty tragic album yet, contrasted heavily by Lover" I can be like ah ok so you understand nothing

2000th listen of cardigan and @taylorswift i need to know how the fuck did you rhyme cardigan with car again because just how

i genuinely dont understand why some people can proudly tell me their reading goal for the year is 20 books and that they FAILED TO REACH THAT GOAL LAST YEAR which is why it's still their goal this year.

and i just sit there nodding and being supportive while internally screaming bitch i read 145 books a year what do you mean 20 books 😭

just me feeling philisophical

y'all rmb you shit on bad books too before shitting on people who shit on books you like

Idc what you think, I want Elriel to fight after the solstice scene. I want Elain to be even more mad because he ignored her. I want them to act like nothing happened in the beginning and then Az confronts her for whatever reason and I want her to be “oh I thought we were acting like it never happened, since you ignored me all this time”. And I want him to be like “I just think that you misinterpreted what happened and i think we should talk”. And then her to be like “oh now you want to talk? Ok.” And sbam. Gets mad, tells him everything she’s thinking with no filters whatsoever, throws flowers at him. Everything without crying at all, while Az is standing there like “oh shit”.

I mean my girl has been rejected too many times and ignoring her for months after that makes it even worse. Plus she’s always elegant and formal, even when she fights with Nesta. I want her to be like “fuck all of this, I deserve good things”.

some random woman’s thoughts: oh hey, he’s kind of hot.

Edward Cullen: Dear Diary. Today another WHORE vies for my affection. Existence is agony.

you and i both need therapy but this is amazing

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Same Time Thursday - Part 24

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masterlist

~ 4.5k words

CW: attempted sexual assault, references to sexual assault, lots of bad language, alcohol, violence

...I'm just going to go hide now

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If it was possible, the house got colder when she got to the first floor, like an icy wind pressing in on her as she walked toward the living room, to the one light beckoning her closer. Alarm bells went off in her head, but she kept her chin up, not running away like her body was begging her too.

Instead, she forced her feet to keep going, step after step toward the room, like she was a lonely star in the universe, sucked into an orbit around a black hole. He was that black hole, chewing her up and spitting her out, completely destroying everything that made her who she was.

At least Elia was safe.

Aelin shuddered a little bit, ice wrapping around her thinly clothed body. Goosebumps rose on her bare skin from the cold and the silence, the adrenaline racing through her body as she took step after step closer to the living room. And when she finally turned, crossing the open threshold into the spacious living room, with its low to the ground, sleek couches, the black, metal coffee table, the soft lighting that highlighted the man sitting opposite from where she stood, his leg crossed over his knee, his arm draped over the back of the couch, a glass of whiskey in his other hand, looking every bit the casual actor.

His eyes were on hers from the moment she stepped into the room, and he gestured casually to the chair opposite of him. “Come sit, darling,” he purred, “we have a lot to talk about.”

Aelin hesitated for a moment, but moved over to sit down, her ankles crossed like a lady, even if she was dressed like and looked like she was even younger than she already was. But there was a glass of whiskey on the table in front of her, an offering and an order, one she ignored.

The couch was plush beneath her body, but she didn’t lean into it, sitting up straight and staring forward toward him. She didn’t know what was going to happen, it was better to be on her guard.

“What do we have to talk about?” She asked primly, keeping her face calm. Arobynn just smirked lazily, tilting his head to the side, and a quick glance at the half empty bottle on the table proved just what she’d predicted. He was already drunk, or at least on his way to being drunk. Wariness struck her gut, and she eyed him carefully.

Drunk meant less inhibitions, meant he didn’t have the same standards for himself he normally did. But he still had the same physical force.

He could do whatever he wanted to her, and that range of possibilities had only widened. Her heart thumped painfully.

“Well,” he said, taking another sip of his glass of whiskey, “I just think we need to go over a few things here, don’t you think? A few… ground rules shall we say.”

Aelin lifted her chin a bit, asking, “and what would those be?” Her husband just chuckled humorlessly, gesturing to the cup in front of her.

“Why don’t you take a sip of your drink, first?” He prodded, still dancing around the subject in that smooth way of his. “We both know how much you like a good drink. And that’s the same kind of stuff you had the day we first met.”

At the funeral.

“That’s not the first time we met,” she said, a bit weakly, shaking her head once. He just shrugged, loose but fully in control of his movements.

“The first time you met me,” he amended, a dark but humorous expression on his face. A shudder crawled up her spine. They rarely ever spoke so frankly, and never about things like this. This was new. “That whiskey did never come out of that shirt, but no matter,” he dismissed, “I’m rich enough, aren’t I darling?”

“Money isn’t everything,” was her only response, her voice shaking slightly.

“Isn’t it?” Arobynn mused, raising his auburn brows at her. Hair so similar to her daughter’s it made her sick. “How does it feel to be without it? Your physique certainly shows it’s not ideal circumstances.”

Aelin pursed her lips. “You’ve starved me today, I see no difference.”

“Ah ah ah,” he chastised, shaking his head. He pointed at her with his glass. “Rule Number One: No complaining. I don’t want to hear it, she doesn’t want to hear it,” he pointed vaguely up the stairs, “no one wants to hear it.”

“I wouldn’t complain if you didn’t give me something to complain about,” she snapped without really thinking. But she managed to hold herself back from saying anything more. His smile turned even more sinister.

“You know, Fireheart,” he taunted, and she stiffened, “it really wounds me when you say things like that.” But then his face turned more serious, more believable, and the wariness inside of her rose. “I do love you, Aelin,” he added, his words softer. She couldn’t do anything but stare. “I don’t always show it the way I should, but I do.”

Aelin from three years ago would’ve melted at the words, she would’ve believed them, she would’ve fallen into his arms, pushing away every red flag in favor of a little bit of affection. She’d been looking for so long for someone to care for her.

But Aelin today already had that care from someone else. And even if she didn’t, she wasn’t buried so deeply in her own grief that she didn’t recognize what she deserved. And what she deserved was not this.

Yet, she just stared.

“Have a drink,” he repeated, sparing her from having to respond, and slowly her gaze dropped to the glass of whiskey on the table. Not for the first time, she wondered if it wasn’t just alcohol pooled up in there. If it had something else mixed in.

Even more reason not to touch it.

“No, thank you,” she said calmly, sitting up straight in a civilized manner. Arobynn just shrugged, taking another long sip of his own before leaning forward and snatching the bottle off the table, tipping it to fill up his glass again.

“You’re missing out,” he said blithely, his eyes leveled on hers in a startling manner of soberness.

“Am I?” She said quietly, almost underneath her breath, and those shark-like eyes narrowed.

“Rule number two,” he declared, his voice unwavering, “no little snarky comments anymore. This is a privilege to be here, and I won’t accept anything else. Understand?” His words left no room for questions, and she couldn’t do anything but agree.

“Yes,” Aelin said, ignoring the swarm of emotions inside of her. A fucking privilege? It was a punishment. Nothing more.

But soon enough, the emotions diminished again, back into numbness. None of this mattered, it didn’t affect her. She couldn’t feel enough to feel that this was wrong.

“Stand up,” Arobynn said, after a brief moment of silence, flicking upward with his hand too. She hesitated, her bottom lip wavering a bit, but she did as he said, moving to where he gestured for her to go: a little bit away from the couch, empty space all around her. He stood up too, and she kept her eyes trained on him as he took slow steps toward her.

He slowed to a stop right in front of her, only inches separating their bodies. Aelin had to look up to meet his eyes, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to. He’d left his drink on the table, so both of his hands were free as he set them on her arms, slowly dragging them up the bare skin of them, making her shudder.

They smoothed over her bare shoulders, to where her shoulders met her neck, to rest behind her neck. Her lips quivered even more, and she pursed them to try and stop it. His hands slipped under her hair, and after a moment, he pulled them back, holding something that made her pause.

Her necklace.

“Rule number three,” Arobynn said, in a deathly quiet, inches away from her face. “No mention of Rowan Whitethorn. Ever. Again. Do you understand me?” His breath was hot on her skin.

Aelin just stared up at him, unmoving. Her hands clenched into fists, venting the tension. The slap wasn’t surprising, but it still cracked across her face, the stinging feeling spreading across her cheek as she panted for air, breathing through clenched teeth to fight the pain.

“Do you understand?” He hissed, and she let her eyes fall shut, hating herself for the words that came out.

“Yes,” she said softly, “I understand.”

“Good,” the utter monster in front of her said simply, and she heard the clack of her necklace on the floor. And then he must’ve kicked it lazily, the sound of it skidding away from them reaching her ears. Like it was disposable, like it was a piece of garbage.

She’d only gotten it yesterday, and now it was gone.

The same hand that had just slapped her then caressed her cheek softly, and she cracked her eyes open blearily, frozen at the touch of his skin against hers. It was disgusting, but she didn’t move.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, leaning in to press a dry kiss to her other cheek. “I'm glad you’re home, it wasn’t the same here without you.” The hand on her cheek tucked a stray piece of hair softly behind her ear while his other rested gently on her waist.

It was a mockery of comforting movements, of comforting words. Instead of being soothed, Aelin was trembling.

“You drove me away,” she said in a whisper, trying to fight the way her body shuddered.

“Is that what you’re calling it?” He murmured into her ear, “the blame is always on me, hm?” Aelin stared at his shoulder, inches in front of her.

“Yes,” she breathed, her heart pounding in her chest. He paused, and her breaths were shallow as she waited for his response. Slowly, ever so slowly, he dragged his hand down from her cheek, latching onto her upper arm instead.

“I’m so tired of this, Aelin,” he said, shaking his head, “I’m so so tired of this. All I want is for us to go back to normal, and yet you keep - fighting.” With that word, he used his grip on her to throw her to the side, and she crashed to the ground, the wind getting knocked out of her lungs as she landed on her stomach.

She wheezed, her entire body stinging. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the pain in her ribs, her chest, her definitely broken nose, everywhere.

But she wasn’t allowed much reprieve before a hand gripped her shoulder, rolling her over onto her back. She pushed herself up on her elbows slightly. Her chest felt damp, and she knew without needing to think about it that she must’ve leaked through her nightgown, the impact on her already sensitive breasts pushing them past the limit. She was too dazed and bitter to care.

“Disgusting,” Arobynn spat as he knelt over her. Aelin just let out a humorless laugh.

“You did this to me, too,” she said, wanting to let her head fall back against the hard floor. She was just so tired. “It’s what happens when you get someone pregnant. It’s messy.” Aelin looked past his cruel face and that familiar curtain of hair, her eyes trailing up the staircase. She was laying just at the angle to look down the hallway where Elia's room was.

Where her daughter was. Hopefully sleeping soundly, unaware of where her mother was, what her mother was going through.

But Arobynn’s hand gripped her jaw, directing her face back to look at him. “But the process was oh so pleasurable, wasn’t it?” He had an arrogant look on his face, like he knew her answer and just didn’t fucking care.

Aelin didn’t know if she cared anymore either. Everything felt numb. Frozen. Heavy. Like she was a million pounds, and even dredging up the smallest amount of effort was like trying to carry the weight of the world.

“Are you asking if I enjoyed you raping me?” She managed to croak out though, her voice hoarse. And apathetic. Maybe she was provoking him, maybe not. Either way, she was sure he’d take out his frustration on her and not Elia. Which was all that really mattered.

Arobynn just chuckled darkly, before straining to reach something from around the couch. He returned with the bottle of whiskey, taking a swig of it himself before holding it toward her. She kept her mouth closed, but couldn’t fight it when he shoved the bottle at her lips, tilting it so the burning liquid spilled into her mouth and down her chin. She spluttered, the whiskey stinging her throat, but he kept pouring it, almost drowning her as she fought for a breath. It was an overpowering, fiery, hot sensation, and she felt tears dripping down her face from the sting of so much of it at once.

“Have a fucking drink,” he hissed, but she could barely register anything besides the flood of alcohol being forced at her. Panic crept in her gut as all she knew was the whiskey, flooding and burning her mouth and her throat, preventing her from getting even one gulp of air. Gods, gods.

She couldn’t breathe.

She tried to fidget away, tried to close her mouth, but he didn’t let her, keeping it there until the bottle was empty. Which he then tossed aside carelessly as she heaved, spluttering some of the whiskey up as she got in a glorious breath.

There was probably more of it on her neck and chest than there was in her stomach. Arobynn then pushed at her shoulder, shoving her to the ground, and she winced as her head hit the floor. He leaned over her, covering her whole body, his face inches from her own. His hand yanked at one of the straps of her nightgown, pulling it off her shoulder.

This was it. It was going to happen. Maybe the alcohol was good, if only for a way to forget.

Her heart thumped painfully, and she managed to look past him, looking down that hallway again. A tear slipped out of her eye, sliding down the side of her face. She didn’t want it to happen here. Not where she could almost see her daughter’s room.

An overwhelming panic took over her, and she managed to croak out a plea, a desperate plea.

“Please,” she breathed, “not here.” She hated herself for begging, but she couldn’t. “Anywhere but here.”

Arobynn paused, pulling back, narrowed eyes turning into dark humor. “Then let’s go somewhere more special.” He stood up, and her breaths turned shallow as he yanked her to a stand too, his grip tight on her upper arm.

She knew immediately what he meant when he started pulling her toward the front door. She had no choice but to follow, but the panic only grew.

“No-” she stuttered, her eyes wide. She tried to pull back away from him, but he was too strong. “You’re drunk.” Arobynn just scoffed, not slowing down. “You’re drunk, Arobynn, you can’t drive.” She barely registered that she’d said his name, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d said it to his face. But she was too panicked to care.

Her back tingled painfully, her brain flooding with memories of pain, fear, that overwhelming feeling of glass cutting right through her skin, sheering it away from her bones and her muscles and leaving her practically a corpse on the ground as she reached for the corpses who’d betrayed her.

Aelin clung to the door frame as he swung the front entryway open, trying to keep herself inside, but he yanked her with him, not even looking back as he dragged her across the gravel. She hadn’t even noticed, but it’d started raining, the droplets splattering loudly against the ground. “You’re going to get us killed!” She tried to reason, her lungs tight as she fought for air.

But he didn’t listen, just pulling her toward his barely used sports car, only touched for two reasons. When he wanted to go somewhere by himself, and when he was taking her to one place. The cabin.

Which was up a steep mountain, with twists and turns, and thin roads, and no street lights to pierce through this heavy rain. He was going to drive them off the fucking road.

But he didn’t care; not as he pulled open the passenger door, shoving her inside and slamming it behind her. Aelin’s eyes were wide, her nightgown and her hair already soaked, her breaths fast as she caught herself on the seat. No. No. No, no, no.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be in the car again when the driver was drunk. Drunk.

Panicked tears pricked at her eyes, only worsening when he slammed his own door shut behind him, turning on his car and immediately slamming his foot on the gas pedal, peeling out of the driveway. Aelin was thrown back in her seat, and it was instinct to reach for the seat belt, wrapping it over herself.

“You need to fucking respect me, you fucking bitch,” he cursed at her, his head turned toward her and not the road. Gods, she was going to have a panic attack.

She didn’t even care about his insults anymore, or his taunts, or his advances. She cared about one thing: getting out of this car alive.

It was late enough that there weren’t really many other cars out, especially in the direction they were going: away from the city. His mansion was already on the edge of Rifthold, so it wasn’t a far trek to the wilderness beyond it, to the mountains that had once housed her doom. But the sound of the rain beating against the car as it sped down the road spelled out a different kind of doom, making the asphalt damp and the journey even more dangerous.

Her face felt like it was being peeled back from how fast he was driving, the speedometer easily passing 50…60…70…80… approaching 90 as he raced toward the road up to the cabin. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to close her eyes or keep her eyes glued on the road as they drove, her heat being so fast it was painful.

Gods, gods, gods.

It felt like all the time and no time in the world before the road began to narrow, trees lining the edges as they got closer and closer to the mountains. And when he whipped around the first turn, Aelin nearly let out a cry of terror, her hands clenched in fists and dug into the seat under her, her nail piercing that same spot on her hand.

“I don’t know why the hell you think you can talk to me like this,” he hissed, “but I won’t put up with it anymore.” Only one of his hands was on the wheel. “You’re back in this house and you’re going to listen to me, Do you understand?” He whipped around another turn, only accelerating as the road began to steepen. “Do you fucking understand me?”

“Yes!” She cried out, “Please slow down, you’re going to drive off the fucking side of the road!” But her plea was useless. He didn’t listen, a humorless laugh escaping him instead. The road blew past them, trees racing by outside the car, the dark taking over as they left civilization behind. They were far away from any help.

At least it wasn’t like Doranelle, or like Terrasen, where the roads would’ve been covered in ice, impossible to control your key at a low speed, nevertheless at this neck breaking pace the sports car was driving at. But as if in mockery, the rain seemed to strengthen, seemingly saying oh yeah? You think ice is bad? Look at what I can do.

It pounded against the car, and Aelin could barely see out of it, the rain ruining all visibility.

“I hope you’re ready, darling,” he spat, “because once we get there, I’m going to f-” the car jolted, skidding around a corner and driving through a giant pooled up puddle of water, the sound of it splashing up against the car like hell to her ears. Even Arobynn seemed concerned, his foot slamming on the brake.

But the brake wasn’t working.

“Shit, godsdamnit, fuck,” Arobynn was cursing under his breath as the car started spinning out of control, skidding across the mountain road. The rain started falling around them in a kind of vortex, like a veil blocking all reality. Or a veil about to open up to death.

Because they were going to die.

But instead of freaking out like Arobynn was, Aelin entered some strange state of calm, her heart almost slowing to nothing as the car finally flung off the road, that familiar feeling of falling jolting through her before gravity finally took hold, sending them careening straight toward the Earth.

And all she heard was the sickening crunch of metal before everything went black.

----------

Pain was the first thing she felt as her eyelids slowly began to open. The first thing she heard was the loud ringing in her ears, making everything swirl around her in a kaleidoscope of colors. She blinked heavily, trying to clear her vision. And the first thing she saw was red.

Arobynn.

The car was suspended down at a slight angle, leaving Aelin slumped forward toward the dashboard. But Arobynn… Arobynn was pinned back against the seat, a jagged tree branch pierced through his side. She nearly threw up at the sight, and at the dizziness in her own body.

She’d definitely hit her head, against the airbag, against the window, she didn’t know, she couldn’t think that much.

But she could register the broken windshield, could register the tree they’d run into, stopping the car but ruining it all at the same time. And when she looked down at herself, she registered the jagged piece of glass sticking out of her thigh, a sickening amount of blood pooling around it. She was bleeding out, right? It didn’t feel quite real yet.

Slowly, she looked back at her husband, stuck in his seat, bleeding out too. He wasn’t dead yet, she could tell that much, but he was going to die. Any minute now. So was she, probably. Her wound wasn’t as severe, but there’s no way she’d survive either.

Not all the way out here.

So this was her last chance. Her last chance to say everything she needed to. To get everything off her chest. She should curse at him, she should damn him to hell and yell at him for every shitty thing he’d done to her, every horrible thing he’d put her through. Blame him for every little piece of her he ruined.

But when she tried to think of something, only one thing came to mind.

“This is the last chance I have to say anything to you, and I’m only going to say one thing.” Her breath rasped wetly as she spoke, each word painful to get out. But necessary. Arobynn’s eyes were dimming, but they were on her, and she could tell he heard her. Or at least, she liked to think he could.

“You hurt me. We both know it. You made me trust you, and then you hurt me.” Tears pricked at her eyes. “And I’m not going to be able to forget that.”

He was fading quickly, but she didn’t stop, letting herself get out the words she needed to say. “But her?” She added, not needing to clarify who she was talking about. The only her that mattered. “You’re never going to hurt her, you’ll never get the chance.

“And-“ she rasped, her own vision starting to turn fuzzy. “And I want you to know,” she continued, “that you tried to make my life hell, and by doing so you gave me the one thing that makes everything in my life worth it. And she will never, never, know what it is to be with a man like you.”

She trailed off in a whisper, tears slipping down her face in resemblance to the rain pouring in at them through the empty hole where the windshield belonged. And it was with those last words that she watched her husband die.

All light left his face, his head slumping over to the side.

She was alone.

Aelin squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the pain in her body as she turned away from him, tilting her face up toward the sky. At least if she was going to die, she’d die free.

But she was never going to see Elia again.

Her heart clenched painfully, her whole body twitching in protest at the shock and at the pain of her injuries, but more so out of her broken heart. She was never going to see her daughter again. At least not in this lifetime.

She needed to say goodbye. She needed to say goodbye to the one thing that’d made her life worth it, that’d let her escape that hell she’d lived in, the hell she’d thought she’d die in. She’d already said goodbye to Rowan, but Elia, Elia…

“Elia,” she rasped, the words hoarse with tears, “I’m so sorry baby. I’m so, so sorry.” She kept her eyes closed, as if by ignoring the world around her she could pretend she was back in her apartment, her daughter in her arms.

“I’m sorry that I’m not going to see you grow up, that I won’t be by your side for your first day of school, your first period, your first heartbreak, all the things a mother should be there for. You won’t even remember me.” Her voice broke, more tears streaming down her face, dripping down her ruined nightgown. “I’m just going to be some story that people tell you, some distant memory that feels more like a dream. And I’m sorry. It breaks my heart.”

A sob escaped her, and she pressed a hand to her heart.

“But, you’re free now, baby,” she added, “He’s gone. And I am too, or I will be, but just know that you’re free of him. And I’m glad you‘ll forget him, even if it means forgetting me too.” She shuddered, dizziness beginning to take over again. She was going to pass out soon. And never wake up.

“Just know that I love you,” she said quietly through her sobs, “I love you so much, and even if I’m gone, that’s never going to change. I’m so sorry, I’m so- “ but she couldn’t finish, her voice failing her as black crept in on her vision.

The world faded around her again, but this time she was ready for it. Ready for death.

If only she could hug her daughter one last time.

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