“Because," he went on, his eyes locked with mine, "I didn't want you to fight alone. Or die alone”

The future I'd dreamed of was just that: a dream. I'd grow old and withered, while he would remain young for centuries, perhaps millennia. At best, I'd have decades with him before I died.

Decades. That was what I was fighting for. A flash of time for them - a drop in the pool of their eons.

"Let's go home," I said, and took his hand.

“Because," he went on, his eyes locked with mine, "I didn't want you to fight alone. Or die alone."

“Feyre." someone roared.

Rhysand yelled my name again yelled it as though he cared. I blacked out, but she brought me back, ensuring that I felt everything, ensuring that I screamed every time a bone broke.

"And, Feyre," he added, his voice a caressing murmur, I don't like my belongings tampered with."

A deep, elegant voice replied this time.

"She's building a trap." Rhysand

"But the Middengard—“

“Relies on its scent to see," Rhysand answered, and I gave a special glower for him as I glanced at the rim of the trench and found him smiling at me. "And Feyre just became invisible."

Humans all look alike. . . I didn't believe him for a second. Rhysand knew exactly how I looked- he'd recognized me that day at the manor.

"I knew you could always get more. And if you couldn't, then I wanted to see if he would ever try to do it himself, instead of carving those bits of wood. Ifhe would actually go out and fight forus. I couldnt take care of us, not the way you did. I hated you for that. But I hated him more. I still do."

“You went after me," I said. "You went after me—-to Prythian."

“You're exactly as I dreamed you'd be, too."

"There you are. I've been looking for you,”

“You gave up so much for them." He lifted his other hand as if to brush my cheek. I braced myself for the touch, but he lowered it before making contact. "Do you even know how to laugh?"

"Do you ever stop being such a prick?" I snapped back. Dead -really, truly, I should have been dead for that.

But Lucien grinned at me. "Much better.”

“You were always too good for here, Feyre. Too good for us, too good for everyone." He squeezed my hands. "If you ever escape, ever convince them that you've paid the debt, don't return."

"What do you know?" Nesta breathed. "You're just a half-wild beast with the nerve to bark orders at all hours of the day and night. Keep it up, and someday-someday, Feyre, you'll have no one left to remember you, or to care that you ever existed."

The singing of birds became an orchestra - a symphony of gossip and murth. I'd never heard si many layers of music, never heard the variations and themes that wove between their arpeggios. And bevond the birdsong, there was an ethereal melody-a woman, melancholy ad weary... the willow. Gasping, I opened mny eyes.

The world had become richer, clearer. The brook was a near-invisible rainbow of water that flowed over stones as invitingly smooth as silk. The trees were clothed in a faint shimmer that radiated from their centers and danced along the edges of their leaves. There was no tangy metallic stench - no, the smell of magic had become like jasmine, like lilac, like roses. I would never be able to paint it, the richness, the feel... Maybe fractions of it, but not the whole thing.

Magic - everything was magic, and it broke my heart.

So many, so different, yet all arranged to flow together seamlessly. Such different views and snippets and angles of the world. Pastorals, portraits, still lifes... each a story and an experience, each a voice shouting or whispering or singing about what that moment, that feeling, had been like, each a cry into the void of time that they had been here, had existed. Some had been painted through eyes like mine, artists who saw in colors and shapes I understood. Some showcased colors I had not considered; these had a bend to the world that told me a different set of eyes had painted them. A portal into the mind of a creature so unlike me, and yet... and yet I looked at its work and understood, and felt, and cared.

"You're joking," he said quietiy. "That scrawny thing brought down Andras with a single ash arrow?"

Bastard - an absolute bastard. A pity I didn't have the arrow now - so I could shoot him instead.

The estate sprawled across a rolling green land. I'd never seen anything like it; even our former manor couldn't compare. It was veiled in roses and ivy, with patios and balconies and staircases sprouting from its alabaster sides. The grounds were encased by woods, but stretched so far that I could barely see the distant line of the forest. So much color, so much sunlight and movement and texture... I could hardly drink it in fast enough. To paint it would be useless, would never do it justice.

"You were always too good for here, Feyre. Too good for us, too good for everyone." He squeezed my hands. "If you ever escape, ever convince them that you've paid the debt, don't return."

I hadn't expected a heart-wrenching good-bye, but I hadn't imagined this, either. "Don't ever come back," my father said, releasing my hands to shake me by the shoulders. "Feyre." He stumbled over my name, his throat bobbing. "You go somewhere new-and you make a name for yourself."

“Well, good-bye for now,” he said, rolling his neck as if we hadn't been talking about anything important at all. He bowed at the waist, those wings vanishing entirely, and had begun to fade into the nearest shadow when he went rigid.

His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock—pure shock—flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled.

“What is—?” I began.

He disappeared—simply disappeared, not a shadow in sight—into the crisp air.