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shallyne · 8 months

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Feysand Week Day 1: Stars Eternal & Death Incarnate

Always lonely, Never alone

Day one! So exciting. I tried something new here, hope you all like it. @officialfeysandweek2023

Words: 1,653

TW: death, neglect, sickness, health, Tamlin

Feyre lives a a lonely life in the clutches of an unhappy marriage. When she meets an old friend, she realizes that she was never alone.

Feyre Archeron was a newborn when she opened her blue-gray starlit eyes and gazed up at her mother with a curiosity that would accompany Feyre her whole life. She was a newborn when her mother looked the baby in the eyes, deemed her strange and shoved her into the nearest nursemaid's arms.

Feyre Archeron was a year old when a maid convinced her mother to bathe the child for once, who in return grew bored and left shortly after. Her nursemaid was near to get the child's head back over the water surface in time.

Feyre Archeron was three years old when she first gazed up at a painting, admiring the beauty in that piece of art. She was four years old when she first held a paintbrush in her hand.

Feyre Archeron was six years old when she was brave enough to show her mother one of her paintings, pride surging through her as it finally looked how she imagined. Her mother didn't even spare a glance.

Feyre Archeron was eight years old when her mother died, leaving chaos in her wake. The little girl had cried at the funeral, mourning a life. She didn't understand what the other guests were talking about when they called her mother an incredible woman because the woman Feyre knew was nothing but mean.

Feyre Archeron was nine years old when her father put all their money into trading ships, which got lost in the sea. Creditors hunted their family down and splintered his leg so much that her father could never use his leg again. Feyre had begged the creditors, trying to stop them, her stomach emptying as she watched the assault on her father.

Feyre Archeron was eleven years old when they moved into a cottage on the edge of the forest. She was fourteen when hunger led her into the woods, when she made her first kill. Feyre came back to the same spot to weep for the life she took. She went back to the cottage every night, the space crowded with too many people for such a small place, and felt utterly alone despite it.

Feyre Archeron was seventeen years old when she met a farm boy at the village market, both so lonely that they found solace in each other, sating their hunger for intimacy.

Feyre Archeron was nineteen years old when she went to the village market to sell the pelt of a wolf she had killed in the woods. She had met a handsome stranger on her way back home, who introduced himself as Tamlin. He started courting her the very same year.

Feyre Archeron was twenty years old when Tamlin proposed to her. She said yes.

Feyre Archeron was twenty-one years old when she promised Tamlin to be with him for better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, to cherish and love him until parted by death. Tamlin had promised her the same, with no intention to keep that promise.

Feyre Archeron was twenty-two years old when Tamlin first held her wrist so strongly that she got bruises.

Feyre Archeron was twenty-three years old when Tamlin forbade her to leave the house at all.

Feyre Archeron was twenty-four years old when she was so alone that she sought comfort in the night sky, staring up at the sky. She felt the stars staring back, comforting her.

Feyre Archeron was twenty-five years old when she was confronted with death. A sentry of Tamlin’s household was terribly injured in the woods and Feyre spent the night at his bedside, being there for him like she would want someone to be there for her when her time would come. She held the sentry's hand and reassured him that everything would be alright. He died before the next sunrise.

Feyre Archeron was twenty-eight years old when Tamlin yelled at her for not yet carrying a child. She hadn't bothered to tell Tamlin that she kept taking her contraceptive tea, not yet ready to bring a child into this world. Into her world.

Feyre Archeron was thirty-one years old when she first fell sick. She hid it, hoping it would vanish again. Just a cold. Only a cold. Although there was always an echo of the sickness, following her around.

Feyre Archeron was thirty-four years old when the echo became a constant whisper. She was tired, exhausted and sleep became rare. She spent more time watching the night sky, the stars and the moon, the shadows and realized that they were her only constant companion throughout her life. She didn't know if Tamlin had a busy schedule or if he had realized that Feyre became sick but he was barely there anymore.

Feyre Archeron was thirty-five years old when she watched the night sky during another sleepless night. She had lost her appetite and lost a lot of weight due to falling more and more and more sick. The dark circles under her eyes became constant, the whispering now a silent beckoning inside her. She was desperate, so desperate that she talked to the stars, promising that she would leave this manor, leave Tamlin and pick up painting again if she became healthy again. She promised to find a home, a real home. She tried to bargain for a little more life when she realized a spot on the clear night sky, between the stars, that felt empty. Like it was missing something. Feyre waved it away and went back to bed, a weird feeling of homesickness creeping over her.

Feyre Archeron was thirty-seven years old when the sickness exhausted her so much that she couldn't walk more than five minutes before taking a break. A trip to the bathing chambers felt like climbing a mountain, she was tired.

Feyre Archeron was thirty-eight years old when she looked into the mirror and didn't recognize herself. She was frail, weak, only skin and bone. Her hair was matte, already streaked with fine lines of silver. Death was near, watching over her. It wasn't death that scared her. It was the weird feeling of familiarity, the lack of fear that Death was so close, that scared her.

Feyre Archeron was thirty-nine years old when she became utterly bedridden. The only one who was watching after her was a healer but she didn't talk to Feyre. No one did. She was useless to them now, why would they bother with her? They waited for her to die. So did she. She was ready to go, ready to leave the world. To go home.

It was December twenty-first, an hour past midnight. Feyre Archeron was barely forty years old when her eyes went to the window. The curtains weren't closed but she couldn't see the night sky, a figure blocked her sight. Feyre smiled as her eyes locked with purple ones. Purple eyes shining with stars. A chance for Feyre to see the night sky one more time before she took her last breath. Tears welled in her own eyes, her smile not wavering, as she looked at him. Death. Her friend. Her lover.

"There you are, Feyre Darling." he said, his voice dark but smooth. He stepped forward, his hand resting on her face. Gentle. Death was gentle. "I've been waiting for you."

"I've never been alone, have I?" her voice was rough. Her throat hurt.

Death shook his head, his raven hair moving perfectly. "Never," he promised her. "I was always with you, my love." Death smiled his perfect smile. "It's time to go home."

"Home." she echoed, closing her eyes. Death didn't leave her side, he held her hand and smoothed her hair until the last breath had left her lips.

Home. Her friend. Her lover.

Rhysand

Feyre gripped his hand tightly but he didn't mind. He actually welcomed it. She was still disoriented, which was usual for souls that crossed the realm of the living to the dead. It was especially confusing for souls like Feyre, who didn't have any previous experience with human life. It was Feyre's very first life, that she had insisted on experiencing because she was curious. Forty years they were separated. It was nothing for an immortal, it was eternity for a male who was separated from the love of his life.

When they walked through tall double doors, Feyre's eyes went wide, watching the stars being so neat to her. He felt the wonder through their bond, the curiosity and the familiarity. This was her home. This was where she belonged. Her place in the midst of all the other stars was still empty, the stars seeming dull since she was gone. Feyre was the brightest star of them all, always was. Eternity never took her curiosity, her happiness. Rhysand had always admired her for this.

It would take Feyre quite some time until she was ready to take her spot again, that's why he took to another set of doors on the left, a door that led to his office.

Feyre stopped in her tracks when she took in the painting behind his desk. It was a painting that she had made for him a couple hundred years ago. It showed both Feyre and Rhys.

She stepped forward and read the plaque on the bottom of the painting. He knew what she found there, had read it already a million times since she got it for him. Double the amount since she started her human life on earth.

Death Incarnate and his Stars Eternal.

Feysand Taglist:

@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @edgyellie @starfall-spirit @rhysiedarling @corcracrow @sydney-fae25 @tothestarsandwhateverend @aayo-whatt @dreamlandreader

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