I feel so bad for the few of you who were reading my fic… it’s coming along very slowly, but I just don’t have the same drive to write it anymore. I’ve come to hate what I’ve written already with a burning passion.
But it’ll get done eventually. I’m going to write some of chapter seven right now and hopefully it takes me somewhere
Update: I wrote like 500 words? Then I got distracted by crackers. Also might decide to make a last minute change to the plot…
I feel so bad for the few of you who were reading my fic… it’s coming along very slowly, but I just don’t have the same drive to write it anymore. I’ve come to hate what I’ve written already with a burning passion.
But it’ll get done eventually. I’m going to write some of chapter seven right now and hopefully it takes me somewhere
damn, I hadn’t even realized it had been a month since I updated Starlight and Ashes…
life has been busy, but I’m trying to get back on track with it now.
In good news, it’s now at least one chapter longer than was originally planned!
tagging: @runesandfaes @acourtofredqueens @havilliardandgalathynius@fiery-feyre @starzablaze @tog-trash @evyfox @rhysands-highladyame233 @high-lady-of-rochambeau @musicmaam @empress-ofbloodshed@illyrianbeauty @literarynonsense @thisisvelaris @wolffrising @rhysand-darling @throne-of-wingspans @hail-and-farewell @lady-katkatdestiny14444 @the-dream-team-of-prythian @avocadobubbbletea @lorcanswife @hxylady @abillionlittlepieces @my-life-is-a-drama-book@akranick-author @lottie289 @mariamuses @leulivy @booklover242@heyme231 @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @rhysisdaddyaf @highladyjel @halcyon-havoc @alexisnm95 @a-canadian-fae @abimomeopectore @herondalesaremycupofale @hxghladyweaver-of-the-wood @rowaelinsmut @booklover41802 **please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged in future chapters**
**Sorry, I know it’s been like ten years. I expected to have more writing time in the summer, but if anything I have less! I’ll try to have chapter seven out as soon as possible. Thanks for sticking with me!
chapter six
Milena
I once asked my parents what life in the Spring Court was like.
I was young, maybe ten years old, but the memory is etched in my mind like an engraving on a stone.
I remember my mother’s expression falling, contentedness merging into distant sorrow. She quickly covered it up, but I still saw and I still remember. She was quick to brush the question away, distracting me with something like candy or a game. I caught Papa’s eye, searching for some sort of explanation. Looking to my mother, he too avoided the question. Alright, I could take a hint. The Spring Court was off-limits, for some unknown reason.
I probably would have forgotten about the incident, but later that night, as Papa was tucking me in, he whispered me a story.
Kneeling next to my bed, the blue faelight casting shadows across his face in an eerie, ghost-like manner, he told me about a male and female–mates–who lived in the Spring Court.
They lived in a cozy little cottage covered in crawling purple clematis, and surrounded on all sides by hedges of sweet wild roses. They had a garden where they grew all the best vegetables, and great big fruit trees. Forget-me-nots lined the path to the front door, which was painted green to match the evergreens. White lace curtains hung in the windows, which were always open to let in the perfume of the flowers.
When it rained, the two would take a stroll down the lane, faces raised to the sky to feel the drops on their cheeks. When it was sunny, they sat together on the porch swing and read each other poetry.
They spent their days tending to the cottage and the garden, sometimes selling their flowers, vegetables, and fruit in the nearby town. They spent their nights whispering plans for the future–what colour to paint the fence, what new flower to grow, what to name their children.
They had neighbours, too. On the left, just a short walk down the road, was a sweet old lady. She baked them all sorts of cookies and squares, and invited them for tea at least once a week. They always obliged.
On the right, quite a bit further down the road, maybe an hour’s walk away, was a male who lived alone. He was kind to the couple, but kept his distance. He always did promise to keep an eye on the female whenever her mate had to go away, though.
The couple lived in their peaceful little cottage for many years. They were happy with their quaint lives, and they were happy with each other.
My papa left after saying those words. He didn’t stick around to answer any of the many questions I had about the story.
Was it a true story? Who were the couple? Are they still alive?
These questions plagued me for nearly a century.
Well, at least I know the answers now.
The letter Mr. Hobkins gave me turned out to be more telling than I could have expected. Addressed to my mother, it was a letter from a woman named Rhiannon Moss. In her letter, Rhiannon reminisced about the years she knew my mother and her mate. How they lived down the road, how they came over for tea once a week. Rhiannon expressed her sorrow that she never got to meet mum’s child–me, I should hope. I don’t know what I’d do if I found out my mother had kept a sibling from me.
It all lines up with the little I know of my parents’ past. They left the Spring Court when Mum found out she was pregnant, so this Rhiannon lady of course never would have met me.
The more I read of Rhiannon’s letter, the more confused I became, although I was finally getting some answers. Why did my parents keep this from me?
Even more confusing, is what Rhiannon says about the male who lives down the road (the single male from Papa’s story, I presume). Apparently, he went crazed with anger shortly after my parents left. His sister had to come live with him because he could hardly look after himself. But two weeks ago (since the letter was sent, four weeks ago from now), his sister passed away, and he disappeared.
That’s why Rhiannon wrote the letter, she says. To warn Mum about him, in case he came to find her for whatever reason.
All this new information is making my head swim.
Rean, who has sat with me the whole time, letting me read and process, silently hands me a cup of sweetened tea.
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” it comes out as a sigh, “I just can’t make sense of it all.”
Luna, who had been pacing the room since Rean and I arrived with the letter, sits next to me on the sofa and takes the letter from my hand. The parchment is crumpled where I had clutched it so tightly. “Can I read it?”
I nod, bringing the cup of tea to my lips and taking a cautious sip of the hot drink.
Luna reads, I sip, Rean puts his hand on my knee. Corin comes back with a tray of food, which he places on the low round table before sitting on the sofa opposite the one the rest of us are on. Rean goes right for the food, but eating is the last thing on my mind right now.
I knew I didn’t know much about my parents’ pasts, but now I wonder if I ever knew them at all.
“I wonder what happened to their neighbour.” Luna looks up from the letter.
“Rhiannon?”
“No, the other one. Emrick Maddox.”
I drop my cup.
“Say that name again.”
“Mila, are you alright?” Rean kneels in front of me, at first to clean up the mess I made, and now to worriedly search my face for answers.
“The other neighbour’s name was Emrick Maddox.”
“Have you heard that name before?” Luna puts a comforting hand on my shoulder.
“It’s the last thing my father said before– before he died. I had no idea what it meant. I guess I had forgotten until now, or didn’t notice when I was reading the letter. How could I have missed it?”
“Do you think he’s the one who did this?” Luna’s face suddenly becomes focused, her dark brows narrowing in anger and protectiveness. My friend, always ready to seek revenge for me.
“Wait, did what?” Rean looks lost. I didn’t even realize I hadn’t told him that Luna and I don’t believe what the authorities told us about the fire. I see the exact moment he understands. “You don’t think the fire was an accident.”
“It all matches up, Rean. Why else would my father say his name? It had to have been a warning.” My mind is reeling. I finally have some answers, a theory that makes sense. I have to pace the room to try and keep up with my thoughts. “And now we know from Rhiannon’s letter that Emrick has been missing, so it’s entirely possible that he set my house on fire and killed my parents.”
“But what’s his motive?” Corin, who has been silent until now, speaks up. “Why would Emrick even want to kill your parents?”
I stop in my tracks. The high from seconds ago has all but disappeared, replaced with the empty hopeless feeling of not knowing.
“Rhiannon wrote the letter as a warning, Corin. Emrick went crazy when Mila’s parents left the Spring Court.” Luna hands him the letter.
I’m having trouble keeping all of this straight. What would I do if I didn’t have some level-headed people with me?
“It has to be Emrick. I’m sure of it. And he’s still out there. Who knows what else he’ll do?”
Rean, looking determined, stands from the couch. He joins, taking my hand in his. He squeezes once. “We’ll find him.”
Luna comes and takes my other hand. Corin stands behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
This is my family. Fierce, protective, loving.
My parents would have loved Rean and Corin too, as they loved Luna.
I feel their presence in the room. A ghost of Papa’s hand on my shoulder, Mum’s on my cheek.
I can’t help the tears that fall, but I feel no sadness. All I can feel is the immense love of my friends, my parents, and my mate.
We can do this. We can track down Emrick and avenge the deaths of my Mum and Papa. This is why Papa warned me, why the letter was brought to us.
“I think we need to pay Rhiannon a visit. If we are going to find Emrick, we need to know more about him and my parents.”
The current “it’s hot and I’m trying to write but desperately failing” mood
I have about half of this chapter of Starlight and Ashes written but I seem to be stuck now ugh
If only I could just transfer the thoughts from my head to all of your heads, this would be a lot easier
I pass the time at work by thinking “but what if this were a bakery in Velaris and feysand son came to buy cheesecake and we fell in love”
ok if anyone was ever wondering where I got the idea for Starlight and Ashes, this is it lmao
tagging: @runesandfaes @acourtofredqueens @havilliardandgalathynius @fiery-feyre @starzablaze @tog-trash @evyfox @rhysands-highlady @ame233 @high-lady-of-rochambeau @musicmaam @empress-ofbloodshed @illyrianbeauty @literarynonsense @thisisvelaris @wolffrising @rhysand-darling @throne-of-wingspans @hail-and-farewell @lady-katkat @destiny14444 @the-dream-team-of-prythian @avocadobubbbletea @lorcanswife @hxylady @abillionlittlepieces @my-life-is-a-drama-book @akranick-author @lottie289 @mariamuses @leulivy @booklover242 @heyme231 @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @rhysisdaddyaf @highladyjel @halcyon-havoc @alexisnm95 @a-canadian-fae @abimomeopectore @herondalesaremycupofale @hxghlady @weaver-of-the-wood **please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged in future chapters**
Chapter Five
Milena
I can’t say it’s the worst meal I’ve ever had. Everyone is welcoming enough, and the conversation is good, but I can’t help but feel out of place. It almost doesn’t feel real that I’m even here. I keep thinking that any moment I’ll snap out of some daydream and be back in my home above the bakery, sitting down to supper with my parents. But the focus of the dinner talk comes back to me, and I know that this is real.
“I hear that you’ve been reading all the books in the library, Mila,” Christine, Rean’s cousin comments as she passes her father the green beans. Cassian is as much the legendary warrior I expected him to be–based on stories every child in Velaris has heard a dozen times over–and I can see it in his daughter as well. I know my every move is being analyzed by her stormy blue eyes, every word turned over for hints and clues. When Rean and I had first arrived in the House dining room, admittedly a few minutes late, she was the first to rush up and greet me. I could only be grateful that she shook my hand rather than hugging me, as both Feyre and Cassian had done.
“Rean’s been showing me all his favourites.” I take a sip of wine, hoping to ease my tension. I wish that Luna could have made it to the meal, just so I could have something familiar to anchor me. Though she seemed excited about the invitation, she sent a message saying that something came up and she couldn’t make it. Rean’s twin, Corin, also was regretful to miss the meal, but had somewhere important to be, or something. “I haven’t seen any of you around while I’ve been here. Who all lives in the House of Wind?”
“At the moment,” Hana, another of Rean’s cousins, speaks up, “just Corin, Rean, Christine, and I. Valeria and Julian are back at the Illyrian camps for another few months.”
“Valeria and Julian are friends from Illyria,” Rean explains when he notices my confusion. “They’re younger by a couple years and still have to finish their training. Corin and I officially finished a decade ago, and Christine did last year. We all still spend a lot of time in Illyria, though.”
“Well, except me.” Hana throws a golden red braid over her shoulder and smiles. I like Hana right away. She is a stark contrast to Christine, all smiles and jokes and bright eyes. I don’t dislike Christine or anything, I just feel like prey under her all-seeing gaze. Hana feels… safer. But first impressions aren’t everything, I remind myself.
I’m more intimidated by the older males and females at the table than anyone else, but not because they’re trying to be intimidating. Quite the opposite, really. I am sitting in the presence of legends and warriors, yet it doesn’t feel like it at all as they make jokes and tease each other like school children.
“I’m just saying, Rhysie,” Cassian drawls to the High Lord, “you’re not the young male you used to be.” I hadn’t been paying attention to the exchange that led up to this particular statement, but I don’t think I have to have been in order to understand the dynamic. It is certainly not what I ever would have imagined from the most powerful fae in the Night Court, but I can’t say I’m disappointed.
“We’re the same age, Cassie,” Rhysand retorts. I have a feeling this is a common exchange based on the expressions of everyone around me that say not this again. I feel a certain level of pity for Feyre and Nesta, who have been dealing with this for centuries. I send a silent prayer to the Mother to give me as much patience as them as Cassian and Rhysand continue in their squabble.
Rean told me to call everyone by their first names, but it still feels wrong. My mother would have made sure I called everyone by their proper title. Surely she would have scolded me for being so laid back with the leaders of our Court.
Movement out of the corner of my eye pulls my attention from the meal. On a gust of cool wind, a winged male enters from the open balcony, another form in his arms. Not just any form, I realize with relief, but Luna. And the male I recognize as Corin, since he looks almost exactly like Rean. The only difference I can tell is that Corin’s hair is purposely unruly, while Rean’s is always smoothed out as much as he can manage (to little avail, but he tries).
Next to me, Rean rises from his seat. I stand as well, rushing to embrace my friend. Something in her eyes makes me worry, but her returned embrace tells me that she’s fine.
“I thought you couldn’t come.”
“I was freed up at the last minute,” she shrugs.
“Well, I’m glad.” Everyone shifts around the table to make room for the two late-comers. Luna on my other side, and Corin next to Rean. Having Luna here instantly calms me down, and the rest of the meal seems to fly by in enjoyable banter. Somehow, we got on the topic of chocolate. There seems to be a danger of me being kicked out of the Court now, given everyone’s reactions to the discovery that I don’t have much of a taste for the stuff. Rean looked as if I had slapped him across the face. Noted: never bring up a distaste for chocolate to the leaders of the Night Court.
Bellies and hearts full by the end of the night, the number of diners at the table dwindles to just four: Corin, Luna, Rean, and I. Draining the last sip of wine from his glass, Rean stands and offers to fly Luna back to her apartment. But Corin, to my surprise but not disappointment, suggests she spend the night at the House of Wind, claiming that it’s getting late anyway. Luna of course doesn’t protest to spending another few hours in the luxurious House. I can’t say I would turn down the soft bed topped with a down duvet and feather pillow, the courtyard blooming with every type of flower, and certainly not the seemingly endless library, all at my fingertips.
All the things I never had before, and yet I feel it will never be enough.
____________
Rean
Mila clutches my arm. She holds tight wherever we go, and the streets of Velaris are no exception. Even when we enter shops to browse, she stays close at my side. I don’t mind, but I worry about her. She hasn’t spoken much at all about Starfall, not that I’ve asked much anyway. I just don’t want her to bottle everything up, for the fear that she might overflow.
We walk aimlessly through the streets, taking the day away from the House of Wind to go wherever we are taken. We each hold bags on our free arms, filled with candy and trinkets we’ve bought along the way. We have no final destination or goal to worry about.
I lead Milena left at the next street, admiring the trees that line the path in front of the shops and houses.
Mila lets go of my arm, stopping suddenly.
I realize the mistake I have made.
Across the tree-lined street, like a blot of ink on a letter, are the grey, ashy ruins of Mila’s home.
She stares, but her expression reveals no emotion.
Slowly, she sits on the stone curb, pulling her legs under her. Slowly, I sit next to her.
We stare.
We don’t speak for a long while. What can I say?
“When I was a child,” Mila starts, “I was convinced my mother was a healer. The greatest healer in Prythian, even.” She pulls a ring from her finger and fiddles with it as she speaks. “I thought this because every time I got hurt–a splinter in my finger, a scrape on my knee–my mother could instantly make me feel better. She would sit me down on the kitchen table, wipe the tears from my eyes, and tell me to sit very still so she could make the hurt go away.
“Hold still, buttercup, or the magic won’t work,” was what she would always say. Then she would take the injured finger or knee or elbow in her hand and bring it to her lips, leaving the softest of kisses. And it worked every time. I would hop off the table and run back outside to play, the injury forgotten.
“When I got a little older and emotional hurt was more common than physical, she would do the same little healing ritual to cheer me up. Sitting me down on my bed or hers, she would place that same soft kiss on my forehead, and whisper, “I love you, buttercup.” And while it didn’t always work instantly, as some hurts were very deep, I would always feel even just a little bit better than before.
“Of course I know now that she wasn’t a healer, and actually carried very little magic in her blood. I know that it was all in my head. But to a child, a comforting mother is the most powerful healer in Prythian. There was nothing she couldn’t fix.
I long for one of my mother’s healing kisses now more than ever. I need her to make me feel better. But I know that I’ll have to find another way. My mother isn’t here to kiss away my hurt, and it’s that feeling of… finality that makes me hurt the most.” Tears threaten to fall from her green eyes, but she blinks them away. She sniffs once.
It’s my turn to talk. I take a deep breath.
“There used to be another member of our group–our ‘Inner Circle 2.0’. He trained with Corin, Christine, and I at the Illyrian camps. His name was Isaias, and the four of us were inseparable.” Isaias’s laughing face is forever burned into my memory, and I see him now. The deep dimples, the nearly closed hazel eyes, the crooked teeth. I hear his laugh.
“He… struggled a bit with the training. When it came time for the Rite, he insisted on participating with the rest of us. We weren’t about to keep him from doing it, though we all wanted to, and in the end…”
His laugh. His smile. His face.
“In the end he didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not telling you this to turn this into some sort of pity-party. I’m telling you because I know some of what you’re feeling right now. I want you to know that it will get easier. The hurt will fade. It may never go away, but eventually you might go a day without noticing the pain. A week. It will always be a part of you, but with time, you’ll be able to live with it.”
Mila meets my eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers thickly.
“Milena!”
Mila and I both turn to the direction of the voice, coming from the house next to what is now the ruins of Mila’s home. A white-haired male in a blue apron is walking across the street to where Mila and I sit. I assume Mila knows who he is, as she stands up and hugs him in greeting. In a tight-knit community like this one, neighbours are as close as family. Evident by the sign I now notice above his building, this neighbour is a florist. The sign reads El and Al’s Floral Arrangements.
“Mr. Hobkins, I’m glad to see you again.” Mila pulls back from her embrace of the florist, and takes a step closer to me. “This is Rean. I’ve been staying with him in the House of Wind.”
Mr. Hobkins extends a hand for me to shake. “Well I’ll be! We all wondered where you’d gone off to. How’d you end up there, of all places?”
She chuckles nervously, running a hand through her golden hair. “It’s a bit of a long story. I think I’ll stay there for a while though, til things get sorted out.”
Mr. Hobkins looks me in the eye, his brown eyes less warm than they had been a moment ago. “You make sure she’s alright, boy. You look after her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, leave him be, Mr. Hobkins. Rean’s been nothing but kind. He’s, uh… he’s my mate.” The word coming from her makes my heart skip a beat. Mr Hobkins, on the other hand, looks ready to cry for joy. He pulls Mila in for another hug. Then, to my surprise, pulls me into a warm embrace as well.
“I almost forgot,” he says, dabbing a tear from the corner of his eye, “in all this excitement it slipped my mind entirely. I’m not as young as I used to be, you know. My memory’s not quite so good.”
“What is it?”
He reaches into the pocket of his apron, producing from it a letter marked with a green seal. “This letter was meant for your house, but ended up at mine. I thought you’d like to have it, so as soon as I saw you sitting out here, I ran and got it. I’ve had it since the day of the accident.” The florist tears up again, but I know this time it’s not for joy. He must have been very close with Mila’s parents.
Mila inspects the letter. I’m not sure if it’s the letter or Mr. Hobkins, but there is a faint scent of roses in the air. I have a feeling it’s the former, since I didn’t notice the scent before he took the letter out.
“It’s addressed to my mother, but I don’t recognize the sender. Do you know who Rhiannon Moss is?”
“I haven’t a clue,” the florist shrugs. “I figured you’d want to read whatever was in it though. And I suppose I should leave you to it. Don’t be a stranger, Milena. Come visit me and El anytime.”
Mila pulls her attention from the writing on the envelope. “Thank you so much, Mr. Hobkins.”
“I think I should open this at the House of Wind,” she says once he’s back inside. “I feel like whatever is in this letter might give a clue to what happened to my parents.”
it’s been so incredibly long since I’ve put out a chapter…
chapter five is maybe 1/3 done, but I seem to have lost some inspiration. I’ve written I think one sentence in the past week and a half.
I’d really like to finish, because I still love this story and my characters, and I have some more stuff planned with this universe with Bon. I just don’t know when I’ll get around to actually writing it.
I’ve been distracted lately with mapping out an original story idea I had, and it’s been super fun. I also have a couple other fics in the works, and a whole bunch of prompts in my inbox.
I guess what I’m saying is I’ll get to it when I get to it? Again, sorry 
foxboylucien 