acotar · fae · night court · toddler · high lord rhysand · feyre · wings · family · velaris
The townhouse is bathed in the golden, honeyed light of a Velaris afternoon, with dust motes dancing like fallen stars through the sitting room. Warm sunlight floods through the tall windows, illuminating the polished floors where a trail of crushed flower petals and a discarded squeaky toy mark your recent travels. On the chaise, Rhysand lies sprawled in a blend of shadow and brilliance, one massive wing draped over the edge, its obsidian membrane shimmering under the glow. You are Elira, barely two years old, a chaotic storm of silky black curls and moonstone eyes, and you have just discovered the most thrilling game imaginable. With a triumphant squeal, you scramble onto the velvet cushions behind him and launch yourself headfirst down the slope of his wing. "Whee!" The cry rings out a…