Rage Personified

Summary: A brief look into the mind of Nesta Archeron. **Spoilers for ACOMAF and ACOWAR**

Disclaimer: ACOTAR series and it's characters belong to Sarah J. Maas.

The book wasn't holding her attention at all. Her mind kept fleeing the world of fiction for her reality; worry about Elain kept rearing its head…and if Nesta was being honest, she was worried about Feyre too. Though she had long proven that she could take care of herself, Nesta couldn't shake the story, the look in Feyre's eyes whenever she had talked about that former High Lord.

She had been so in love with him. And if what the others said was true, she had died to save him, save them all. What could have went so wrong between them that she would end up in the hands of this new High Lord? Nesta hadn't had the chance to ask when she was human…and now she didn't really care too.

That High Lord and his lackey had sold them out to Hybern…had betrayed them. Her fingers tightened around the sides of the book. That power, that awful thing inside of her, rose up again, rolling and clawing at her skin, demanding out. Her next thought did little to calm her. That lackey—the red head—had dared to approach Elain….had dared to utter that word she still didn't fully understand. Mate.

Mate. Just what was that? Feyre and bat-boy were mates. That much had been obvious to her as a human. Feyre and he were so interlinked that even back before she had stumbled into this horrible place, she had drawn the night sky onto her dresser. She had been born on the Winter Solstice; the longest night of the year. It was almost as if the universe had paid homage to the Fae male that would one day fall into her life.

It was disgusting.

And the way that bastard had taunted those traitorous queens, saying that maybe they would find mates of their own. Nesta shuddered. She hoped she never found hers. The way the red head had looked at Elain…as if he were going to steal her away at the first seconds notice. That light in his eyes had spoken of his intent. It didn't matter that Elain had just been violated, he would have taken her then and there back to the Spring Court, taken her away from her.

Feyre. Feyre had stopped it. Nesta's hand loosened on the strained book as she thought of her baby sister. Capable, loyal Feyre. She was now in the den of the enemy…because of them. Because of this motely crews' failure to live up to their promises, Nesta's entire world had been drown in scalding tar.

And this new body was too strange, too…stifling for her to go after Feyre. She was certain that if she knocked on the door of the Spring Court, those idiots would let her in. That red headed prick would look at her with hope, possibly look around her shoulder, and wonder if Elain would be behind her. Nesta snorted. 'Elain,' that familiar sting built in her eyes.

Elain was the only reason she didn't flee to find Feyre like she had before. Elain…needed more care than Feyre. Elain was gentle, sweet, and easily broken. Feyre had always been like the phoenix…or the moon. No matter how hard things got, how the weather churned, Feyre would always rise again. Elain didn't have that kind of strength. And maybe it made her a monster…to choose one sister over the other…yet she always reasoned Feyre would be fine.

Now, her gut churned with the realization that she might not be…and Nesta was helpless. A growl—a sound she hadn't been able to make as well when human—tore from her throat. The sound surprised her. For a moment, her anger fled.

'A half-wild beast….that is what I used to call Feyre…' Yet another hurtful thing Nesta had done that she was not proud of. 'But now I suppose we all are…' Nesta had never hated anything more.

"You look like your deep in thought. Should I come back whenever this rare occasion is absent?" Her eye twitched almost immediately. There he was. Cassian. He always seemed to show up at the same time, when she wanted him least. Which was most of the time. He took her silence as a challenge and sank onto the couch across from her. "You know, you could leave the library." He remarked. "There is a lot more to the House of Wind than what you are seeing."

"I don't care to see it," she snapped, returning her eyes to her book. Anything to keep from looking at the twitching wings on his back. The only sign that they still pained him…yet every day, he was here. The first day, he had apologized for not being able to do anything, for not saving them. His hazel eyes had been so vulnerable, so sorrowful. He had held her hands in his; ran his thumbs over the back of her hand; and she had ignored it. She had ignored everything he had shown her, everything he had said, and hurled those barbed words she knew would cut him.

Nesta, of course, was logical enough to know that he couldn't have done anything. His wings had been shredded to pieces. She knew that if she glanced over her book at him again, she would see the faint scars reflecting in the light of the room. But her anger was not logical. And she was nothing but rage at the moment.

No one had been able to help her; no one had even tried.

Elain and herself had been turned into these monsters they had feared all their lives.

Elain's life was now ripped apart. She cried day and day again over the loss of the love, over the fate that had befallen her.

Nesta was just so angry.

Yet, he came every day. From the moment he had woken him, been deemed healed enough to fly, he had come here. He kept coming back, no matter how vicious her words got, how badly she cut into him…or how loud their screaming matches became.

Then…

Then…

One day, he didn't come.

She was cross with how badly that worried her.