Lucy Amber's final moments on Earth were spent driving in the rain.
It is only a minute upon entering her car that it begins; she probably should have heeded the angry patters against her window as a sign to not drive, but all Lucy wanted in those moments was to go home after a long day at work to her mother. It was with this longing that spurred her to take the short route home, up and around the mountain that overlooked the town's great lake. Even then, she knew it was stupid. Driving in the rain altogether was risky, but up that mountain slope was another. But the aching of her feet, her mother's smile, and her home's heater were great motivators in doing stupid, spur-of-the-moment things.
She sets the basket of fruit her boss, a kind elderly lady named Eliza who apparently had a ridiculous amount of fruit trees, had gifted her earlier that day. For all your hard work, Lucinda, she had said. At first, she had refused it, despite how good it all looked, the collections of apples, oranges, pears, and grapes neatly arranged in the basket. Fruit was so expensive nowadays, Lucy and her mother rarely got to eat them. Waitressing at a bar every day and singing on Friday nights were far from hard work to Lucy; in fact, she rather enjoyed it. But Eliza had only shaken her head, explaining she had no grandchildren of her own to spoil, and that Lucy was the closest she'd probably ever get. She had almost caved then and there, but it was her comment that she could share it with her mother that truly pushed Lucy to accept it. You told me your mother loved green apples, so I made sure to pack some extras!
She drums her fingers against the steering wheel, listening to her phone's car playlist through her second-hand aux cord. It's a rather quiet night, the usually busy city devoid of much traffic. It made passing up the mountain range all the easier, as she carefully, slowly, drove up the slopes of the mountain. She winces as a crack of thunder resonates outside, barely holding back a shriek. She grumbles to herself, struggling to see ahead of her as her little windshield wipers fought a losing battle against the rain.
"Dammit," She curses to herself, reaching across to the passenger seat to grab something from Eliza's fruit basket. A small snack for the ride wouldn't hurt.
She can't say for certain what happened after that. She remembers another crack of thunder, and suddenly losing control of the car. Fruit goes flying everywhere as her car spins out of control, and then, to Lucy's absolute horror, off the edge of the road, down the mountain, and into the lake below. The windshield cracks upon the impact, the windows of her car smashed from rolling down the mountain. She surges forward as the car makes contact with the lake's surface, her seatbelt painfully driving into her ribs and shoulder.
Her heart hammers in her ears, barely registering the gashes on her arms from shielding her face during the fall as she desperately claws at her belt buckle, desperate to escape, but it does little. She feels the water begin to pour into her car as it slowly sinks, her feet, then her legs, slowly but surely becoming submerged. She screams and cries, frantically pulling at the buckle as the water rises higher, and higher, and higher. She cries and shrieks, screaming for help, but it does nothing. No one was going to hear her over the rain and thunder. As she feels the water pool at her chin, she takes a few final gasping breaths, filling her lungs with as much air as possible, before her entire form is finally submerged in the water.
It is then that she realizes she is going to die here.
But she doesn't want to die here; not like this. There was so much more she had to do in this life. She thinks of her mother, wheelchair-bound yet so full of joy and life, Eliza's generosity, her neighbor's dog that she pets through the fence every day as she goes to work, her small circle of friends outside of work; so many things she lived for. She couldn't die here. And so, in a final effort to escape, she desperately reaches out the window, fingers searching for something - anything - to pull her out of the water. Please, please, don't let me die here. But there was nothing. Only water and nothingness.
But then, as her vision mercifully fades to black, her form finally going limp, she swears she feels someone grasp her outstretched hand.
Nesta Archeron is not a woman who shows fear.
She did show her fear when Thomas Mandray forcefully put his hands on her and tried to rip her dress open. She did not show her fear when she hired mercenaries to take her to the wall to find Feyre. She did not show her fear when she and her sister were kidnapped to be a bargaining chip in fae politics.
No, Nesta Archeron was not a woman who shows fear. She had learned to harness that weakness a long time ago, turn it into bitterness and fury, and fight.
And she had never fought harder than in this moment, as two fae men dragged her towards the Cauldron. To be their test. To be a source of torture for her sister. To be turned into a fae.
She fights the whole way. She twists and turns in their grasp, the grip on her arms so hard she swears her bones will crack at any moment. She screams and growls, hissing in untamed fury. She kicks and flails, desperate to put up as much of a fight as possible. She would not go down without fighting. She would make them suffer as much as possible until the end.
She hears Elain crying. Feyre screaming. Cassian groaning in pain. It only makes her fight harder.
It is as her legs become submerged into the Cauldron's murky waters that she glances up and sees the smirking face of the King of Hybern. His sickly sweet smile, mirth dancing in his eyes at their suffering. At her suffering. At Elain's suffering. And in a final desperate attempt to fight back, she wretches one of her hands free from the fae man's grasp, and points her finger at him, promising death.
She will kill them for this. She will make them all suffer for this.
That is her final thought as a human woman before she is shoved under the water.
But she does not stop fighting there. No, Nesta would fight until her dying breath. She twists and turns, arms frantically waving about. Her eyes sting as she opens them to the murky waters of the Cauldron, searching for something - anything - to help her. She feels the Cauldron's power surrounding her, entering her, but she keeps fighting. It only makes her fight harder, kicking and screaming, arms thrashing.
It is as she feels herself change that, in a final fight against the most powerful magical artifact in Prythian, she claws at the powers at work, and feels something rip open.
She isn't entirely sure what she had done, but it is a victory nonetheless. She surges herself forward, desperate to see what she had done to the Cauldron. Through the murky waters, she can faintly make out the outline of an outstretched hand, and that is all the motivation she needs. She reaches out, into whatever tear she had made into the Cauldron, and grasps it.
And as she pulled back up from the Cauldron, she does not let go.