I'm so sorry that it's taken months for me to update (and that this is so short). I'm having some trouble with some storylines and characters, but hopefully I can get on top of that soon. This was supposed to be the start of a longer chapter (which I've had lying around for months) but since I haven't really progressed much, I might as well upload it. Anyways, enjoy.

...

Entering Celaena's apartment for the first time felt like a blessing, and a curse. She felt like she was intruding in something personal, like she was seeing something private-something she wasn't supposed to. And this apartment had been Sam's too. Sam, who no longer had a heartbeat; no longer had a life. And though he never truly cared for her, and though she never truly cared for him, she wished with every inch of her heart that he would find closure; that he would be avenged.

Lysandra wished that Celaena would find it within herself to kill Arobynn. To mar his cruel face, and to destroy his fickle soul. Once, she had believed that Arobynn was soulless, for how a man like that could possess something as pure as a soul was beyond her. Now she knew better. Souls weren't magical, fluffy, heaven-sent things. No. They were dark and gritty. They reminded you that you were alive, no matter how hard you tried to think otherwise. They reminded you that you hurt, that you were lost, that you can suffer. And they taught you to lie, because how could you bring that same suffering upon someone else?

And so she had lied. She had smiled, and laughed. She had painted on happiness with her mouth and teeth. She had told Celaena that she had enjoyed Arobynn, had found him attractive. Because that was what she wanted to hear. Not the truth, where Arobynn had taken her by the hair, and slammed her onto the bed.

That he had been rough, and her tears had been his prize. He did not hold her afterwards, did not stroke her hair, did not tell her that he loved her. He did not say sorry, or whisper words of encouragement. She didn't expect it. She had grown up knowing that she would have to spend her entire life (or until she eventually paid off Clarisse) selling herself out to people like Arobynn. But the reality…that was even worse than the anticipation.

That she felt broken, had felt like a puppet on strings, had felt like a toy. But he had been cautious, and cunning even on the edge of climax. He knew how to hurt her, hurt her in a way that would not leave bruises. So when she awoke, her body was not the canvas of blues and blacks that she was expecting. No. The only pain was the faint reminder of where Arobynn had been last night. And the nights after. All the pain had been inside. And so she had become an actress.

Especially when it became routine, and the training kicked in, and she pretended that she was a theatre putting on its best play.

What did it matter anyway? She would return to Arobynn's side, and Celaena would go her merry way, oblivious. It was better that way.

She still hoped, though, that Celaena would do it. Lysandra could feel Celaena's eyes on her back as she walked around, her hands trailing on every surface. She wanted to breathe in every inch of dust, every scent of perfume. Anything to take over the scent of the keep; anything that would remind her of a happier place. Of a place that she could once, maybe, call home.

"What do you think?" Aelin asked after a few minutes of silence, and Lysandra looked up; up into those deep turquoise eyes.

"It's spacious," Lysandra said, a smile forming on her lips. "And you have so much stuff."

Aelin rolled her eyes. "You mean the stuff I took the keep. I paid good money for that, as you should know."

Oh didn't she know. She paid the price for Arobynn's lavish spendings. At least Madame Clarisse was pleased with her. At least that was something.

Aelin studied Lysandra's features curiously. She noted how the courtesan had her hands on the table-not resting per se, but almost as if she were clutching the air above it, using that to somehow hold onto that table forever.

But her smile, oh that seemed genuine. In fact, this was the most open Aelin had ever seen Lysandra. She thought it strange that during all those years at the keep, she had never been able to see Lysandra; that it took a chance meeting years later for her to figure it out.

"You could stay here, you know," Aelin whispered, bringing a hand to rest on Lysandra's. "Imagine it, a life away from Arobynn, just you and me."

Lysandra burst out laughing; the sound like soft tinkering bells. "That's the dream, Celaena. But you and I both know that we'd both be dead long before I can actually move in with you and your men."

"They're not my men," Aelin said, feeling the need to emphasise to Lysandra, who probably knew that she and Chaol had been involved. "And besides, Ren couldn't keep his eyes off you this whole time. I don't think he's my man."

Lysandra shoved her, and Aelin caught her hand, laughing.

"Wait, which one is Ren again?"

Aelin rolled her eyes, her eyes flickering to Ren whose eyes were glued on her companion's emerald green eyes, pink tinging his cheeks. Honestly.

It seemed Lysandra had finally noticed too. "Shit, Celaena," she cursed. "Why does that boy keep staring at me?"

Aelin laughed. "That's Ren. I think he fancies courting you or something."

At Lysandra's shocked expression, Aelin's face sombered. "I'll talk to him."

"No," Lysandra muttered, her eyes finding Aelin's again. They held. "I'll do it myself."