TW: miscarriage, death, depression, self-blame, eating disorder, victim blaming, disassociation, mentioned sexual assault
A/N: Huge shoutout and thank you to thewayshedreamed (on Tumblr) for beta-reading this fic and for being so supportive! I couldn't have done without you Dani!
Also, tysm perseusannabeth (on Tumblr) for listening to my early rambles abt this fic, and bookstantrash (on Tumblr) for helping my indecisive self finish up editing this. Love you guys :)
(Also yes don't worry, this will have at least one more chapter).
Green. The color of grass and Springtime, when seeds sprout and eggs hatch.
Blue. The color of the sky. The color of her mother's eyes. Would she have seen those eyes beneath their sleepy, blinking lids?
Red. Her legs were coated in an ominous crimson as she raced to the hospital. As her baby, who had never had the chance to become a baby, never had the chance to take a breath of air, never had the chance to see or hear or smell or taste or touch, to have eyes and legs and fingers, disintegrated.
Maybe she should have screamed. Nesta had always been one to go down fighting, kicking and screaming and biting, even if it seemed hopeless. Maybe she should have yelled at the healers to do something, to save her baby's life, instead of just telling her that her child was gone.
The world looked grey now. It was a blurry and muffled, as if she were underwater. Perhaps this was all just a Cauldron-induced nightmare. Was she still drowning in its depths? Had everything that had happened after that point merely been a taunting vision?
But the cramps she felt were too real. Besides, she couldn't bring herself to care about what reality was anyway. Even if everything was just a vision, her child was dead. Cassian's child was dead. That was her reality.
So she sat on her bed in her two-day-old pajamas, staring at the grey wall, wishing she hadn't taken for granted all the times when it had looked green.
A knock sounded on the door of her bedroom.
"Nesta, come on, we're going to be late!" Cassian's voice called through her door.
Was she supposed to go somewhere, wondered a small voice at the back of her mind. But mostly she was too tired to think, let alone to talk, or — gods forbid!— move. No way was she going anywhere, not even the kitchen.
"Nesta!" At her lack of response, Cassian opened the door and entered. He looked startled as he took in her attire. "We're supposed to be at Rhys' place in ten minutes! Come on, get dressed!"
Oh, yes, Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court, host of dinner parties, husband of Feyre, and father of Nyx. Nyx would have been her baby's cousin. Would they have had the same jet-black, silky hair? The same sunkissed, almond skin tone? Would they have played together?
Perhaps they would have sat next to each other on the swings, and Feyre and Nesta would have stood behind them, pushing them gently and chatting softly.
"Nesta!"
You have to answer, Nesta told herself. She couldn't let Cassian suspect that something was wrong with her. If he did, he'd offer her kindness that would make her break down and confess everything. She couldn't let herself hurt him that way. After all, she hadn't even gotten the chance to tell him she was pregnant.
Taking a silent deep breath through her nose, Nesta steeled herself and forced herself to say, "I'm not going." Cassian would never know that those were the first words she'd said since the healers had told her the news.
"What? Please, last week you promised you were coming!" Cassian huffed, frustrated. "Are you trying to punish me for staying out late last night having drinks with Rhys?"
She couldn't make herself answer. It took all her energy to sit upright and blink every once in a while, when all she wanted was to melt into a puddle or to fall asleep and never have to wake up again.
"Seriously, Nesta? Look, I'm sorry, alright? Would you please just get dressed?"
I'm sorry, Cassian. I'm sorry that I'm being difficult. I'm sorry that you always have to put up with me. I'm sorry that no matter how hard I try, I can't be a perfect wife the way Feyre is to Rhysand. I'm sorry that I'm irritable and difficult. I'm sorry that our baby is dead.
The words didn't seem to escape her lips, since Cassian's didn't respond; he just continued to stare at her expectantly, with slight frustration in his gaze.
She shook her head in response to his question. The action made her nauseous, probably because she hadn't eaten in over 24 hours.
Cassian opened his mouth to attempt to convince her to go, but shut it without uttering a word. He had probably realized that nothing he said would convince her.
"Is everything okay? Do you need me to stay home with you?"
No. Nothing was okay and never would be, because nothing, not even the gods-damn Cauldron, could bring their baby back. Nesta could never ever fix it. She wanted to wrap herself in his arms and yell at the world but none of that would bring them back. No, the only thing Nesta could do was to spare Cassian the pain. She needed to rein in her selfish desire for comfort and instead make sure Cassian never, ever found out. Cassian, who had never had a father and had lost his mother too early in life, who had been dealt a hand with far too much loss and violence, didn't deserve to be hurt this way. This was Nesta's burden to be shouldered.
So Nesta merely shook her head again. As she watched Cassian's figure retreat out of the room and leap into the sky, she realized that suffering alone would make her feel a little less useless. If she could cry for both of them and hurt for both of them, then her pain would serve to keep the smile on Cassian's face and the light in Cassian's eyes.
And for that, for him, she'd willingly endure any torture. She'd willingly condemn herself to eternal silent suffering, if only to spare the male she loved — the male who was, and had always been, far too good for her. For Cassian, she would survive this.
Nesta sat there alone as the light outside faded and the room grew darker. She had no idea how much time passed. She just sat there, trying to push all her thoughts out of her head.
Pitiful, that's what it was. She was supposed to be a Valkyrie — strong both physically and mentally. Why was it that now, she failed to do even what she'd learned in the first days of mind-stilling exercises with Gwyn?
She needed to get her emotions under control. So far, she'd managed to keep Cassian unaware. The day of her miscarriage, Cassian had been dealing with trouble in Illyria and had come home late. He had kept his emotional shields up as he usually did when with his troops, so he hadn't felt her pain through the bond — pain she hadn't managed to contain despite her best attempts as she felt her joy bleed out of her. If Cassian had smelt any of the blood that had refused to leave her clothes, then he likely assumed it was just wounds from training and hadn't said a thing. He had spent the next day discussing strategy with Azriel and Rhysand and had gone drinking with them afterwards. Honestly, it was a miracle that she had been able to keep up this facade for so long, with her obvious despair permeating the room.
She had to pull herself together.
Just… maybe not just yet. Right now, it was a struggle just to take another breath. Her stomach grumbled, urging her to feed herself. However, her legs, which were number than her heart and steadier than her mental shields, refused to budge. She closed her eyes for a moment and wondered why she was surprised that her body was failing her yet again. As much as she had grown to love her body while training to become a Valkyrie and fighting in the Blood Rite, she should not have forgotten that it wasn't really hers. No, this High Fae body was given to her by the Cauldron. Although, it was debatable whether she had ever really owned her body. Had her human body not been a tool cultivated by her mother to manipulate powerful men? But still, despite being malnourished, it had been hers — enough for her to fight tooth and nail to preserve its purity against aggressive ex-fiancés.
This body… Nesta wanted to think that she owned it. It had grown and changed with her, becoming stronger and fuller and more flexible. Perhaps this was just a reminder that nothing really belonged to anyone. Her body, her soul — it was all part of the universe and in truth, she was powerless to control its fate. Her baby, too. They had never really been hers.
Nesta had been so excited to share the news with Cassian when she had found out a month ago. Anxious too of course, but mainly excited. She had read up about every detail, since she was not as informed as she wanted to be about the differences between human and Fae pregnancy. She researched everything from the best foods to eat during pregnancy to how long to breastfeed to whether flying was safe during the later months. She had even found information on how to make a safe, enclosed space with a soft floor where an infant illyrian could start to fly.
At first, she wanted to tell Cassian, but she had read about it and decided to surprise him with it as a Solstice present. She had imported a special candle from the Day Court which masked the scent of her pregnancy and had made sure to hide her nausea from Cassian to avoid his suspicion and worry.
Now, she was glad she'd decided not to tell him.
She opened her eyes, sighing softly, and found a tray of food lying next to her. As she picked up the spoon and took a bite, she realized it was all her comfort food: a plate with fried potatoes topped with fried egg, along with seafood paella and a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
"Thank you," she whispered to the House — her first real friend. Eating made her feel slightly better, even if it was just because doing something occupied her mind. Still not all her thoughts were silenced: as she took a bite of the eggs, she couldn't help but remember reading about how eggs had high nutritional value and were a food source of nutrients for pregnant females.
When she finished eating — which, to her surprise, was when almost everything on the tray was gone — a few books appeared, replacing the tray. Instead of the usual romance, these were fantasy. The House had clearly sensed that Nesta needed to escape reality for a while and that reading about happy couples would only make her feel worse.
Nesta breathed in the scent of the book — the ink, the pages, the book-binding glue — and felt a sense of calm wash over her as her problems faded away.
Later, when exhaustion finally closed her eyelids, she fell asleep still clutching an open book to her chest, her mind soaring over glittering seas riding an iridescent thousand-year old dragon.
"Nesta?"
She awoke to the sound of a female voice calling her name through the door. She blinked and looked around, still groggy. She wondered briefly why Cassian was not sleeping next to her before recalling the events of the past few days.
"Nesta, you better be fully dressed because we're coming in!" called a different voice.
Emerie. Gwyn. What were they doing here? Had she forgotten to tell them she wasn't going to training? No, she had definitely let them know that she wasn't feeling well and couldn't attend. There was no reason for them to suspect otherwise, not after they'd seen Nesta dry heaving after training last week due to her morning sickness.
Nesta opened her mouth, trying to formulate some response that would make them leave but she found that she couldn't use her voice. The thought of pretending to be alright exhausted her despite the fact that she had quite literally just woken up.
The door opened and the two females entered. As they gazed at her, Nesta knew she should try to put on her regular expression but it was futile.
Emerie's eyes softened and Nesta resisted the urge to flinch. She didn't want their pity. She didn't want their comfort. She didn't-
"We were wondering if you were willing to invite us," Gwyn said tentatively. "We missed the Pegasus."
"And the food," Emerie added.
"And you, of course." Gwyn's eyes pierced her and Nesta knew her friend could see the sadness that was drowning her, burying her alive.
"But mainly the books and the food," Emerie said, smirking.
The light, joking air they put on was for her sake. Because they knew that, no matter how far she'd come, Nesta tended to retreat into her shell when things got bad. That her old habit returned and she needed to be gently coaxed into talking about her feelings. She needed to be reminded that people loved her and that she deserved to be loved.
It was because of Gwyn and Emerie that Nesta found the strength to get out of bed and walk with them to the living room.
She didn't miss the long glances Emerie and Gwyn shared as they seemed to be debating what to do, but she didn't react to them.
"So, Nesta," Emerie said, "I actually read this book recently, I think it was called Amethyst Mischief? It was incredible."
"Oh, who was it by?" Gwyn inquired.
"Asterion Winika. She also wrote Tinted Skies of Raleigh. Have you heard of it?"
"No," Gwyn replied. Nesta shook her head as well.
"Well, it's about this young female who was born in a world where there is a form of alchemic magic that they call 'technology' which is based on lighting-generated impulses. They power thousands of different things with this lighting energy, which they call electricity. Anyway, so this female was travelling…"
As Emerie recounted her story, with Gwyn chiming in occasionally, Nesta felt as though she were slowly thawing. It was as though she'd been encased in a cloud of heavy despair and now, the dark clouds were slowly moving to let a tiny stream of sunlight through. Her sadness still clung to her, but it had loosened its grip slightly, giving her room to breathe.
Although she could not attempt to feel joy, she felt like she was able to get through her day — to make it through without feeling as though she was being crushed by a mountain (now, it only felt like a boulder).
At the end of the afternoon, as she walked her friends to the door to say goodbye, she felt like she would be able to survive this. She just had to take it one step at a time.
Cassian groaned, his arms raised above his head as he stretched in his chair.
"Long day?" Nesta asked. The dinner table, with their now empty plates, stood between them.
"Full day of training and drills with the Illyrians," he replied, closing his eyes in exhaustion. "Sorry I didn't come home last night. I needed to head to Illyria and-"
"It's fine. Gwyn and Emerie came over today," she said quickly, before steering the conversation away from her again. "How did the training go?"
Cassian let out a tired half-laugh, his eyes still shut. "About how you'd expect. Over-enthusiastic and energetic new recruits who need to learn some discipline, conniving warlords, disrespectful and power hungry males all around. But the drills went well."
Pride cut through the haze of his exhaustion as he uttered that last phrase.
He opened his eyes. "It's something beautiful, watching them all come together to fight. Of course I hope we won't ever have another war but when we do these drills and they get into formations and fight the siphon-made simulation, they stop being individuals who are desperate for power and recognition and instead become the legendary Illyrian army. Watching those recruits who'd usually beat each other up for an extra portion of meat work together, helping each other up and guarding each other's blind spots…"
His hazel eyes shone like liquid gold as awe colored his voice.
"It's like Enalius is there. It's glorious and it's, well, I guess it's why I love doing my job," he smiled.
As she watched him, joy sparked in her chest which she felt keenly given its absence in the past three days. People often forgot that Cassian's passion matched her own. They believed him to be easy going due to his mask of innuendoes, jokes, and smiles, and didn't bother to notice his fire. Nesta loved watching him get passionate about subjects he loved. His face, his voice, and his soul lit up and Nesta couldn't help but smile as he bloomed in front of her — fireworks breaking through the darkness of her despair.
Once in bed, Cassian promptly passed out. Laying curled against him, with his arm and wing tossed over her, Nesta felt his heat seep into her bones. In his cocoon, she felt safe, protected from the harsh tragedies she wanted to forget. Her last thought as she succumbed to Morpheus' lull was that as long as she had Cassian, she would be alright.
Nesta woke alone.
She got out of bed, threw on a robe over her nightgown, and headed towards the kitchen where Cassian probably was. Her fae ears picked up the sound of faint voices, growing louder as she approached.
Nesta entered the kitchen. For a brief moment, she absorbed the sunlight that streamed in through the window and felt at peace. Then, she took in her surroundings — or more precisely, the people who surrounded her. Cassian was in the kitchen, of course, but alongside him stood not only Azriel but also Mor, Rhys and Feyre. They seemed to be having breakfast together, as Cassian and Az cooked something on the stove while Mor and Feyre chatted as the blonde made tea. Why they had all decided to gather in her house this morning, she had no idea. Perhaps Cassian had invited them and hadn't bothered to inform her. Or perhaps they thought that since this house had once belonged to Rhysand, they were still allowed to come and go unannounced as they pleased. Either way, she was in no state to deal with so many people, especially so early in the day.
Hoping to get some caffeine into her system, she took a step towards the cupboard to grab a mug when she noticed something moving at Feyre's feet. A flutter of wings, chubby outstretched fingers, and rounded violet-blue eyes froze her in her tracks. Nyx. The sight stabbed her sharply and pain flooded her senses as a sludge of ugly emotions bled from the wound.
Why was it that Nyx was able to be standing there, in perfect health, with his perfect arms and legs and hair and wings, while her baby had never even gotten a chance to grow any of their own? Why was it that Nyx could hold onto his mother's leg, babbling happily, while Nesta would never be able to hold her baby, let alone hear their voice or see their smile? Why was it that Nyx could be alive, could be born and grow up, getting a little bigger and stronger everyday, while Nesta's baby had never even tasted a second of life?
Rage and despair churned into a violent tornado. Nyx let out a soft cry, as her baby never would. Feyre placed a kiss on his brow, as Nesta would never be able to do. Nyx exhaled air that her baby would never breathe.
Too much. The tornado had shredded her insides — her passionate heart, the temporary joy the afternoon with her friends and the night with Cassian had placed in her, the strength cultivated by her mother and her society and later by herself — all torn to pieces.
The tornado threatened to escape her, to cut others to ribbons with sharp words and destructive acts, but Nesta used the remaining shards of herself to hold it in.
Nyx laughed a toddler's laugh: bubbly and consuming and innocent. Because that's what he was: an innocent toddler.
How could she have, even for a moment, wished ill upon such a being? Not just any child, but Nyx. Nyx, for whom she had sacrificed her powers. Nyx, whom she had rocked to sleep and fed apple-sauce to and babysat countless times. Nyx, who always smiled so widely when she played peek-a-boo with him and whose eyes sparkled as he wrapped his tiny fingers around hers. Nyx, who crawled and then walked towards her just because he loved her hair and her hugs. What kind of monster was she to question his right to exist, just because her own child had been taken unjustly?
Cold. Cruel. Contemptible. Her guilt grew claws that dug into her.
A monster. That's what she was. No wonder the Mother had decided not to give her a child. She didn't deserve one. What she deserved was this: unending, unrelenting pain.
Yet Nesta was a coward, so she backed out of the kitchen, eager to get away from the adorable toddler who brought her such agony.
She slid down the hall. Her footsteps grew louder, echoing the double beat of her heart: Mon-ster. Mon-ster. Mon-ster. She shut her eyes, then covered her ears, as though any of that would stop her from hearing the beat.
How could it, when the words came from everywhere? From the Cauldron which had stolen her child away, from the world which had castigated her from a young age, and even from herself: Mon-ster. Mon-ster. Mon-ster. She thought that she'd grown and changed but perhaps she'd only gotten better at deluding herself. After all, beasts can never really turn into people, no matter how hard they try and beguile themselves with fairytales.
How could she escape the truth? How could she escape herself?
Your fault, whispered the walls. Your baby is gone forever, hissed the floor. You deserve it, yelled the ceiling. And then they were all closing in on her, tighter and tighter and she couldn't breathe, couldn't fit in this tiny cage, this prison of her own design and-
"Nesta!"
She gasped, inhaling deeper as her chest finally loosened. It was Cassian's voice behind her.
"Hey, Nesta." His voice was so soothing and it grounded her like nothing else. She blinked a few times. She hadn't even noticed that her vision had gone blurry but now it began to clear.
"I'm so sorry that I didn't tell you everyone was here," he said. "I completely forgot that I had invited them a while back. I tried to tell them that we hadn't prepared brunch but they just said that they'd assemble things and then I kind of gave in and… I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I'm sorry."
She had left the room because she couldn't deal with all those people. She needed space to process the unexpected torment of facing Nyx. But Cassian wasn't people: he was her mate, her husband, her partner, and her lover in every sense of the term.
She wanted to hug him. To bury herself in his strong, caring arms and chest and never leave his embrace. To leave behind the hurt and the pain that clawed at her continuously, and shield herself with his love.
Nesta turned around slowly, and met his amber eyes. Part of her wanted to be trapped within them forever, frozen in time in the eye of her hurricane.
"Nesta?" Her eyes fell to his lips as they curved slightly. "I brought you a surprise to cheer you up." His dark lashes cast a shadow along his left cheek as he winked.
He raised his arms, and held out a wide-eyed, smiling child. Nyx.
Nesta could only blink in shock as her internal storm started up once more, the winds stronger than ever.
"He wanted to see his favorite aunt," Cassian grinned, so joyously it singed a hole through her already battered heart. She couldn't tell him that looking at this child, who Cassian adored with his whole being and brought him so much happiness, made her want to retch, smash every item in the house, and then sob for the rest of eternity. "And I know how much you love this little ball of mischief."
Cassian raised Nyx higher and pressed a light kiss to his hair, causing the toddler to giggle happily.
He would have been such a great father.
You took that from him, whispered her heart. You didn't deserve a child and the Mother knew that, so she had to destroy his baby. It's your fault. You killed his child.
Something in her expression must have betrayed her, because a crease appeared in Cassian's brow and his smile faded slightly. He cocked his head and gently held out the laughing child towards her. "Do you want to hold him?"
She didn't want to be here, in such close proximity to this reminder of everything she could have had — everything she had lost. She didn't want to look at Nyx, who stared up at her with earnest round eyes and rosy cheeks.
She instinctively took a step back from Nyx, her waking nightmare, and shook her head. She tried desperately to think of a way to cover up her actions with the excuse Cassian had concocted — that she was merely overwhelmed by the Inner Circle's unexpected presence this morning — but she couldn't think as the desperate emotions churned and churned inside her. Her body wanted to succumb to their thrall, to sway and collapse and drown in the storm but she couldn't — not here, in front of Cassian. That would only lead to questions, which would lead to pain for him, she reminded herself sternly. So she would need to cover up her tracks quickly.
But it was too late. Cassian's eyes were already filled with alarm and his voice was coated with confused concern as he asked, "What's going on? Are you alright?"
No, she wanted to yell. No, no, no. The child in Cassian's arms, who most including her usual self would classify as a bundle of joy, was currently torturing her with his presence alone. She wasn't strong enough to contain the throbbing anger and agony for much longer.
Nesta's eyes finally obeyed her, tearing away from Nyx to gaze up at her mate. Nesta's stare must have revealed that she wasn't overjoyed to see Nyx as he had expected; he had realized that for some inconceivable reason, she was vexed by this toddler's presence.
She watched as his emotions danced in his eyes. He looked as though he couldn't recognize or understand her. Worse yet, a flicker of unease and of fear shone on his face. He had never looked at her like that before, and it broke something within her that she hadn't even realized she'd been clinging to this whole time. The certainty of her bond with Cassian and the love they shared had been the one thing grounding her and now it was gone. He had glimpsed the truth of her: that she was a monster. She could feel herself spiralling as her brain noted that Cassian's strong arms were supposed to be their child's spot, not Nyx's, and that those loving, protective kisses should have been their child's.
She needed to leave before she hurt anyone else, before Cassian asked her the questions that lingered in his eyes.
So Nesta spun on her heel, and raced to their room. Mercifully, Cassian stood still in shock for a few seconds before chasing after her. Though he was faster than her due to centuries of training, the head start had been all she needed to enter the room before him. The House, her friend who understood that Nesta couldn't bear the pain looking at Nyx or Cassian would cause her, quickly shut and locked the door behind her.
Within the privacy of her room, Nesta finally allowed herself to fall apart. Tears streamed down her face as silent sobs wracked her body. She let herself succumb to the suffering and the ache. Any remaining strength dissolved into nothingness and her head drooped onto her knees.
Outside, Cassian knocked and desperately called for her to let him in, to tell him what was wrong. His pleas were muffled by the House's magic, but he still begged, until his throat was raw and his voice was hoarse. Even then, he stayed, resting his head against the cool wood of the locked door between him and his mate. He reached out a hand to her through their bond and felt the drops of sadness that seeped through the cracks of the usually immovable fortress walls of her mind.
Cassian shut his eyes, drowning in worry and pain, not knowing that across the door, his mate did the same.
Thanks for reading!
Please leave reviews!
(Don't worry, I'll write another chapter sometime... hopefully soon.) Follow / favorite for the website to send you emails about new chapters!