They told me I was an Archeron, and that my name was Lyra.

A princess to a merchant's bloody throne.

My twin sister was called Feyre, and we were born from shadows and starlight.

Hello, little drifter.

"Like night and day," the wet nurses would croon at my obsidian hair and ice blue eyes.

Have you come to dAnCe with me, my love?

"How sweet, Mrs. Archeron — they're playing together!"

Or will you crumble in this life too?

They gave us everything we could dream of.

Toys, gowns, books, and music lessons —

Oh how I missed those chords

— horseback riding and jewels from across the sea —

Play that song again

— anything we wished, if we only asked.

Please, just one more time.

—

But they knew we were different from the start.

Such an ominous child.

We were too quiet and strange to be anything but changelings, and I was developing far too quickly to be normal.

"Where did that book go—"

"Who taught you that song—"

"Darling, where did you learn to dance like that?"

But to admit that we were touched by magic, no matter how untrue, was to commit social suicide. So our parents endured the lapses of silence —

"Where did you go, just now, Lyra dear?"

— and pretended they couldn't see me sneak into the library —

"Did you hear that melody chime?"

"…no."

— and ignored when I drifted too far into my mind.

Because what Prince of Merchants would toss out his youngest daughter?

—

"Come on, Lyra — father brought spices home!"

My twin held a quiet sort of beauty.

She was not sharp and regal like Nesta —

A statue of death come to life.

— or gently stunning like Elain —

A rosebud in a garden of thorns.

— but she was the stars in the sky.

"Hurry up, Lyra — we'll miss dinner if we don't get back!"

I was the darkness between them —

The echoing fog over a siren's jagged shore

— and I ached for that ink woven song.

—

My mother died in spring.

Look how quickly the castle crumbles —

She was ill, and her hair grew brittle as her eyes dimmed.

When the queen falls to Death's March —

And it was only Elain and my father who cried.

And the wolves come out to hunt once more.

—

"Lyra, do we have to go to the ball?"

"You ask me like I'll say no to ignoring the obligation."

"This is why we're twins."

"I thought that was because mother and father loved each other very—"

"Do not finish that sentence."

"Fine, ruin all my fun."

—

My father lost his fortune a year after his wife died.

Look how the prince finally fails.

And we watched as debtors shattered his knee —

Do you remember that sound?

— while they gave us lecherous grins —

The thump of a heartbeat ending?

— but ran when Nesta's furious wails shook the air.

Maybe next time then.

—

We lived in a hovel, and for some reason it was more comfortable to me.

There were no servants with questions in their eyes —

"What do you see when you stare so blankly?"

— or pompous lordlings looking for a bride —

"You'd best tell the little one to watch how she talks to those above her."

— and I could wander into town as I pleased.

I found that I quite liked to explore.

—

"Oi, brat!" A voice like dry paper snapped.

Oh look, it's the hag again.

"What are you doing in my garden?"

Maybe he'll be worth something this time.

"I was seeing what you were growing." I answered with a spark of interest. "I saw the poison and grew concerned."

An old grey eyebrow raised in amusement.

Did I say something strange?

"And you could recognize it?"

Are you used to stupidity?

"Obviously."

A barked laugh.

"You want a job, kid? I'm getting too old to keep up with the times these days."

And so it starts again.

"Alright, then."

—

I was called the witch-doctor's apprentice.

Do you hear that song?

My father was horrified, pleading to let him use what little he had left of himself to get us by.

The one the birds sang —

Feyre didn't mind though, and she was always happy when I came home with bread and cheese sometimes.

— when they tore apart our shrine.

So I kept going back.

—

Elain and Nesta remained cloistered in their pitiful room, and my father withered on his chair by the fire.

One day they'll have to swim —

But Feyre bloomed as she took up a bow and arrows, and we hunted in the forest at dawn.

Or they'll start to drown.

And I stayed with my apprenticeship, grinding herbs and mixing salves as if I'd done it so many times before.

Maybe I had.

—

Winters were bitter and icy, but summers were full of a sweetness to be savored.

"I got you new paints, Feyre!" Elain chimed.

"And Lyra, I found this violin."

Oh, how I've missed you.

It was weathered and beaten —

Do you still sing so divine?

— and the bow was beginning to fray —

Would you play your magic for me?

— but I loved it all the same.

—

Feyre killed a wolf while I was sewing up a man that fell off of his roof.

Do you feel that, Little Drifter?

I came home to the smell of meat cooking —

That thrum in the strings of the fates?

— and smiled at my sisters.

It begins again.

—

He came in the night.

A beast of blood and bone and toxic love.

With golden fur and shredding claws.

"I love you." I told my twin —

You'll find your wings.

— "So don't come back, okay?"

…I'll make sure of it.

—

Nesta remained clear sighted, and for once she looked at me like I wasn't a hazy eyed idiot as I cleaned up the hovel in silence.

"It wasn't a dream." She said.

Oh, how the shards in your chest slice you.

"I know," I assured her.

What good were dreams anyway —

"She's gone."

When you weren't there to share them with me?

"I know."

—

Time passed, and my father regained his gold.

Naive little fool.

An estate was raised, and my sisters rejoiced in their gowns of fine silk.

I was never one much for luxury.

And they were all horrified when I carried on with the witch-doctor, no longer an apprentice now that he was bed bound and growing senile.

"No one will marry you if you stay on this path!" My father warned.

What a broken man.

A sharp toothed smile.

"That's kind of the point." I told him.

Play that song again.

—

Feyre came home in a carriage brimming with gold.

Did you find what you were looking for?

She let Elain stuff her in pretty dresses while Nesta herded her through the manor.

Or did you let it slip away?

"But where is your heart?" I asked her softly.

Feyre left the next day.

—

Time passed.

"You're a shameless flirt," she told me as she danced out of reach.

"Maybe a handmaiden will help you be more of a lady, Lyra."

"And you're a vicious tease, my love," I replied as I caught her in my arms.

"They might look past your profession in marriage if you act more to your status."

"The perfect match, you could say," she hummed.

"I'd rather marry her."

"I do say," I murmured into her neck.

Play that song again.

"I love you too."

Please, just one more time.

—

It was a cold winter's night when I trudged home so late that the lanterns had burned out.

Do you see that, little drifter?

Footprints trailed through the snow like a river — as if all of the servants had run from the manor in terror.

Do you hear the rush of the shadows?

I slipped through the garden and crawled up the trellis to go in through my sister's window.

"Nesta," I hissed —

Do you feel the predators stalking?

— "there's fae in the house."

"It's Feyre," she snapped.

Oh.

And then I ran.

—

I tore through the opulent hallway —

Portraits and paintings and lies

— and flew down the staircase —

Step one, two, three

— to whistle into the dining room like an arrow shot from my twin's bow.

There you are.

Her eyes were wide, and her features looked like they'd be carved by a sculptor's knife —

Would you still love me if I was a monster?

— her clothes were that of a queen —

Or I ruled over a land of the dead?

— and three giant warriors sat around her with sharp eyes and small, cautious smiles.

Or would that be too much, even for you?

"Did the beast show his stone heart, then?" I asked as she stood shakily from the table.

You always did love too easily.

A stilted nod and three wary gazes.

But then, so did I.

"Would you like me to kill him?" I only half-teased as I held open my arms.

A pair of saps, aren't we?

"I missed you," she cried into my shoulder as she sank into the embrace with the ease of familiarity.

Oh, how I wish for your smile.

"I missed you, too," I whispered back.

—

The three warriors were named Rhysand —

Claws of night that scraped at the shards of my mind

Cassian —

Hands of a war god that lost his rage to time

And Azriel —

I remember you

— the shadow singer.

The one of crushing blue.

"Why are you covered in blood?" Feyre asked me after the bland introductions.

The one with dancers feet

I glanced down at my stained healer's garb and shrugged my shoulders with a wince.

And tongue so sweet

"I had to deliver triplets for the wife of that idiot Isaac Hale."

The one that sang upon the moon.

"Where is the rest of you?" I asked the shadow singer as my sister laughed and laughed.

"Magic works strangely on this side of the wall," he said in a voice like cold death.

Oh, how I've missed that sound.

So I stared at him until shadows began to snake around his shoulders like inky vines.

There you are.

"They sing beautifully." I informed him.

I've missed you.

"Now why are you here, Feyre dear?"

"I'll tell you if you swear not to rhyme when I do."

"…fine, ruin all my fun."

—

I stared at the general that came to see if there was any word from the queens.

He stood in the doorframe with the grim face of a captain going down with his ship, and I couldn't help the twitch of my lips.

Ah, the pains of sharp love.

"She's upstairs," I said after a moment of resigned silence.

"Thank you," he replied kindly as he squared his shoulders to face the music.

How noble.

"Lyra?" My love's voice was bluebells and morning light as she came around the corner to greet me.

I'll find you each time, sweet dove.

A warning look to the general before he faded into the shadows with a shit-eating grin.

Dick.

"Hello, my sweet."

—

"Don't trust the false queens," I told the High Lord of Night.

Eyes like knives and stars combined.

A raised brow and an: "oh? Why not?"

Don't you remember, Little Drifter?

"The sixth is not ill, and the lion will be dead before the year is done."

How the threads wove and danced in your hands?

Golden hair and warm brown eyes swam in my dreamy gaze.

I remember you.

"She's telling the truth," the woman — female — said in confusion.

The one of blazing fire —

"Of course she is, she speaks of her daydreams sometimes when she's tired."

— that danced among their pyres —

"That was no daydream, Feyre darling."

— when she tied them up for lying.

"Will you burn these witches too?" I asked The Morrigan.

Not quite.

"Elain, go take her to lie down."

Too much.

"Come on, Lyra, let it go now."

—

"If I was a man, would you marry me?"

Is that even a question?

"I'd marry you now, Jesabelle," I laughed as I spun her across the floor.

Wild red hair and eyes dark as night.

"Do you swear it?"

On my sword.

"On my heart."

Her kiss was like fire.

—

"You trusted the false queens," I noted as I came down the stairs.

Can you hear me, Little Drifter?

"And we got our half of the book," the High Lord confirmed.

I stared at the hand he twined with my sister's, and watched as she smiled so softly.

I've been reaching for you.

"You have my blessing, but the lion did not give you the one that you think."

Call out to me.

"The book is speaking to you," came that voice like cold death.

"Can you hear it too?"

Where are your claws, Little Drifter?

Hazel eyes danced with sapphire frost, but I couldn't tell what he said.

Where are your fangs?

"Lyra, come sit with me."

Are you crumbling again, my dear?

"Alright."

—

They came in the night.

Wake up, Little Drifter.

With swords of cold iron and grins full of malice.

It's time to ReAp once again.

"Lyra!"

My love?

I screamed as they snuffed the life out of my bluebell's bright heart.

HahAhAHAha

"I'll kill you slowly," I promised the wretches that held her.

There you are.

They laughed.

But I would make sure that they paid.

HahAhAHAha

—

"Lyra, are you—"

"I'm alive," I told Nesta while Elain sobbed beside us.

Though for how much longer, I cannot say.

—

A throne room for a king of the damned.

Little Drifter —

My twin and her court, fallen and bleeding.

Sweet Reaper —

The beast and his lieutenant, shaking and horrified.

My Sinner —

And a cauldron that sang of songs long forgotten.

Have you finally come back to me?

"Please, I'll do anything," Feyre begged.

Will you at last sing your dirges, my sweet?

"The mad one next, if you will."

—

My sisters were staring at me with fae features as the guards dragged me forwards, and I listened to the Cauldron's ballads of rage.

"Is she humming?" The King demanded incredulously from his throne made from bones. "Put her in!"

The water was still beneath me, but it heard my song and howled with glee.

It made me smile, sharp and wide, and I showed it to the —

False

— King.

"I'll kill you, too." I told him sweetly.

And then I plunged into the ageless sea.

—

Feyre loved her sisters.

She loved the iron will of the eldest, and the soft kindness of the second.

And she loved everything about her twin.

Despite the occasional madness.

But she could do nothing as Lyra's body was tossed into the Cauldron, and they could all feel the difference this time.

Like a rolling fog hiding monsters and killers in a forest of scaled hunting beasts.

The sense of insanity's piercing attention crept through the room, and the king began to pale slightly as the cauldron bubbled possessively.

"Get her out!" He roared.

But the cauldron wouldn't be tipped as his lackeys pushed and shoved at it, cradling Feyre's twin like a lost lover as haunting notes began to bloom from its depths.

And then the book flew from Rhys's jacket, and plunged after Lyra with a cackle of mad ecstasy.

"Please," Feyre whispered to no one and nothing. "Please, let her live."

"GET HER OUT!"

—

The water was icy against my skin as my blood boiled and my mind sang.

The thief stole from me —

The Cauldron whispered in a voice I remembered so well. It was everything and nothing, brightness and silence, darkness and the pull of the sea.

— and the False King is ruining me.

Endless blue darkness and writhing white fire that burrowed straight into my bones.

"Give me everything, then." I called out with my arms open wide. "And I'll finally set you free."

I've missed you, Little Drifter. Will you burn the world for me?

"We'll see."

—

The floor was hard and blessedly steady against my electrified skin as I breathed clearly for the first time this lifetime.

Remember your vows.

And I laid still as the False King's soldiers stormed up to me.

Show no mercy.

A clawed hand on my shoulder —

Three

— hot breath on my spine —

Two

— a snarled insult in my ear —

One!

— and I whipped around to sink my fangs into the throat of a beast.

HaHaHAhAha

Only to rip it straight from my enemy's neck.

Ah, there you are, my love.

A/N: I don't own nothing except my mildly (only slightly) insane OCs, and yeah, I like SJM's books because they're delightful and I will take that to the mat.

Enjoy! :D