Let's set fire to the lonely night

You're beautiful when you look at me

Let's give love another life

Cause you'll be safe in these arms of mine

Just call my name on the edge of the night

And I'll run to you, I'll run to you

I would run to you, if you want me to

Just give me some kind of reason

I'll take the pain, take it all away

Just give it some kind of meaning

Let's let go, let it be the start

You know I'm feeling the same thing

Let's let go of our broken hearts

Run to You, Lea Michele

I breathed in the fresh air, relishing the use of my lungs without the burning fire settled in my chest. Shaking, I weakly fought whatever tangled me, held me constricted, managing only slight shivers and painful twinges like knives stabbed in between my ribs as I tried vainly to lift my ironbound limbs. They refused, and with a shudder and a sigh, I sank into a bed as soft as lamb's wool, wrapped in cool, silken sheets light as spider's webs. Hands like winter's first kiss of snow soothed my flaming skin, brushing across my face. I leaned into their touch, so familiar, perfect and comforting. They paused, rising from my side, the coolness leaving my face. I didn't want them to go, and wincing at the pain that tore through my chest, my voice breaking and hoarse. "No-"

"Shh-" Their voice was male, soft, yet powerful and deep, like shadowy monsters brought to life, "Don't try to speak yet. You need to rest."

He went to stand again. I lifted a hand, to try and stop him, cursing my slow movements. "Please."

Whether it was my hand on his, or my pleading tone, he stopped, and sat down again, his weight settling on the edge of the bed. Tracing the line of my jaw and cupping my chin, his hand was rough with bumpy ridges of what felt like scars, and calluses, as if he had spent his whole life working with his hands. But someone like that wouldn't be here, in a place where the sheets felt like satin and silk, the bed like a downy nest. His touch was intimate, but exploring, curious. I didn't care. I forced open my eyes, lids heavy with comfortable drowsiness and head aching with the pain I felt all over my body. "Who...are...yo-u?"

"That's not important right now. Rest, and recover. You are safe, and I promise you always will be." His hand gripped mine as I went to reach for him. In my slowly-less-blurry vision, he was dark, shadowed, intense hazel eyes bright against tanned skin and features like those of picturesque Fey painting. Large, bat-like wings with wicked claws tucked close into his body stood out over the lines of his shoulders, clothed in deep blue. He looked like a god of the starry, midnight sky, framed in moonlight as he was. Something deep inside me relaxed, and I with it. I knew I would be safe with him, that he was the missing piece I needed. "Sta-y...with...me-e?"

His beautiful face blossomed into a smile that would outshine the stars and the sun itself. "Forever and always."

Rhysand sighed, attempting to relax into the arms of his Feyre, yet every muscle in his body stayed taut with energy. Amren had refused his request to continue after Azriel had left, and the look in her eyes said she would say no more unless either allowed it, or spoke themselves. Azriel had not left the room, instead, he sat stone-still on the edge of the bed, the girl's hand clenched tightly around his. He had not even stood to bow to his High Lord when Rhys had went to see the girl, no reaction at all. "What's wrong?"

Feyre asked, a curious, but worried look creasing her brow. Rhys sighed again. "Azriel is not himself."

"No, he is not." She agreed, her voice odd. That something in her tone, something peculiar, caused him to look at her, studying her face until she turned away. "He is not himself. Neither is she. She fought our healing until he came to her. Before that, she would shield herself, wrapping herself in shadows similar to what Az does, but not quite. Once he came to her, she stopped shielding, and she let herself be taken care of."

Feyre paused, considering. Rhys silently gestured for her to continue. "Although, we didn't have to do much, her body cleaned up the burns faster than we could, and sealed up any injuries she had. The one thing that didn't heal, though, was when we turned her over, she had two long, fairly identical gashes across her back, from shoulder blades straight down to just above her hips. They scarred over, but didn't replace with fresh skin, like everything else did. Before it knitted together, I saw bone there that shouldn't be there normally."

"She is supposed to have wings." Rhysand supplied. Feyre nodded agreement. He watched her closely, as her eyes looked somewhere farther than him, glazing over as she recalled the memory. He left her to her own mind, knowing she did not need him, and encircling her in his arms, he thought back to Amren's very short dialogue after Azriel had left. Her storm-grey eyes had flashed with a hint of her former power when he had asked her to continue, and she had said nothing clear except for; "She is safest here, in our trust, and if we are to be in her good favor, let them be. She is not dangerous unless she is broken. Elain knows her power, and will never speak of it again, but know this, they are powerful together, and they will never be apart again."

Feyre shifted in his arms, breathing softly, already asleep. He looked down at her, his High Lady, and wondered if they would ever have a normal life. As Made, and High Fae, nothing around her would ever be normal, he supposed, and sighed, attempting to relax in his own home, in the arms of his love.