Disclaimer: Still don't own anything but my ideas. It all belongs to Sarah.

Hey readers,

So, let's have a real talk. I'm for real losing stream for this story. Honestly, I'm not super into the books anymore and I'm writing this out of the obligation to finish it more than anything else. So, I think that this is going to be the last chapter. I know that a lot of you wonderful followers have become invested in this story, so I've tried to give you an ending that feels like it's resolved the content.
I have yet to decide if I'm done writing A Court of Shadows and Flowers, because there's a lot more potential with it. If you want to continue to follow my writing, I will be very appreciative, and as of this moment I am taking any and all suggestions.
Thanks for this ride, I wouldn't change it for anything.
-A.J.

Chapter 16

Nexus of Feyre

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. Maybe if I just breath deep enough, close my eyes hard enough, and will it to be so, this will all go away. But when I open my eyes, I'm in the same place I was before. I stare at my blank face in the mirror and watch as my emotionless eyes once again look over what I've become. My hair has been braided into an updo that's so complicated I don't know where it begins or ends. Someone that Tamlin hired has painted what I think is supposed to be a girly look on my face with makeup. When she was doing it, she just kept smiling at me and muttering about how she had to make the bride blush. Although when I look at it in the mirror, all I see is a little girl pretending that she's happy. Pretending that she's not broken. Pretending that everything is fine, and that everything will continue to be fine. She's pretending that this life that she's living is perfect and that she couldn't be more content to become Tamlin's perfect little housewife.

I am disgusted by her.

The sight of this person makes me sick to my stomach. What makes it even worse is that I have to live with the knowledge that deep down somewhere in there is me. And not this lie I've become, but really me.

But the real Feyre can't come to the phone right now. She's busy feeling guilty about the lives that she had to take at the orders of a mad woman. She's busy telling herself that she needs to go to hell.

So, she'll let this pretender, this liar, take control. The real Feyre has decided that it's fine if this false person wants to get married. Why does she care what happens anymore? She's already decided that the best thing that could've happened to her was to die in that prison. And honestly, a part of her did. A part of the real Feyre, the true Feyre, died in that prison as she scrambled to meet the demands that Amarantha threw at her. So now she's done. She's done fighting. She's done trying. She's now just going to let this pretender go through the motions until she finally decides to lay down and die.

Feyre looks down and considers her wedding dress again. It does nothing to reflect the true person she is. It reflects this pretend version that Ianthe has decided to create. It makes her look like the stay puff marshmallow man from Ghostbusters. It poofs all over in what Feyre guesses is a sad attempt to cover up how much weight she's lost in the recent weeks. She was always a skinny person, especially so after years of starvation, but this is the next level. To her knowledge, she's dropped below 100 pounds, and it shows.

Her skin sticks to her bones the way chewed bubblegum sticks to the bottom of one's shoe. But not right after you've stepped in it, like you've been walking for a while, so the gum has molded itself based on the contour of the bottom of your shoe, and you know that nothing is ever going to get it off, so now you have to accept that that piece of gum is just a part of your shoe now.

It's a good thing the top of the dress is padded as well, otherwise everyone gathered to celebrate her oh so special day would be able to see her rib cage. The veil that Feyre feels is much to voluminous manages to hide the parts of her spine that are visible over the back of the dress, but it might become an issue when she has to remove the headpiece at the reception. She obviously cannot dance with such a large amount of material collected on her head and trailing behind her.

I reach out one of my sickly hands and smack at the skirt of my dress. It doesn't move. I look back up in the mirror, and for a second, I can see my real face stare back at me.

It's distressed. It's scared. It's terrified of what this pretender will do next. It's also tired. Oh, so tired. And I can see how all the fight has faded from its eyes.

The smallest part of me that still has fight in it tries to tell my scared face that everything will be okay. That I will marry Tamlin, and that after the wedding things will get better. He'll release some of the control he's been taking. That after the wedding he'll feel more secure and he'll give me back some of my freedom.

There's a knock on the door behind me, and I shove my thoughts back down to the depths of my brain where they belong. I let myself fade away too. I let the pretender take over. She plasters a grin on what used to be my face, and she walks over and opens the door. Meeting her eyes is Lucien. He's here to escort her to the chapel.

He reaches out a hand to her. "Are you ready?" She nods and gives even more energy into her grin.

"I've never been more ready in my life."

I want to vomit on her. I want to vomit on Lucien. I want to vomit on this whole wedding, this whole day, this whole life that I'm leading for some reason.

As we walk hand in hand, the real me starts rearing up her head. Well maybe not the realest me, but the real me that's terrified. Terrified that the pretender is about to do something that we won't be able to take back later.

Now the terrified me has taken some control, the panic is beginning to set in. I can feel it in my chest, and the pretender is now struggling to keep her breathing even. The panic get's worse with each step all these parts of me take. Before I know it, we're at the chapel and I'm sweating profusely. I'm sweating more than a pig on a hot day.

It feels rather fitting, comparing myself to a pig. I definitely feel like one. I feel like I'm the prize pig and Lucien is my owner, but now he's decided that he needs to sell me to the highest bidder, and that now he's taking me to the sale. Where Tamlin buy me and take me home to cut me apart and cook me up. Maybe then I'd be worth something. I'd be bacon and ham and spareribs.

Tamlin let's go of my hand, and then slowly walks up the aisle to take his place next to Tamlin at the altar.

Now I really can't breathe. I can't do anything but look between the three people standing up on the slightly raised stage. I look between them for some kind of comfort, but there is none. They are so pleased with themselves, pleased with this lie they've made me. They have no idea who I am anymore. They have no idea what I am anymore. They've made all these decisions and they've decided who I am to be now.

The panicked Feyre wants to cry, the pretender wants to smile, and me, the real me, wants to die. No, not truly die, I think I'd like to be saved. Be saved from these people. Be saved from this life.

Be saved from myself.

The song that they've so graciously chosen for me to walk down the aisle to begins to play, and the pretender begins to move my legs. I'm still sweating and struggling to breath, and now to top it off I'm praying. Praying for the first time in so many years. But I'm not praying to a deity of any kind, I'm praying for someone, anyone, to save me. Begging would be more accurate but praying does make it sound a little less desperate.

But it is desperate, and I don't stop. I don't stop even when that hellish song has ended, and I've come to stand with Tamlin. I don't stop even as Ianthe begins to marry us. In fact, I believe that it increases the further along she gets. And when she finally reaches that blessed moment "Speak now or forever hold your peace." As soon as she says it, I look out over the audience. The pretender keeps my smile, but through my eyes I beg each and every person gathered there in that chapel to say something, to do what I am unable to do for myself.

And then it happens, my moment begins to slip away, and Ianthe starts to talk again. I see it crumbling, my salvation. And I let the pretender fight back tears once again. But then it happens. It happens. A gasp resounds through the crowd and it sounds as loud as a thunder crack. I watch as Tamlin's happy face melts away and one of rage replaces it. I then turn to look at my savior. And standing there is someone that I had never expected to see again. I knew that we had an arrangement in place, but his lack of action had made me forget about its presence. But there he is, the most beautiful man that I've ever seen.

His suit is completely black, save for the navy-blue tie and pocket square. His dark hair is combed back from his face, save a few choice baby hairs that hang down into his eyes. He let's out a cough before speaking. And although he doesn't say much, he does purr out one thing.

"Hello, Feyre darling."

The End.