I wrote these pieces for the ToG Mini Bang on Tumblr and am quite happy with how it turned out. This is the first part of three, focusing on Lysandra and giving a little insight into the life that we never saw. You can also find this story on AO3 and Tumblr Snowfairyx784. My post on Tumblr also has a link to the amazing edits that my mini-bang partner aelinqueen did :D. You should go check them out, they're super pretty :)

Lysandra was born on a stormy summer night, one that brought relief to some, and destruction to many. The day after she was born, many people had lost their homes. The crops that withered in the heat relished in the cool rain, but the storm had destroyed more that it had healed. That was what she was. A curse. Her father had left before she was born and her mother had thrown herself at alcohol. She was stuck with a power that she had never desired. One that was so despised that when her mother had seen her daughter transform, she'd thrown her out onto the streets. Lysandra still remembered the exchange, no matter how much she wanted to forget.

The streets of Adarlan were dirty and cluttered. The ones you didn't see, at least. It was a sharp contrast from the pristine and lavish streets in the city centre, overshadowed by the grand palace made of glass. Nothing was finer.

Lots of civilians and foreign travellers tended to avoid the slums. It was unpleasing to look at and riddled with disease. It wasn't uncommon for those living on the streets to die, and Lysandra saw death almost everyday. Fresh corpses of those who died within in the cold of the night littered some parts of the city. Those were usually moved and dumped somewhere once they were discovered.

Sometimes, a Fae healer would walk through the streets and bring relief to those who needed it. They treated those who were sick and brought some food for the hungry. But that never really happened, no, not that often. Many forgot about the slums, and ignored the presence of the underground society. Lysandra couldn't blame them; many bad things happened in the underground. Sometimes Lysandra would wander the tunnels at night. Sometimes she could hear the quiet chatter of noblemen doing business with those of the underground black market, or sometimes even one of the Assassin's Guild. It was a cruel place to be, so Lysandra spent most of her time on the richer streets as a peddler, wearing a mask of false beauty.

She was ignored by many today. Not one person would stop by and help the girl who asked for just one penny. Lysandra swallowed as she watched a lady walk past her, eyeing her with a combination of superiority and something else she couldn't quite make out. Even when she was trapped in a face like this, no one would stop for her. They would stare, some with annoyance, some with disdain, and some with an expression Lysandra couldn't understand. But still, they stared. It was something she'd gotten used to by now.

By evening Lysandra had long given up on getting money or anything today. She sat on the floor with her back against a stone wall, arms wrapped around her legs. Lysandra squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled slowly, as it her breathe was a treasure. She would not eat again tonight. She had already not eaten in three days and at this rate she would starve to death. If she had still had her powers maybe she could've snuck into a bakery and stolen some cheese. But she didn't have even that now. Lysandra sat there for a while, trying to block out her hunger as she rubbed her cold arms in an attempt to warm herself up. That was when she heard the sound of footsteps as someone approached her. Lysandra opened her eyes to see a gown made of light purple silk, embroidered with silver thread and laced with pearls and diamonds. Her eyes trailed upwards and standing before her was the same woman who had passed by her earlier with the unreadable expression. The woman smiled in a way that didn't quite reach her eyes, serene yet cold.

"Hello, child," the woman purred, tilting her head just a tiny bit. "My name is Clarisse."

"Tilt your head more!" The her instructor sharply barked at her. Lysandra's cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling and gods, she hated this. "Good, now walk forwards gracefully- GRACEFULLY LYSANDRA, NOT LIKE A SAVAGE!"

Lysandra cringed inwardly. The 13 year-old struggled not to scream at her godsawful instructor, a tall brunette with such a sharp nose that you could cut fabric with it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her instructor, whose name was something like Silvia or Silvetta or something like that, sneer and prance forwards like some kind of dolphin but Lysandra didn't dare to turn her head around in fear of more criticism. Silvia forcefully pushed her shoulders even more back than they were before, then pushed her stomach in so that she had "perfect posture".

"Smile", Silvia ordered. "NO, NOT LIKE THAT. YOU LOOK LIKE YOU SWALLOWED POISON. Smile like this," Silvia said as she walked in front of Lysandra and proceeded to smile like some kind of dying clown. It took all the effort that Lysandra could muster up to smother her laughter and maintain her composure.

"Your turn," Silvia said. So Lysandra smiled the biggest and fakest smile that she could possibly smile, earning her a slap from her ill-tempered instructor.

"Stupid girl," Silvia sneered. "Can't do anything right."

"Sorry," Lysandra muttered, averting her eyes.

"You will address me properly!"

"Sorry, Madame," Lysandra said loudly.

"DO I LOOK LIKE A MADAME TO YOU?!" The woman screeched and Lysandra couldn't help but flinch, earning her another slap from the instructor.

"That's enough, Silicia," Madame Clarisse's voice called out from the doorway. Her stern eyes set their sights on Lysandra.

"Lysandra has a visitor. Come with me." And with that, Clarisse turned and left. Lysandra quickly followed, careful not to meet her instructor's eyes.

Thank the gods that was over.

This was somewhat better than her lessons, but at the same time, so much worse. She was at tea with Clarisse, Arobynn Hamel, and his infuriatingly annoying protégée Celaena Sardothien. Few things were worse than having to spend time with her. Lysandra didn't really hate her, but Celaena definitely despised her. She would smile those sugary sweet smiles that Lysandra returned, but as soon as she was sure that no one was looking, Celaena would glare daggers at her. At first it had been uncomfortable but eventually the only thing that Lysandra was able to do was smile sweetly in response. It made Celaena even madder and part of Lysandra relished in the small victory. It was no secret that Celaena could kill her within seconds if she was allowed to, which was a good thing since she wasn't allowed to. They could've been great friends. Lysandra secretly admired the fierceness and power that she had. It was a shame, really. After all, they were just monsters in human skins…

No, she wasn't a monster. They weren't just monsters. They were demons who would change the world one day. She knew it.

Honestly, if she hadn't been so arrogant and condescending, Celaena Sardothien wouldn't make such a bad friend. Granted, she was a total bitch 99% of the time, but Lysandra didn't despise her as much as you would think. Rather, she had everything that Lysandra had wanted. She was so damn privileged, and sometimes Lysandra just wanted to change into a tiger and claw those annoyingly pretty eyes out of their sockets.

Wouldn't that be a sight to see. But then again, the insufferable brat would be blind and therefore unable to see her own death. A scowl graced the delicate features of her face. Lysandra grabbed a brush and ran it through her silky hair before pinning it up with pins crafted from silver and pearls. She smiled a falsely sweet smile, posing in front of her vanity. Her reflection gazed back at her, disgustingly beautiful. How she wished she could make it go away. Her green eyes trailed down to her chest and her (unfortunately) large breasts. If magic was here, she could make it go away.

If magic was here she wouldn't be here at all. Perhaps she would still be living on the streets or already dead from starvation. Perhaps Arobynn would've found her and trained her to become an assassin, instead of being taken to Clarisse and being trained to be a courtesan. A whore.

It wasn't so bad, she tried to tell herself. She was spoiled by her benefactors and became one of Clarisse's most prized girls to date. What was worse? Dying of starvation or becoming a prostitute? Neither choice was satisfying, but Lysandra found herself being glad that she was alive and in the position that she was in.

She was going to be sold off, yes. But she had overheard Clarisse the other day mentioning that she could possibly be sold to the benefactor that had supported her for 7 years. And that was just going to be the beginning. Lysandra stared at herself in the mirror.

What a pretty lie, she thought to herself. The mirrors, they show you what you want to see, they whisper things in your ears and coax you into submission. Lysandra could not remember what she used to look like. The mirrors told her that she was beautiful, but she was so ugly. Ugly on the inside. She'd accepted it by now, the false image in front of her. Her heart beat to its own drum now.

It was cold outside.

She was cold. Everything was cold and she was broken and dead and gone.

Wesley. Wesley was gone. My Wesley.

Sam. Sam was gone. My Sam.

It was all Celaena's fault. Or was it her fault? Her fault that she couldn't do anything, that she didn't do anything, that she wasn't able to do anything.

No.

It was his fault. Red hair, grey eyes, hard hands, red lines.

No more tears to cry. No more. Her gaze hardened. Plans. Lots of plans to make.

He'd taken so much away from her. Her soul was gone. No more games.

Half of her time was spent seething, the other time crying. Screaming, tearing at her bedsheets and wondering why this had to happen. Her strangled moans turned into laughter and then again turned to sorrow. Someone was going to pay.

The demon inside of her awakened. It bellowed in rage. It roared for vengeance and for blood. And blood it would have.

Something was coming. She could feel it. Maybe it wouldn't happen now, or in a few months, or even in years. But it was coming. The tingle ran down her spine and her blood coursed through her veins. Magic was gone, but somehow it was still there. It had always been there, waiting and waiting for something to happen.

Soon, she promised herself. Soon.

The soldier in front of her screamed as her teeth tore through his flesh and turned it into ribbons. She turned and pounced onto the next person that she saw, their fear reflecting in her eyes as they too turned into a pile of ribbons.

Oh, how she'd dreamed of this moment for so long. It was here and it was so, so, so, much better than she'd imagined. Civilians and merchants alike jumped away from her as Lysandra let out a feral roar. She could feel the pulse in the air, the tingle in her spine. The wild was calling to her. Lysandra could smell fear mixed with blood, the sour smell of vomit and piss, the smell of the dirt on the ground and underneath it all, magic. Leaping forward, Lysandra charged through the streets, heading straight for the glass palace and tearing through anything in her way. People screamed at the sight of blood and guts and the ghost leopard running rampant.

As she slowed down to pass through a slightly narrower passageway, her eye caught a small shelter leaning on a wall, and her gaze narrowed at the small girl who watched her from inside of it. You couldn't really call it a shelter, let alone a home. The girl lived in a cardboard box turned upside down that was propped up by a stick. a flimsy piece of cloth served as a sheet on the cold, hard ground. Had it really been 10 years?

A surge of anger overcame Lysandra as she recalled her days as a beggar living on the streets, a child forced to grow up, to fend for herself. Growling, Lysandra forced herself to turn away from the terrified girl. Onwards, to the glass palace and the king who was to die for his sins. Perhaps one day there would be no more girls forced to live on the streets, no more poor people who couldn't afford to take care of their children. Maybe Aelin could help change that. Maybe she could too. Lysandra wasn't a queen but that didn't mean she couldn't do just as well. Hell, she'd probably do even better. After all, she was Lysandra; a shape shifting seductress who wasn't afraid to do things her way. And her way involved lots of sharp teeth, wicked claws, and lots and lots of fun.

Letting out a huff, Lysandra began to sprint towards the castle again, and this time more determined than she was before. Gods help anyone who tried to stop her.

You go get em' girl! Had lots of fun writing this.

Part 2: Red As Blood, Fire Like Ice, Stone Like Steel

(P.S. 20 points for the Bayonetta reference ;)