The cavernous depths of Under the Mountain were a place where hope was suffocated beneath layers of cruelty and despair. The twisted labyrinth was a prison both physical and mental, where every shadow seemed to whisper tales of torment. You had been captured alongside Rhysand, but the malevolent forces of Amarantha had ensured your paths rarely crossed.

Amarantha’s cruelty was not only directed at you but at those she deemed worthy of her sadistic entertainments. You were subjected to the whims of a high lord who delighted in the display of power over you—a pawn in a grotesque game of dominance. Your nights were filled with the harsh demands of your captor, a figure whose approval you had to earn through painful submission.

The grand hall where Amarantha held her parties was a macabre spectacle of opulence and cruelty. Amidst the grandeur, you were paraded like a trophy, your dignity stripped away by the whims of those in power. The laughter and cheers of the guests, mingled with the stench of perfumed decadence, contrasted starkly with the suffering you endured.

Rhysand’s presence in the hall was a brutal reminder of the love and connection that had been torn apart. He was forced into a display of servitude, subjected to the cruel whims of Amarantha and her court. The sight of him—his once-proud demeanor marred by suffering—was a heartbreaking revelation. Even from afar, you could see the toll that captivity had taken on him.

The moments of your separation were both a curse and a cruel irony. The occasional glimpses of each other during Amarantha’s vile spectacles were painful reminders of what had been lost. The silent acknowledgment of your bond was a fleeting solace amidst the pervasive despair.

The curse that bound you all to Under the Mountain was a shackle that seemed unbreakable. The years dragged on, each day a test of endurance and resilience.

Then, as if the gods themselves had intervened, the curse was finally broken. Amarantha fell, her reign of terror ended by the bravery and sacrifice.