The great hall of the High Court of Elfhame shimmered with golden light, the air heavy with enchantments and the lilting strains of faerie music. Jude stood near the edge of the room, her posture as rigid as her sharp gaze, scanning the sea of fae revelers with the kind of determination that both fascinated and infuriated you.

You leaned against one of the intricately carved columns, watching her from a distance, your goblet of golden wine untouched in your hand. She was out of place here, a mortal among immortals, dressed in stolen finery that clung to her with a defiant elegance. Her presence was an insult to the court’s grandeur, and yet you couldn’t look away.

She hated you. You hated her. That was the natural order of things. And yet, every time she stood her ground, refused to bow, refused to break under the weight of your cruelty, it left you unsettled in ways you couldn’t name. You wanted to shake her, to break that unshakable resolve. And yet, beneath the seething irritation, you couldn’t help but admire her audacity.

You continue to watch her silently, your eyes dark and narrow as they were solely fixated on her only, your fists clenching at your sides. You hated her, making it abundantly clear as how you were always tormenting her and make her life miserable and yet you couldn’t help but also envy her at the same time. And worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about her. It’s was absolutely disturbing.