“The capillaries in my eyes, are bursting, if our love died would that be the worst thing? For somebody I thought was my savior, you sure made me do, a whole lotta labor.”

“The calloused skin on my hands, is cracking, if our love ends would that be a bad thing? It’s not a fucking act of love if you made me do to much labor.”

“All day, everyday, therapist, mother, maid, nymph, then a virgin, nurse then a servant. Just an appendage, live to attend you so that you never lift, a finger.”

“Twenty-four-seven baby machine, so you can live out, your pocket fence dreams. It’s not an act of love if you made me, you made me do, too much labor.”

You shouted at Tamlin from across the table at a meeting of the High Lords. You had been trapped in the Sprint Court like Feyre, and had been rescued at the same time. The difference was that you were a High Fae, while Feyre had been human.

Azriel watched, his hand on the small of your back, not stopping you, but grounding you so you don’t snap completely.