"You don't think monster girls and wicked boys deserve love?"
-Holly Black, "How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories (The Folk of the Air, #3.5)"
Zahreil was frustrated. She was beyond angry. She was beyond mercy or guilt or remorse.
They had consummated! She and Hibil…they had supposedly fallen in love and gotten married! They had laughed and joked and done many unimaginable things together. And the whole time, it was fake. A foil.
Centuries upon centuries later, she still seethed with anger and hatred for her husband. She still wished him to be the man she met and cared for. She still wished he was with her: here and now, being what she needed.
But those of Darkness do not get what we want, do we?
Before Zahreil could go raging further, another being appeared beside her. This one woman and dark. Zahreil raised a brow at the blood-red wings and black spear. "Who are you?"
"I am Agrat bat Maulat."
