Knew the hollowness, the despair, the corruption that leaked from that face.

Knew the ears that had now become delicately arched, the limbs that had been streamlined, limned with power, any human imperfections smoothed into a subtle immortal glow. Knew the blue-gray eyes, the brown-gold hair, the full mouth and sharp cheekbones. I reached for the second ash dagger atop a black velvet pillow, its hilt icy in my warm, damp hand. Braced for the end I was to give her, the sacrifice she was to become. I faced the female waiting for death, that hood sagging over her head, her lithe body steady. Flecks splashed onto my worn boots-remnants of a mortal life so far behind me it might as well have been one of my fever-dreams these few last months. My fingers loosened on the dagger, and it clattered to the ground, splattering the spreading pool of blood. The lines between me and the queen had long since blurred. “Whenever you’re ready, lovely Feyre,” Amarantha drawled, her deep red hair as bright as the blood on my hands. I was the butcher of innocents, and the savior of a land. To free them all, to free Tamlin, I would do it. I knew I’d slaughter her, as I’d slaughtered the youth before me. There was another ash dagger waiting, and another Fae kneeling. “Good,” Amarantha purred from her throne. I couldn’t let go of the blade, couldn’t move from my place before him. As I fractured bit by bit while the sprawled corpse of the High Fae youth cooled on the marble floor. It was an effort to keep a grip on the dagger as my blood-soaked hand trembled. Maybe someone who’d been born whole and good would have put down the ash dagger and embraced death rather than what lay before me. Maybe I’d always been broken and dark inside.

A court to mist and fury