aesthetics // literature
So I was in math and this poem happened
How Rhys saved Feyre
A mortal girl, so full of hate
Was taken to a grand estate.
Her life was happy, safe, and light
Until she had to face the blight.
Beneath the mountain, dark and cruel
She went to save Tamlin the Tool
Through all her trials, he sat and waited
For her to beat She whom all hated.
She took it all:, the dark, the pain
So much to lose, so much to gain.
One fateful night, she made a deal,
Saved by He Who Will Not Kneel.
The mortal triumphed over the queen,
A feat neither had forseen.
In Tamlin’s heart, a knife was buried,
Unleashing Amarantha’s fury.
Feyre died in Tamlin’s arms.
He failed to keep her from harm.
Rhysand, though, he drew a knife
And told the High Lords to give her life.
She was reborn, she was Made,
Thought Rhys forgot their fateful trade.
She returned to eternal Spring.
Tamlin gave her a wedding ring.
There she was, a High Lord’s bride.
But then he kept her locked inside.
He ignored her when she cried,
He could not tell her spirit died.
Tamlin kept her in a cage,
Her terror fueled Rhysand’s outrage
He took her to the Court of Night
A land of pain, a land of fright.
Over time, to her surprise,
She learned the monster was a disguise.
The winged male with violet eyes
Was not the beast who ignored her cries.
Rhys flew her to the Court of Dreams
Where Feyre joined the team of teams.
Warriors, both large and small,
Led by one who’d given all.
They did not see a delicate flower,
They showed her how to use her power.
The old Feyre had been killed,
But over time the void was filled.
Rhysand, High Lord of the Night,
King of Darkness, Feyre’s light.
Even though she chose to stay,
Rhys thought he knew what tales would say.
He who stole the bride of Spring
Forgot just one important thing;
Tamlin kept her ‘neath lock and key,
Rhys was the one who set her free.
