Ghost in a Shell | Azriel ACOTAR

500 years ago, before the War

Eillia Vanserra despised parties. Especially this one. The hum of the blade against her thigh offered her a meagre reassurance. A passing merchant had been quite sympathetic to her when he'd gifted her the knife, Eillia having no idea why he'd done it till this day. Nonetheless, she plastered on a smile and brushed invisible lint from her gown and pushed open the great oak doors.

Music echoed throughout the ballroom, wafting between every column and arch, creating a sultry but warm mood. Each note, high and low, was played to perfection, the melody transfixing even the bitterest of crowds. The ball was held in honor of some old lord who returned from business in The Continent, and she was required to attend. Her uncle was Beron, the god-damn High Lord of the Autumn Court; she couldn't say no. Besides, she didn't feel like sparring with him tonight. At least being here gave Eillia the excuse to skip a lesson with Madame, not that being at a stuffy ball was much better.

The Autumn Court was a cutthroat pit of snakes, courtiers luring in and waiting to pounce on their next prey, hoping to climb up the social ladder. So, in functions like these, these egotistic asses all put up a facade of friendliness, hoping to please the High Lord or anyone in a position of power. Beron was currently lounging on his elaborate golden throne, nursing a goblet of faerie wine, ignoring the nymph batting her eyelashes at him. Eillia's father, Elador, Beron's Second and brother, stood next to him, murmuring something in his ear, face impassive. But the edges of Beron's wicked lips lifted ever-so-slightly.

People whispered and balked in Elador's presence, always giving him a wide berth. The general had slain through battlefields, leaving corpses in its wake thanks to his cunning calculations. The male had schemes that had been in play for decades. But Eillia saw her father for what he really is; a parasite worming its way to the throne.

Elador whispers tales of half-truths and poisonous lies down Beron's throat ever since he got promoted decades ago, slowly moulding Beron into the twisted thing he is now. The pair seemed to delight in wreaking havoc in The Forest House, both brothers a mirror of each other's cruelness.

There was a time where Eillia had seen another side of Beron; one where the High Lord would walk with her through the House's gardens, listening to Eillia prattle on about nothing. He'd even let—tolerated— her running around in his giant study. Sometimes, little Eillia had even coaxed a small smile from Beron. But that had been a long time ago. Eillia had been young then, blind to the schemes of the court. Once in a blue moon, she would catch the High Lord looking at her with just a sliver of warmth, then retracting to his heartless exterior. Elador seemed to have noticed too, for he made life a living hell for Eillia. She was required to attend dance lessons with the ruthless Madame at least once a day, the grueling hours spent holding en pointes often left her feet howling with pain. Above that, any friends she made were often chased away by Elador, her father deeming them 'too lowlife' for her.

Eillia's voice was never heard by her father, just a mere pawn on his board. A certain gown for today, a new necklace for tomorrow. She never got a choice on what she wore, or anything for that matter. Eillia's life was never really hers. Any spare time she was allowed was spent wandering around the sprawling estate looking for anything to keep her entertained, often with trips to the library or helping out in the kitchens. The cooks kept that to themselves though, always glad for the extra pair of hands. Mother knows what her father would do if he found Eillia kneading dough and covered with flour.

Eillia looked back at the ballroom, guests and courtiers too distracted by the wine or whoever was on their laps, and quietly slipped out into the gardens. The crispness of the air and the fresh crunch of leaves was a stark contrast to what she'd left behind, glad for the temporary freedom. She was admiring the flickering stars when the air stilled; the insects stopped chirping and the grass ceased billowing. Eillia reached for her knife and whipped her head. "I know you're there," she said to the cluster of shadows near the trees.