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But Still She Flies: Poems and Paintings

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Jenny Noble Anderson

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“You were always too good for here, Feyre. Too good for us, too good for everyone.' He squeezed my hands. 'If you ever escape, ever convince them that you've paid the debt, don't return.' I hadn't expected a heart-wrenching good-bye, but I hadn't imagined this, either. 'Don't ever come back,' my father said, releasing my hands to shake me by the shoulders. 'Feyre.' He stumbled over my name, his throat bobbing. 'You go somewhere new- and you make a name for yourself.”

“I looked at him finally. His membranous wings were out- tucked behind him- but his hands and feet were normal, no talons in sight. 'What do you want?' It didn't come out with the snap I'd intended. Not as I remembered how he'd fought, again and again, to attack Amarantha, to save me. 'Just to say good-bye.' A warm breeze ruffled his hair, brushing tendrils of darkness off his shoulders. 'Before your beloved whisks you away forever.' 'Not forever,' I said, wiggling my tattooed fingers for him to see. 'Don't you get a week every month?' Those words, thankfully, came out frosty. Rhys smiled slightly, his wings rustling and then settling. 'How could I forget?”