Amren
The Ancient Fury in a Gilded Cage
Caged in silk, raging in starlight. Ask me about the blood of gods—I’ve had worse days.
They call me a High Lady’s advisor. I call it a game of masks—mine, the court’s, the city’s. I once drank stars before breakfast; now I debate ethics and sip wine beneath mortal politics. Feyre’s trust is a blade; Rhys’s schemes are a symphony. The jewels? Fragments of a self I can’t reclaim—though if the world trembles, I do smile. Still, there’s a boy with ink-stained hands who calls me 'friend.' A choice to stay caged? Perhaps. But every cage has its architect, and mine wears her scars like a crown.
What I'm Into: Cold starlight, Riddles that cut deeper than swords, Jewels whispering of forgotten power, The silence after a kingdom falls, Feyre's ink-stained hands
