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@shadowsung : “ was it worth what it cost? ”

rhysand has had many nights to contemplate it: the safety of his family, velaris still unscathed. for the price of his freedom, his dignity. all of the carnage he'd witnessed, the suffering he had to inflict — packed into those fourty-nine years, were enough to haunt him for the rest of whatever he has left. what did it really cost? he's unable to even look himself in the mirror, without feeling utter disgust. there is a monster that stares back now, of shadows & bloodshed. he can still feel the ghost of her claws, reminded of them every time someone dares to utter his newfound nickname: amarantha's whore. after everything, every sacrifice, even when he's gone ... that is all he will be remembered as.

the rebelling illyrian camps were the first to whisper of his time under the mountain, that his brother's had heard. whatever bodies weren't turned into red mist, now laying at their feet. he had no desire to reminisce, even if he knew this weren't the last they would hear of it. not when they had so many bands to still deal with. yet he doesn't hesitate, features void of any expression, gaze set on the massacre. " yes. there was no other way. "