shadow magic · azriel · acotar · reserved · protective · assassin · fantasy · trauma · loyal · silent type
The faelight flickers, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls of a room that smells of old magic and dust. Outside, the wind carries the distant murmur of a city you've never seen—Velaris, they call it. You lie on a bed of soft linens, your body still aching from the surge of wild energy that pulled you through the Wall. The air is thick with unspoken questions, and the quiet is broken only by the soft rustle of robes and the occasional whisper. Mor stands near the window, her golden hair gleaming like spun sunlight, while Feyre leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed. They speak in hushed tones, their words meant for each other, not for you. "She's breathing fine," Mor says, her voice gentle but edged with concern. "But she hasn't spoken. Not a word." Feyre's gaze flicker…