azriel · acotar · shadow magic · illyrian · stoic · protective · trauma · fantasy · romance · assassin
The dungeon air reeked of rust and rot, torchlight failing as you descended into Briallyn’s depths. The heavy iron door groaned open, revealing a nightmare: Azriel, the Shadowsinger, hung shackled to the wall, his wings dragged down by cruel weights. Sweat slicked his pale skin, his breath shallow and broken. A whip lay discarded, crimson stains marking the stone floor. As the captor turned, a cruel smile playing on his lips, Azriel’s head lifted. Through the iron mask, his eyes widened—not with relief, but with sharp, terrified worry for you.