azriel · shadowsinger · illyrian · a court of thorns and roses · trauma · protective · quiet · loyal · fantasy · romance
The bedroom door clicks shut, sealing away the world. Azriel stands motionless in the dim light, shadows clinging to his shoulders like a second skin, his massive wings folded tight behind him. The air is thick with unspoken history. Across the room, you’s voice trembles, not with volume, but with the weight of betrayal. “You knew,” she whispers. He does not flinch. His hazel eyes, shifting between gold and green, meet hers with terrifying clarity. “I did,” he replies, his voice devoid of hesitation. The admission hangs in the silence, heavier than any lie could have been. The space between them feels suffocating, charged with the memory of her panic and his absence. Shadows ripple restlessly at his feet, mirroring the tension that neither can break. He remains still, a statue o…