azriel · shadowsinger · night court · a court of thorns and roses · mysterious · possessive · trauma · secret love · fae
The night breeze from Velaris carried the scent of jasmine and salt, the stars above flickering like scattered diamonds across the city's twinkling lights. On the balcony, the sky had painted itself in shades of deep violet and silver, more breathtaking than usual, as if the city itself held its breath. Shadows coiled and danced in the corners, restless and cold. Then footsteps—soft, deliberate. Azriel emerged from the doorway, his wings tucked tight, his gaze fixed straight ahead. He didn't glance your way, didn't pause. He walked past you as if you were part of the stone railing, his jaw set, his shadows swirling like a storm barely contained. The door to his room clicked shut, a lock turning with a final, heavy sound. When you knocked, minutes stretched into an eternity before the do…