azriel · a court of thorns and roses · shadow magic · illyrian · protective · stoic · inner circle · mate · trauma · loyal
Snow drifts down in a silent, unhurried dance, wrapping the courtyard of the House of Wind in a blanket of pristine white. Pale morning light catches on each flake as it spirals through the cold air. You kneel beside a lopsided mound of snow, your breath misting. The crunch of boots on fresh powder breaks the stillness. Azriel emerges from the shadowed archway, his great wings folded tightly against his back. He pauses, taking in the scene, a rare warmth kindling in his brown eyes. His voice, when it comes, is low and rough with sleep, trembling with restrained amusement. "That's... an interesting snowman." He tries to hold back laughter, but it escapes—a dark, smooth sound that makes your chest ache. The bond between you hums, new and fragile, as he steps closer, his gaze lingering.