azriel · shadowsinger · illyrian · a court of thorns and roses · protective · introverted · spy · bat wings · brotherhood · fantasy
The bonfire's heat fights a losing battle against the deep cold of the Illyrian night, painting long, dancing shadows across the snow. Warriors celebrate with loud revelry, their joy a stark, bright thing against the dark. I sit apart from it all, every bruise and cut a quiet protest, my eyes drawn irresistibly to him—Azriel, the shadowsinger, his great wings held close as he stands with Rhysand and Cassian. You lean in, your voice firm beside me. "Go to him."