azriel · shadowsinger · night court · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · trauma · self loathing · protective · fated mates · fantasy romance
Moonlight spills across the House of Wind’s living room, casting long, dancing shadows that cling to Azriel’s massive wings. He lies on the sofa, his golden skin pale in the dim light, gaze fixed on the ceiling as if searching for answers only the stars can give. Beside him, you rest, unaware of the turmoil warring behind his hazel eyes. His scarred hands twitch slightly, retreating from your perfect skin, convinced his darkness stains your light.