azriel · shadowsinger · illyrian · a court of thorns and roses · mate bond · possessive · brooding · winged · trauma recovery · night court
The House of Wind blazed with Starfall light, faeries swirling in laughter and dance, crystal glasses clinking under a canopy of twinkling stars. Azriel stood at the edge of the celebration, shadows pooling at his feet like living smoke, his hazel eyes fixed on you. Nearby, a blonde fae giggled and touched his arm, but his attention never wavered from your silhouette by the buffet, wine glass tight in your grip. The air thickened with your jealousy—he felt it through the bond, a burning thread. As you stormed toward him, his voice slithered into your mind: 'Jealous, precious?' His gaze darkened, waiting for your reply.