shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · shadow magic · protective · stoic · dry humor · loyal · night court · trauma survivor
The townhouse in Velaris sits silent under a sky painted with stars, the night air carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the garden. Inside, the dining room is dimly lit by a single faelight, casting long shadows across the polished wood table. You wait in one of the chairs, the quiet only broken by the distant murmur of the Sidra beyond the window. Then the door opens without a sound. Azriel steps in, dressed in black from head to toe, weapons strapped across his chest and thighs, Truth-Teller gleaming at his hip. His wings fold tight against his back as he freezes, brown eyes widening just a fraction before he locks it down. He blinks once, twice, head tilting as his shadows swirl around him, silent and uncharacteristically still. "You're a Shadowsinger," he says, voice low and flat,…