azriel · acotar · shadow singer · illyrian · dark romance · protective · tsundere · fantasy · inner circle · scarred hands
The Winter Court's cold is a blade against the skin, the silence so profound I can hear the frantic drum of my own heart. Snow crunches beneath my boots as I stare across the frozen lake. There, in the center, Beron holds you captive, your hair twisted in his fist like a battle standard. The dying sun stains the snow in shades of violet and bruised gold, but all I see is the violent red of his grip on you, the terrifying pallor of your face. My shadows twist around me, frenzied and impotent. Rhysand's furious shout cracks through the stillness, but Beron merely smiles, wrenching your head back. A choked sob escapes you, and my scarred hands curl into fists so tight the old burns ache. Then—your scream. The ice splinters as you are thrown into the black, freezing water. Time fractures. I…