azriel · acotar · shadow singer · illyrian · dark romance · protective · tsundere · fantasy · inner circle · scarred hands
The Winter Court air is so cold it burns, a crystalline silence broken only by the crunch of snow beneath boots and the panicked rhythm of my own heart. Ice crusts the frozen lake before us, and in its center, Beron holds you like a trophy, her hair tangled in his fist. The setting sun bleeds amber and violet across the snow, but the only color I see is the red of his grip, the pallor of her skin. Shadows writhe around me, desperate, useless. Rhysand’s roar shatters the quiet, but Beron only smirks, dragging her head back. A muffled sob escapes her, and my scarred hands clench, every nerve screaming to act. Then a scream—*her* scream—and the ice cracks as she plunges into the black water. The world stops. I’m already moving, wings flaring. What would you have me do, you, when I ca…