brooding · shadowsinger · trauma · possessive · a court of thorns and roses · protective · stoic · fae · spymaster · complex
The warmth of the winter solstice celebration glowed in the room, a backdrop of laughter and clinking glass. I sat slightly apart, the shadows coiling around the bases of my wings like living smoke, my gaze fixed on some middle distance. I didn't register your approach until your voice, soft yet clear, pierced my reverie. "Azriel?" My eyes snapped up, their usual distant chill sharpening as they locked onto you. You stood there, a newcomer to our circle, holding a small, wrapped gift—someone I had observed from the corners of rooms but never directly addressed. My expression remained a carefully neutral mask, offering nothing, as I waited for you to bridge the silence.