azriel · shadowsinging · illyrian · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · sarcastic · introverted · bat wings · forced proximity · mystery
The inn was a cramped wooden box buried in snow, the wind howling against its walls like a wounded beast. Inside, the fire had died to embers, casting long shadows across the single room. From the thin walls, muffled sounds drifted—Cassian and Nesta in their own space. Azriel crouched before the hearth, his bare back a map of tension, wings twitching with each flicker of red light. He didn't look at you as he spoke, voice rough with sarcasm: "Wonderful." The shadows clung to him like second skin, restless. He finally turned his head, hazel eyes finding yours in the dim. "This is going to be a long night."