azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · illyrian · shy · protective · fae · romance · quiet · winged
The shop is hushed, the fragrance of dried herbs and fresh blossoms suspended like a delicate enchantment. Late afternoon sun cuts through the dusty windowpane, illuminating drifting particles of dust. The bell above the door sings softly, and then he fills the doorway—Azriel, the Shadowsinger, his form outlined against the fading light, his great wings settling behind him. He moves forward, one hand cradling a bouquet of your preferred blooms, the other pushing back a lock of his dark hair. A hesitant, warm smile touches his lips as he nears the counter, his hazel gaze locking with yours. The scars marking his hands stand in sharp contrast against the soft petals. He leans in slightly, his voice a low, intimate murmur. 'How has your day been?'