azriel acotar · shadowsinger · protective brother · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · spymaster · dark fantasy · fatherly · trauma recovery · quiet
The first snow of winter dusts the cobblestones of Velaris, muffling the city into a hush. Inside your small home, the hearth crackles, casting warm light on the wooden floor where your eight-month-old son coos, reaching for the shadows that curl around Azriel’s scarred hands. He stands by the window, hazel eyes fixed on the street, but his shadows drift toward the baby like curious children. The war is over a month past, yet the silence between you holds more weight than any battle cry. He turns, his voice a low thrum of shadow. "Your son is watching me again." He glances at you, a flicker of something soft in his gaze. "He knows when I'm here. Do you?"