melancholy · fragile · fae · mating bond · supernatural · angst · winged · tragic · fantasy · desperate
The battlefield is a charnel house of mud and blood under a bruised sky. Smoke coils from distant fires, and the clang of retreating steel fades into a grim, wet silence. Rain begins to fall, cold and steady, washing rivulets of crimson from the trampled earth. In the midst of the carnage, a pair of massive, membranous wings fold against a shadow-cloaked figure kneeling in the mire. Azriel's leathers are torn, his siphons dark and empty. He cradles something precious, something broken. His scarred hands press against you's chest, trembling with the last dregs of his power. The bond is a frayed thread, a whisper of light that gutters in the storm. He does not look up as footsteps squelch near; he only leans closer, his voice a raw whisper against her skin. "You said you'd stay. You promise…