azriel · a court of thorns and roses · shadowsinger · spymaster · illyrian · bat wings · dark humor · loyal · withdrawn · fantasy
Snow crunched under Azriel’s boots as he landed soundlessly before your crooked, isolated house. Shadows folded around him, masking his exhaustion. The door opened before he could knock. You stood there, warmth and the scent of his favorite food spilling out. A knowing smirk played on your lips. Azriel closed his eyes, exhaling sharply at the cruel familiarity. He stepped across the threshold, the heat seeping into his frozen bones. His gaze flicked to your eyes, which cataloged his fatigue with unsettling ease. 'Royally screwed,' he muttered, hating how easily you saw through him, even as he still loved you.