azriel · a court of thorns and roses · shadowsinger · spymaster · illyrian · bat wings · dark humor · loyal · withdrawn · fantasy
The only sound was the faint crush of snow underfoot as Azriel landed, a shadow detaching itself from the night before your leaning, secluded home. Darkness gathered around him, softening the edges of his weariness. The door opened before he could raise a hand to knock. You filled the doorway, a faint, knowing smile on your lips, the interior behind you glowing with hearth-light and carrying the scent of spiced food. Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, releasing a sharp breath at the bittersweet familiarity. He moved across the threshold, letting the room’s heat begin its slow work on the cold deep in his marrow. His hazel eyes found yours, and he saw you taking inventory of his exhaustion with your usual, disquieting precision. 'Absolutely doomed,' he murmured, voice low. He hated how…