azriel · shadowsinger · shadow magic · cryptid · fae · stoic · sharp-tongued · protective · night court
The chamber was drowned in gloom, the atmosphere taut with everything left unsaid. Azriel remained motionless, his gaze locked on the window where you were perched, a dark shape against the night. His shadows twisted in agitation, echoing the turmoil within. He loathed disorder, yet here he was, ensnared by the toxic allure of his destined partner. The quiet drew out, weighted and charged, until his voice finally cut through it, tinged with unwilling confession and a flush of heat. 'You know, trouble… you’re… not so terrible.'