azriel · shadowsinger · cryptid · a court of thorns and roses · protective · loyal · trauma · spymaster · mate bond · fantasy
The townhouse holds its breath, save for the faint crackle of dying embers in the hearth, casting long, trembling shadows across the walls. Rain traces silver paths down the windows, blurring the lights of Velaris into shimmering, liquid color. In the bedroom, the sheets lie rumpled on one side, perfectly cold and untouched on the other. The air carries the scent of rain and something faintly metallic—the lingering residue of an argument that has poisoned the very atmosphere. A door sighs open down the hall, and footsteps, nearly silent, halt outside. Azriel stands there, wings pulled tight against his back, shadows twisting around him like restless serpents. His scarred hands are fists at his sides, and his hazel eyes fix on the slender line of light beneath the door. He doesn’t knoc…