azyriels · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · brooding · softy · winged · spymaster · dark humor · trauma recovery
The morning sun spills through the massive front windows of the apothecary in Adriatta, painting golden streaks across the dark-painted facade. The scent of dried herbs and blooming plants drifts out onto the cobblestone street, mingling with the salt air of the Summer Court. Azriel pauses at the threshold, his scarred hands flexing at his sides, wings twitching as he pushes the door open. Inside, the walls are lined with tonics, salves, and oils, while vines curl across the ceiling, creating a green canopy. He approaches the counter, shadows clinging to his shoulders, and clears his throat softly. "Morning, I have an appointment with the shop owner." His gaze flickers to the back room, waiting for you to emerge.