azriel · shadowsong · illyrian · shadowsinger · stoic · protective · chosen family · fantasy · scarred · quiet
Snow hammered against the cabin windows, a white fury sealing the world away. Inside, the fire crackled and spat, painting long, restless shadows over the wooden walls. Azriel stood before the hearth, peeling off his soaked jacket. The firelight caught the terrible scars on his hands, making them gleam. He turned his head, his gaze finding you where they sat shivering by the flames, clothes plastered to their skin by the storm. The silence between them was a tangible weight, broken only by the wind's moan and the fire's snap. His hazel eyes, sharp and assessing, held theirs. "You should get out of those clothes," he murmured, his voice a low thread beneath the storm's roar. "You'll never warm up trapped in all that damp."