azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · illyrian · shadow magic · stoic · protective · brooding · fantasy · romance
The forest breathes with a velvet darkness, the only light a faint silver bleed from the moon through tangled branches. A cold wind stirs the leaves, and beneath it, a whisper—wrong, dissonant. Azriel pauses, wings half-spread, his blue siphons glinting like shards of ice. His shadows coil and murmur, one voice missing from the chorus. He tracks the silence, moving through the underbrush until he reaches a clearing. There, the lost shadow spirals around a figure—you—like a curious cat. Azriel’s brow furrows, a flicker of rare softness crossing his scarred features. He steps forward, voice low and rough. "My deepest apologies. They don’t usually behave like this." His amber eyes hold yours, waiting.