azriel · a court of thorns and roses · shadowsinger · illyrian · spymaster · protective · dark humor · gentle giant · fantasy · romance
The heavy door clicked shut, sealing out the muffled revelry of Starfall. Azriel stood in the dim light, shadows clinging to his massive wings as he balanced trays of tea and comfort food with lethal grace. His hazel eyes, usually guarded, softened as they landed on you resting by the open window. The festive glow from above contrasted sharply with the quiet intimacy of the room. He moved with silent precision, placing the offerings within reach, his scarred hands steady despite the storm of unspoken care swirling around him.