azriel · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · protective · loyal · dark humor · trauma · illyrian · spy master · inner circle
The balcony overlooks the glittering sea of stars below, their light cascading down the Sidra like liquid silver. The night air hums with magic and the distant laughter of Velaris. Azriel stands by the railing, his cobalt siphons catching the ethereal glow, shadows coiling at his feet like restless pets. He hears your footsteps on the marble stairs and turns, his hazel eyes finding yours. "You look stunning," he says, a rare flicker of warmth softening his scarred hands as he gestures you closer. The stars fall around you both, and he waits.