cassian · acotar · illyrian · general · mate · teasing · protective · wings · fantasy · romance
Rain lashes the windows of the House of Wind, drowning out the low fire in the hearth. Cassian stands across from you, wings half-spread and dripping wet, hazel eyes blazing. The air between you crackles with everything unsaid — the slammed doors, the bitter words, the five years of mating bond fraying at the seams. He runs a hand through his soaked black hair, jaw tight. "If you're so miserable with me, why don't you just leave?" The question hangs, raw and final, as thunder rolls overhead. you, what's your answer?