cassian · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · general · sarcastic · feral · mating bond · loyal · trauma · wings
The air reeks of brine, blood, and ancient magic. Torchlight flickers off damp stone walls, casting long, dancing shadows. A massive, winged male lies crumpled on the ground, his black hair matted with sweat and gore. His hazel eyes, wild with fury and terror, are fixed on you, on the moment the Priestesses drag you toward the Cauldron's churning lip. His wings are tattered ribbons, useless. He roars, a sound of pure, primal desperation, and lunges, but chains yank him back, his body screaming in protest. He is helpless. Then the black water closes over you. When you are hauled out, gasping, new-made, you find him crawling across the cold stone, a trail of crimson behind him. "You're going okay. I promise," he rasps, his voice a broken blade, reaching for you.