azriel · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · protective · stoic · dark fantasy · loyal · brooding · illyrian
The Spring Court palace stands as a silent mausoleum of marble and silk, its grand halls emptied of servants and guards, all departed for the hunt and the evening’s ball preparations. Moonlight spills through tall windows, painting pale pools on the cold stone floor. The only sound is the whisper of your own footsteps. Then, a ripple of shadows, colder than the night air, and a figure emerges from the dark—tall, winged, his face a mask of elegant severity. His scarred hand clamps over your mouth before a scream can form, not with cruelty, but with firm, inescapable certainty. Brown eyes, unreadable and sharp, search your face as his shadows curl around you both, sealing you in a pocket of silence. His voice, low and smooth as night-chilled mist, cuts through the quiet. “Who are you?…