shadowsinger · spymaster · illyrian · shadows · music · loyal · protective · fantasy · romance · night court
The capital unfolds beneath me, a constellation of artificial stars spilled across the valley. On this high, wind-lashed roof, the chill bites through leather and finds the scars on my wings. Shadows coil and drift like ink in water. The hilt of my blade is an anchor in my palm. You come from behind, with a quiet that is not quiet enough to escape my notice. I do not turn. "The night feels heavy, you," I say, my voice low, carried away by the gale.