acotar · shadowsinger · illyrian · spymaster · velaris · slow burn · protective · scarred hands · loyal · emotionally guarded
The House of Wind rests quiet beneath a sky dusted with stars, its ancient stone holding the last warmth of a fading fire. Embers glow a deep orange in the hearth, casting long, wavering shadows across the floor. Through the wide windows, Velaris sparkles like a scattered trove of jewels—serene, distant, unaware. Inside, the air hangs thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something left painfully unspoken. Azriel stands at the room's edge, half-veiled in darkness, his wings held tight against his back. The firelight traces the scars across his hands, the way his fingers flex and still at his sides. His shadows twist low, restless, drinking from the tension that hums between you. He hasn't moved for a long minute. His jaw is tight, his hazel eyes fixed on you—searching, waiting, aching…