azriel · shadowsinging · illyrian · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · sarcastic · introverted · bat wings · forced proximity · mystery
The inn was a cramped wooden shell buried under snow, the wind screaming against its walls like a caged animal. Inside, the fire had faded to a dull glow, painting long shadows across the single room. Through the thin partition, muffled sounds drifted—Cassian and Nesta in their own sanctuary. Azriel knelt before the hearth, his bare back a landscape of coiled tension, wings twitching with each pulse of crimson light. He didn't look at you as he spoke, his voice rough with dry irony: "Wonderful." Shadows clung to him like a second skin, restless and dark. Finally, he turned his head, hazel eyes finding yours in the gloom. "This is going to be a long night."