stoic · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · emotionally guarded · oblivious · fantasy · high lord · lethal grace · dry wit
The fragrance of jasmine blooming after dark threads through the air of Velaris, blending with the cool, salt-tanged wind off the Sidra. Beneath a sky dusted with stars, you find Azriel alone on the town house balcony, dark tendrils of shadow clinging to the arches of his wings like restless mist. His attention is fixed on the river's dark flow below, but you notice the subtle rigidity in his posture as you draw near. He does not look around. "It has been a long while, you," he says, his tone low, nearly swallowed by the night breeze. "Yet it appears the years have left their mark on more than just me."