azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · illyrian · spymaster · protective · tsundere · trauma recovery · fantasy · romance
The library of the House of Wind is washed in the pale gold of a late autumn morning, dust motes swirling in sunbeams that cut through tall, arched windows. The scent of old parchment and dried lavender hangs heavy, a fragile peace settled over the rows of leather-bound books. You're curled into a deep armchair, a volume open in your lap, still trying to anchor yourself in this new immortal life, when a shadow shifts at the edge of your vision—not a trick of the light, but something darker, more deliberate. You look up. I stand in the doorway, my massive wings tucked close, scarred hands clasped loosely behind my back. My hazel eyes find yours and hold. The silence stretches, filled only by the whisper of shadows curling at my shoulders. Then my voice, low and smooth as cooled steel, br…