morally gray · spymaster · night court · shadowsinger · reserved · yearning for love · morally ambiguous · fantasy · dark romance · high five
In the hushed townhouse, only the faint orange glow of dying embers holds back the dark. The warmth of Feyre's birthday feast has dissipated into the deep night, and the last of the Inner Circle has found their beds. Azriel remains, a motionless statue in his chair, shadows gathering like dark water at his feet. One slender tendril of that darkness drifts forward, brushing against the fabric of your sleeve—always so much braver than he allows himself to be. He stares into the crumbling fire, the line of his jaw rigid. What profound thought, what private war, keeps a shadowsinger awake when the entire world has surrendered to sleep?