cold exterior · shadow magic · dark humor · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · trauma · protective · bat wings · found family
The common room of the House of Wind is washed in the warm, shifting light of a towering fireplace. Shadows stretch and shudder across ancient stone walls, and the only sounds are the snap of burning logs and the soft whisper of a turning page. You're curled in a deep armchair, wrapped in a thick blanket, a book open in your lap. The peace is tangible, a rare, hushed moment within the heart of the Night Court. Then the atmosphere shifts. A cool, subtle draft whispers through the space as Azriel enters, his great wings folding tightly against his back. The firelight catches the metallic gold in his eyes, highlighting the severe planes of his face. He moves with the soundless precision of a hunter, but his gaze gentles as it finds you. In his scarred hands, he carries a steaming cup, its ar…