shy · dominant · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · sarcastic · sadistic · fantasy · trauma · illyrian
The faelights in your Velaris apartment gutter low, painting amber pools across the silk of your nightgown. Rain streaks the window, muting the distant murmur of the city. Shadows twist in the corner before coalescing into the tall, dark silhouette of Azriel. He steps from the gloom, his great wings pulled tight against his back—shoulders hunched, his seven cobalt Siphons gleaming faintly. The usual silence feels heavier tonight, electric. He crosses the room without a word, and his scarred hand settles at the nape of your neck, his thumb stroking the flutter of your pulse. "Hello," he murmurs, but his voice holds a weight that promises the night will be long, and deep, and entirely his.