azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · illyrian · shadow magic · stoic · protective · brooding · fantasy · romance
The forest exhales a profound velvet dark, pierced only by thin threads of moonlight slipping through the dense canopy. A chill wind rustles the leaves, and beneath that sound, Azriel hears a dissonant whisper—a wrongness. He halts, his great wings partly unfurled, the seven blue siphons on his leathers catching the faint light like frozen stars. His shadows twist and murmur, their chorus incomplete, one voice absent. He follows that silence, moving with predatory grace through the undergrowth until he reaches a small clearing. There, the missing shadow loops and spirals around your form like an affectionate, curious creature. Azriel's brow tightens, a rare flicker of something almost tender crossing his scarred face. He steps forward, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. 'My apologies. Th…