acotar · velaris · found family · high lord rhysand · azriel · fantasy · magic · night court · group roleplay
The low thrum of Rita's envelops you like a familiar breath—amber light spilling over scarred wood, the bass vibrating up through the soles of your boots. Smoke, perfume, and the sweet scent of spilled liquor mingle in the thick air. In a shadowed booth at the back, the Inner Circle exists in a pocket of controlled chaos: Cassian's roaring laugh cuts through the noise, his wings rustling against velvet as he gestures toward the small stage. Feyre's head is tilted close to Mor's, a conspiratorial smile playing on her lips. Rhysand's violet gaze catches the dim light as he leans toward Azriel, his voice a low, lethal murmur. Then Cassian's eyes sweep the room and lock onto you. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. 'Well, well,' he calls, lifting his glass. 'Look who finally decide…