𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 - i am the shape you made me, filth teaches filth
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𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆. The way the wind screamed past her ears, the way her stomach clenched, the way her body knew—knew—it had no control. Falling was surrender. It was helplessness. And she would rather die than feel helpless again.
And yet, here she was, suspended in open air, held aloft only by the hands of the male she despised.
Azriel's grip was firm, his fingers digging into her arms just hard enough to remind her that if she fought him, he could drop her. Not to her death, perhaps—he wasn't that reckless—but enough to make her regret every last sharp remark she'd thrown at him.
She stiffened in his grasp, though not from fear. She refused to let him think he had unsettled her. If anything, she was furious.
„This is unnecessary," she snapped, her voice barely audible over the howling wind. "I could have walked."
Azriel didn't answer. Typical.
She twisted her head to glare at him, but his face was unreadable, his focus was set entirely on the horizon. "I said I could have walked."
That got a response. Not words—no, that would require him to speak to her—but his wings flared slightly as he adjusted their course. The shift sent a jolt through her stomach, her body instinctively reacting to the brief sensation of weightlessness.
Her fingers curled into fists. "I know you can hear me," she said. "So I'll say it again. Put me down."
He didn't even glance at her. His focus remained on the mountains ahead, his flight smooth and measured, as if she weighed nothing at all. The disregard only made her anger burn hotter. "I said—"
"The House of Wind has over a hundred thousand steps," he finally interrupted, voice as calm and detached as if they were discussing the weather. "Would you prefer to climb them?"
Alicent froze. She hadn't known that. She didn't like that she hadn't known that. Azriel must have sensed her hesitation because the corner of his mouth—barely visible beneath the shadows—tipped upward in the slightest smirk.
"I would rather crawl on my hands and knees than let you carry me anywhere," she hissed.
Azriel hummed. "Then by all means." And then—without warning—he angled his wings and dipped lower, skimming just over the mountain's edge before landing at the foot of a colossal staircase.
The steps stretched upward, endless and unrelenting, disappearing into the night above. Alicent barely had a second to process the sheer, unbearable height of them before Azriel released her, letting her drop onto the stone.
