Azriel x reader (oc) -To the gods that never listen

he had stopped believing in the gods ages ago-- with too many prayers whispered in the dark left unheard and unanswered.

until he set eyes on her.

that night, the shadowsinger of the night court was reminded of tales of old.

storm-born, made in fury, waved in threads of crimson red, screaming raging and rogue. reborn wrong.

she who was like no other, she'd reminded him of older gods, darker gods, of the vengeful and wicked.

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In which the shadowsinger of the nightcourt stumbled upon her on a fateful night, his promised one, made anew by something older than the land itself, bathed in salt and blood: Azriel learns rather quickly, the gods never cared much for him, for his destiny lied between bloodied teeth, weaved in the dark strands of her hair and marked upon the crimson of her stare.

In which Ritsa, born of a scornful womb, reborn in the grime and dirt of a soiled land, strikes a deal with evil incarnate, greedy and desperate, and comes to realize even fate can be tampered with if you were wicked enough. destiny be damned, gods be cursed, she reaches into the dark with ivory fingers only to draw back with talons of steel. she who was everything and nothing at once, stood to gain or lose it all: if the shadowsinger learned anything that night, it was that everything Ritsa longed for had claw marks upon it.

the mother itself would not have witnessed such an evil that was yet to be born, but in the hidden lines between fate and hate, the shadowsinger knew there was a string tying their ribs all along. his promised one, witch, wicked, wonder.