jasmineandcedar

[jasmineandcedar]

For I have known the softness of thy hand | A love sonnet

An Elriel sonnet.

I’ve always thought both Azriel and Elain’s voices have a poetic flare. So, although I normally write sonnets to Elain from Azriel, here’s a sonnet to Azriel from Elain.

Elain seems to see a beauty that goes beyond what the eye can see, because she sees beauty where others see scars and darkness. She listened to Azriel's self-consciously uttered words about flying and called them beautiful. She looked upon his hands, a physical manifestation of his trauma and self-loathing, and called them beautiful. She looked at the gift he carefully picked out for her and marveled at its beauty. And then, she pivoted into the touch of those hands she finds beautiful.

For I have known the softness of thy hand

Thy beauty dwelleth past what eyes can see, a soul enshrined in shadows' gentle hold. Like sentinels of mist they cling to thee, as though thou wert too precious to let go.

The world calleth thee cold, a sharpened blade, yet I have known the softness of thy hand. When thou art safe and shadows’ hold doth wane, I glimpse a heart too vast to comprehend.

Thy strength is not in might, but in thy care, yet ‘tis thy heart the world hath cruelly torn. Thou break’st thyself that others may be spared, and shield’st their hearts whilst thine doth bleed alone.

O Azriel, look’st through mine eyes and see, The beauteous soul that dwelleth within thee.

A love sonnet, To Azriel, from Elain

Here's Azriel's sonnet collection, Song of the Wind, on AO3.

This sonnet was an attempt to turn into poetry an extract from a one-shot I wrote from Elain’s POV, if you should be curious. I'll throw it in here:

He was beautiful.

She could have lived her entire immortal life without ever seeing his face, and still, he would have been beautiful. She would have known it in the way his shadows clung to him like he was something precious and they couldn’t bear to let him go. She would have known it in the quiet steadiness of his presence, the way he carried himself as though he might shatter the world if he wasn’t careful, even though it was the world that had always been too harsh for him, shattering him over and over.

She would have known it in those rare, unguarded moments, when his walls softened just enough for her to glimpse the gentleness beneath, so achingly tender it seemed almost impossible it had survived in a place like this. She would have known it in the way he heard the words no one spoke, how he noticed the cracks others overlooked and sought to mend them even when it fractured him.

Lesser.

For that—for the cruel, thoughtless judgments of a world too blind to see him—she hoped they all burned in hell.

[jasmineandcedar]

This scene just gets more unhinged the more carefully you read it. The fact that he nearly groaned right in her face the first time he got a hand on her neck… Like, dude, relax. (DON'T RELAX!)

And Elain went, "ooh that's very nice, thank you" 🌸🥰🌸

They're unhinged. I'm here for it.

Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut.

Offer and permission.

He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers.

[jasmineandcedar]

The path to heaven, hidden in thy skin | A love sonnet

An Elriel sonnet.

Inspired by his reverence of Elain—as though she is too divine to touch, but too enchanting to resist—here's another love sonnet to Elain Archeron, penned by Azriel (soon to be) Archeron.

The path to heaven, hidden in thy skin

My lips do trace thy curves, as though I’ve found the path to heaven hidden in thy skin. Thy frame, a harp where silent songs abound, do sleep, till I awake the chords within.

My body blends with thine in passion's sway, a gasp escapes thy lips—a trembling plea. I hold thee close, my whispers sing thy praise, as soft, thy sighs give rise to melody.

Our breaths entwine, our bodies rise and fall as one, till last thou arch against my chest. Thy symphony ascends, and I am whole, when thou dost breathe my name against my lips.

O sweet Elain, my soul finds rest herein, for thou hast shown me heaven in thy skin.

A love sonnet For Elain, by Azriel

You can find Azriel's sonnet collection, Song of the Wind, on AO3.

[jasmineandcedar]

I could read an 800 page book with just this scene, written in as much detail as possible.

You know one of the things I like to imagine for Elriel is that Elain sits in front of her dressing table, getting ready for the day or getting ready for bed. How the light of the rising or setting sun or fairy lights gently hugs Elain. She is embraced in a play of soft light. The way Elain hums in her soft voice to herself and Azriel just looks at her. In a pleasant silence, simply blown away by his beautiful wife. The way Azriel looks at her like she's his whole world. Silence is never a bad thing between the two of them. Having the company of the other is worth more than words. How Elain turns to him and just smiles at him and Azriel thinks to himself how much he loves this woman. The light to his shadow.

💗✨️☺️

[jasmineandcedar]

Azriel's bucket list

So. Elain and Azriel develop a connection and Elain gifts Azriel a headache powder for Solstice, which brings joy to his miserable soul for the first time in forever. Azriel lies sleepless for a year, staring at said headache powder like a lovesick teenager. The stone-faced Spymaster can't hide his emotions whenever Elain is brought up. There are brushing fingers and exchanged looks. He starts pleasuring himself to the thought of her. Next Solstice, he finds himself alone with Elain. Elain—the goddess—glows like the sun at dawn, flashes her delectable neck and goes "put it on me". What then?

Azriel immediately starts mentally listing all the ways he needs to pleasure Elain, all the parts of Elain he needs to taste like its his bucket list.

◻️ Need to know what the skin of her neck tastes like ◻️ Need to know what those perfect lips taste like. ◻️ Need to know what her sex tastes like. ◻️ Need her coming on my tongue. ◻️ ...

On and on, until he gets himself so hard his pants are straining so badly he's in so much pain he can "hardly think", praying she won't look down (he threw a prayer in there lmao? "Mother save me! Please don't look down, please don't look down, please don't look down..."). He's fighting for his life to not put his teeth to her lips, to not have his eyes roll back in his head, and to not fall to his knees when the scent of her arousal reaches him. I'm sorry but I find it very sweet but also kind of funny how he's spiraling. Mr. "Don't show your hand all at once", "save some for later". He was not going to save anything for later. He was mentally preparing for a goddamn feast.

Yeah. Azriel is falling in love. He's spiraling just like Cassian spiraled over Nesta. Just like Rhys spiraled over Feyre. Falling in love and incredibly aroused. And Elain—the goddess—seems equally into it, pivoting into him and giving him that sexy, sexy offer and permission.

I know it's meant to be hot (and it is), but also, It's all just very endearing to me. Like, I can't help but smile to myself over how its all just kind of sweet.

[jasmineandcedar]

These are truly the hypotheticals worth reflecting upon.

I'd like to take some time to ponder a slightly more eager response from Elain, should Azriel suddenly turn into an ice cream.

Truly enlightening 😌

if azriel were an ice cream, do you think elain would eat him by licking or by biting?

The answer is both.

Licking obviously at the start and verrrry slow savoring licks.

But then she comes in with a sassy little bite because sometimes my girl likes to show her claws.

He's into both. 😉

[jasmineandcedar]

"dimple simp" i'm wheezing 🤣🤣🤣🤣

My dear anon, I credit @lunaatthezoo for the term dimple simp, but it is now my whole identity.

Speaking of dimples, I have one dimple. Just one. No matter how aggressively I try to smile, there's only one. If there is a god I know he is cruel. Because he decided to grace my face with only one solitary dimple, and then cursed me with an immense need for order and symmetry. Every time I look in the mirror, I'm reminded of this cosmic joke played upon me. So if I had to pick a side, I'd go with the devil.

But then I met my boyfriend. He also has only one dimple. Perfectly balancing out my tragic asymmetry. That's why I've been with him for years now. Balance. Harmony. Inner peace.

(Just kidding. I love him. And not just because I'm a dimple simp.)

[jasmineandcedar]

As a certified dimple simp, I approve of this message.

I have been waiting patiently for the right moment to declare this and I think the time has finally come.

*checks notes and clears throat*

My headcanoned Azriel has dimples (which appear about twice a century when he unclenches his jaw to smile faintly).

My headcanoned Elain also has dimples (which can bring kings to their knees).

Double. Dimple. Damage.

[jasmineandcedar]

I have been waiting patiently for the right moment to declare this and I think the time has finally come.

*checks notes and clears throat*

My headcanoned Azriel has dimples (which appear about twice a century when he unclenches his jaw to smile faintly).

My headcanoned Elain also has dimples (which can bring kings to their knees).

Double. Dimple. Damage.

[jasmineandcedar]

'Tis but a fortnight since I did pen my latest Elriel sonnet, a humble tribute to the po-tay-toes. Yet now, methinks the hour is perchance ripe for a sonnet of smuttier persuasion… Shall I dare tread this wanton path? Tell me, kind souls--doth the world stand prepared for a smutty Elriel sonnet?

[jasmineandcedar]

Hello. I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to casually throw it out there. After hovering over the post button for what felt like forever, I finally decided to post my Elriel writing on AO3. You'll find me here and I'd love to find you too if you're on there. Don't hesitate to reach out.

Anyway... Back to writing sonnets to Elain in Azriel's name.

[jasmineandcedar]

No, thank you! You are one of the friendliest people I’ve met in this fandom. You are always so encouraging and kind. You deserve an endless supply of sonnets.

Happy birthday 🥳🥳

Here's a birthday sonnet, from me to you 🫶

With clever wit, thou write of Azriel's plight, to guard Elain whilst smitten and down bad. Thy pen doth weave a tale of pure delight, where Az is simping hard--poor lovesick lad!

Thy quill, unyielding--doth it ever rest? As rivers stream, so too thy stories flow. O gifted soul, thou simply art the best, thy gift, a treasure, all the world should know.

Thy kindness, boundless as the endless sea, doth still the doubts that whisper in my mind. A friend to all, thy warmth inspireth me, to share my words and leave my fears behind.

Dear friend, thy birthday calls for cheer and praise, For thou dost make the world a better place.

I have no. Words. I have been graced with my very own sonnet by the Elriel sonnet MASTER 😭😭😭😭 This made my whole ass day 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 thank you so much you sweet sweet human.

[jasmineandcedar]

[jasmineandcedar]

I feel like SJM is moving in the direction of Azriel and Elain being mates. I've never liked that idea, because it doesn't resonate with Elain's values of not wanting a mate. Of fully choosing who to give her heart to. It doesn't fully resonate with love trumping a mating bond. Making Azriel and Elain mates would, to me, lessen the narrative strength of Elain's choice, whatever the nature of their mating bond would be. I want fate or the divine to have nothing to do with them. And yet, through all these years, it never once crossed my mind that she could simply reject both bonds. This is perfect. This would be love trumping a mating bond going full circle. It's so damn poetic.

Perhaps this won't be where SJM goes. Maybe it will. But regardless of where canon goes, just being introduced to this idea has me feeling like some part of their story has been fulfilled for me.

I read the last few sentences of your post and I think my head just went quiet. Thank you for sharing this.

Here is my headcanon and hope for Elain and Azriel.

I would love to see them discover that they were initially mates, just like Feysand and Nessian--when Elain was still a human. I'd love for them to know that they were always meant for each other, but their bond was either corrupted or negated by the Cauldron during Elain's Making.

I would like to see them find a way to re-establish their mate bond. I would like for them to pore over ancient manuscripts in the Library, I'd love to see them ask both Bryce and Gwyn to do research on the subject. I'd love to have them make a trip to Day and visit Helion's Libraries.

And as their story progresses, they fall deeply in love and become inseparable, even though they aren't mates. And then Azriel asks Elain to marry him, but he also reminds her that she could be with her Cauldron-given mate and that she'll now feel the remnants of TWO unfulfilled bonds. That, like the Little Mermaid, she will walk through life with pain and feel it with each step.

And Elain would tell him that she's been in love with a human, who rejected her. And she's been mated to a Fae, who didn't want her and whom she also didn't want. But with Azriel, she found a love that is pure and passionate and loyal, and that no bond in the world could make her love him more than she already did. She'd tell him that she loved him for eternity and through all the worlds and epochs. And that her answer is 'yes'.

And then, once they were married, they would eventually find a way to 'reinstate' their original bond. But both would reject the opportunity because the bond would feel superfluous. And Elain would go down as the only person in history who rejected two bonds.

[jasmineandcedar]

Finally braving AO3 to upload my writing. It's going great, except how to properly tag stuff is harder to figure out than my life decisions. Send prayers 😅

[jasmineandcedar]

Unspeakable things | His name on her tongue

An Elriel one shot (Elain’s POV)

I couldn’t decide on the title, so this one has two.

This is an inner monologue of Elain's. I wanted to explore how she might grapple with shame and rage. I wanted to explore her thoughts on “unspeakable things” and on speaking Azriel’s name. And I wanted to explore a slightly different take on her reaction to “this was a mistake” that is based on how SJM has written Azriel and Elain as understanding each other deeply.  

Warning: feelings of shame, sexual content (fantasies, not explicit).

----

It wasn’t this was a mistake that kept her sleepless at night.

She had seen the pain in his hazel eyes when he uttered those cursed words—had felt it mirrored in her own, like two halves of something shattered. She had heard the warning in her mind even before he spoke. Words whispered in a voice from another life.

This is a mistake.

The words had echoed in her own mind before he ever spoke them. So, she understood.

Because it had been wrong.

So wrong.

And yet, in those fleeting, stolen moments before he pulled away, she hadn’t cared.

For that brief eternity, when his beautiful hand threaded through her hair, neither had he.

She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her neck, like a phantom lingering in the shadows, tracing her skin with the memory of him. It haunted her in the stillness of the dark, quiet hours when sleep eluded her and the ache of his absence grew too sharp.

Then, shame. So much shame. A voice from another life, whispering in her mind.

It had eaten away at her, a slow erosion that left her brittle in the weeks following the longest night of the year. That night that seemed to stretch endlessly, as if time itself had decided to trap her in the moment she lost him.

She knew her yearning for him was insignificant compared to what it might unravel. She knew tugging one thread too hard could fray the delicate tapestry of alliances and shatter the fragile peace they all clung to.

But if there was peace, she didn't feel it.

Her desire for him was a storm beneath her skin, unseen, yet wild and untamed beneath the polished facade she presented to the world. It surged and roared through her veins like a torrent thrashing against the fragile dam of her composure. She didn’t know how long she could keep it contained.

She had never known a force stronger than shame.

Not until she knew desire.

Not until him.

Put it on me?

She had gotten carried away.

If she hadn’t—if she hadn’t leaned into him, hadn’t pivoted into his touch—she didn’t think he would have faltered. She had been sure of it. That maddening restraint of his, that iron-clad will, would have kept him away, as it always had. He would have stopped himself.

But he hadn’t.

And now she knew the truth: even he frayed at the edges.

Because he had buried his hand in her hair as though she were something sacred. He had responded to her as if guided by an instinctive cadence, their movements falling into perfect harmony, as though they had always been meant to align.

He had followed her lead.

No one had ever waited for her to take the first step before.

That was what Elain was supposed to do. To wait. To follow where others led. She was the delicate flower swayed by the breeze, petals fluttering in the currents of decisions that were never her own. Her life had been an endless yielding, a quiet erasure so deeply ingrained it had become second nature.

Until him.

She had been told what to do all her life, her path carved for her before she could even start to imagine what she might truly want. But he had reached out those beautiful hands and asked.

Would you like me to show you the garden?

It wasn’t just that he knew she longed for sunshine and was the only one to actually take her there. It was the way he asked. The quiet simplicity of it. The way he didn’t assume, didn’t press, didn’t demand.

It felt like the first time anyone had truly asked her what she wanted, with no strings pulling, no expectations pressing down on her.

She was a mated female. She owed him nothing. And he owed her even less.

And in that moment, as his hazel eyes held hers and their fingers intertwined, she had seen beauty for the first time since she entered that murky realm and became lost to visions.

Beautiful.

He had shown her the garden that day. The tiny green buds emerging from the dark soil, stretching skyward, reaching for the sun. It had stirred in her at last—a faint, fragile flicker of hope she had not felt since she had been Made.

It hadn’t even been the garden that gave her strength.

It was the choice.

The quiet, miraculous freedom to say yes. To want something as simple, as vital, as sitting among the flowers. With no expectation tied to it, no demand for what she had to give in return. For the first time, she had wanted without fear. Without guilt.

He had been the first to remind her that she was still capable of wanting, and that it mattered.

And yet, even with that fragile truth blooming in her chest, it wasn’t this was a mistake that kept her awake at night.

Because she understood—perhaps better than anyone—the weight of expectations. The crushing force of duty that demanded everything and gave nothing in return. She had long since grown used to it, the quiet suffocation of living not for yourself.

She understood.

But understanding didn’t make the ache any easier to bear.

And perhaps it was that shared understanding, that unspoken recognition of burdens neither of them could escape, that made the last word he spoke that night the one that echoed in her mind, refusing to let sleep claim her.

Goodnight.

Spoken like a goodbye.

It had carried something final, something she couldn’t bear to hear from him.

There hadn’t been a good night since. Because if there was one person in the world whose goodbye would haunt her, it was him.

And if anyone could grasp the unbearable weight of losing him, it was her.

Perhaps that was why the memory of what they had once had lingered so painfully now, like a bruise throbbing with every heartbeat.

Once, there had been certainty between them. A quiet, peaceful stillness that felt safe and comforting. He was simply there, an anchoring, familiar presence in an unsteady world.

Things had been so easy with him.

Until they weren’t.

Until comfort twisted into hunger.

Until quiet swelled into an ache so unbearable, it stole the air from her lungs.

Until she could no longer look at him without feeling that sharp, electric charge in her chest. Without sensing the raw, untamed need simmering just beneath her skin.

Until her body burned for his with every graze of fingers, every fleeting glance. Her skin hummed with the memory of his, calling for the touch of those beautiful hands. As if his touch wasn’t just something she craved—it was something her very being answered to, like a quiet beckoning written into her bones.

And then the shame. Bitter shame, that relic from a life she could not seem to shed. It crept in, coiling around the warmth he had left behind.

She didn’t know what would happen now. The peace they had built, that delicate balance they had maintained, it had shattered the moment she leaned into him and his hand slipped into her hair.

For the first time since he had brought her out of that murky realm, she felt unmoored, adrift in the wake of what could have been but never was. Left with that bruise of memories throbbing with every heartbeat.

All because she had gotten carried away.

She simply didn't do that.

She wasn’t one to get swept up in reckless desire. But the force of her desire for him was growing stronger than the shame trying to hold her back.

Her mother would have been disappointed.

Her sweet Elain, sneaking around in the dead of night. With him. When she was mated to a High Lord’s son—a good male, by all accounts. By the looks of it, that much was true.

Her heart should ache for him, for the male fate had chosen.

But it wasn’t Lucien’s time and affection she longed for. It wasn’t his hands she dreamed of, their absence keeping her restless, her skin burning with unfulfilled need. It wasn’t his touch she craved, nor his breath she yearned to feel ghosting across her neck in the still hours of the night.

It wasn't his touch that called to her, that quiet beckoning written into her bones.

And she knew it was wrong.

Lucien hadn’t asked for this any more than she had. He hadn’t chosen to be bound to a female whose heart yearned for another, whose soul ached with raw, unrelenting need for someone else.

And that shame, that relic from another life, coiled tighter inside her chest.

She knew what her mother would have said. Knew what her mother would have demanded. Her daughters’ wants had never mattered much to her. Elain wasn’t even sure her mother had ever believed they might have wants of their own.

But Elain had wants.

She had desire burning quietly beneath the surface, yearning to be named. It was breathing life into spaces within her that had only known silence and restraint.

She wanted him.

And she knew, with a fierce, unshakable clarity, that she could never again fold herself into her mother’s mold—not as long as he still drew breath.

Because it was his breath she longed to feel, whispering unspeakable things against her skin in the quiet of night. It was his beautiful hands she craved, learning her body in ways she dared not speak aloud.

Elain knew he had done unspeakable things with those beautiful hands.

Sins that couldn’t be spoken.

And still, Elain wanted him. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything.

Because she had never felt so alive as when she leaned into his touch. When his beautiful hand slipped into her hair, tilting her face in a way she hadn’t realized she craved until their breaths mingled and she thought she might shatter from the sheer need pulsing between them.

He had looked at her as though she had hung the sun on its perch in the heavens, as though her existence alone could summon it to rise. As if seeing her was enough to set his world right. She had never felt as seen as when those hazel eyes held hers.

His unspoken question had hung thick in the air between them, seeking permission for an offer her heart had already made.

Yes.

In that stolen moment, there was no shame from another life. She had wanted him to see it all—every desperate secret she had kept hidden behind polite smiles and soft glances.

She wanted him to see the raw, unspeakable need for him that she could no longer contain.

And then, she had seen it in him too. That fleeting moment when his eyes nearly fluttered closed, when restraint buckled beneath the weight of desire. When desire nearly won.

She had felt it, had almost tasted it, in that shift in his scent—a primal, untamed thing that made her want to fall to her knees. It had washed over her, a quiet, desperate plea from the depths of him, one she could never have denied.

But, then—

Goodnight.

Spoken like goodbye. And pain in hazel eyes that mirrored her own.

She had wept for the loss of it all. For the grief of something beautiful, stolen before it had the chance to fully bloom.

And then that relic from another life had returned. Heavy and suffocating.

The rage came later.

It came with the cruel clarity of what had been lost. The blade of clarity carved through the loss to show her everything she had been denied.

Her mother’s voicie echoed in her mind. She could almost see the sneer on her lips, her cold expression as she spat the words: lesser. A bastard-born nobody. Unworthy.

Rage rose within Elain, surging like a tide drawn by the pull of the moon. It consumed her, the thought of anyone daring to think such things about him.

He was beautiful.

She could have lived her entire immortal life without ever seeing his face, and still, he would have been beautiful.

She would have known it in the way his shadows clung to him like he was something precious and they couldn’t bear to let him go. She would have known it in the quiet steadiness of his presence, the way he carried himself as though he might shatter the world if he wasn’t careful, even though it was the world that had always been too harsh for him, shattering him over and over.

She would have known it in those rare, unguarded moments, when his walls softened just enough for her to glimpse the gentleness beneath, so achingly tender it seemed almost impossible it had survived in a place like this. She would have known it in the way he heard the words no one spoke, how he noticed the cracks others overlooked and sought to mend them even when it fractured him.

Lesser.

For that—for the cruel, thoughtless judgments of a world too blind to see him—she hoped they all burned in hell.

For the first time in her life, not even shame could force her to apologize for making a mistake. For doing what was wrong in the eyes of everyone else but felt so undeniably right in her own heart.

Because to apologize would be to betray them both.

She could never apologize for wanting him.

He had been strong enough to stop them from making a mistake. Now, she wanted to be strong enough to let them make it.

Finally, she allowed herself to want.

And she wanted him.

“Azriel.”

His name on her tongue felt intimate. Too intimate. So private that she didn’t dare utter it aloud unless she was alone. She feared that simply saying it aloud would lay bare the secrets of her heart for anyone to see and expose that ravenous hunger she could barely contain.

She couldn’t hold his gaze when he looked at her, when those hazel eyes found hers and pierced through the layers she so carefully hid behind. She felt raw. Exposed.

As if her secrets were whispered in the very air between them.

As if anyone watching could see what his gaze alone did to her. As if they might see what the mere memory of it made her do in the dead of night, when she was alone in the dark, with his name on her tongue.

“Azriel.”

His name held so many secrets.

Perhaps because the first time she had tasted it on her tongue had been in the solitude of night, her hand trembling between her thighs. She had whispered it into the darkness, hesitant and terrified. As if speaking it aloud might summon some divine punishment, a reckoning for daring to desire a male who was not hers to claim. A male she didn’t belong to.

“Azriel.”

She had done unspeakable things with her hands too, as far as her mother would have been concerned. Things that tainted her beyond redemption. Things far beyond letting him dominate her nightly fantasies. Things that would have tarnished her beyond repair in the eyes of the woman who was her mother in name only.

Unspeakable things that made her moan his name into the quiet of night, trembling with an all-consuming need for him. Things that made her back arch off the bed as she whispered his name over and over, wishing desparately that it was his beautiful hands unraveling her instead of her own.

Wishing it was his beautiful hands that drew her past the precipice, his hands that sent her into that space where songbirds erupted in her ribcage and fire blazed beneath her skin.

Wishing she was gasping his name into the curve of his shoulder, against his lips, his skin—as he did unspeakable things to her and she let herself burn for him.

She wanted to burn for him.

“Azriel.”

Not even shame could stop his name from escaping her lips.

He hadn’t even truly touched her, and yet the mere taste of his name on her tongue had unraveled her in ways no man ever had.

In another life, she might have been mortified at herself. Because ladies didn’t do unspeakable things with their hands. Ladies didn’t lie awake at night with their hands trembling between their thighs, moaning the names of men like him.

Because ladies weren’t allowed to know the liberation of doing what the world deemed wrong but felt so undeniably right in their hearts.

In another life, ladies didn't make mistakes.

In another life, wanting was a sin and shame the guiding compass.

But that life was a relic. A thing of the past.

Because of him.

“Azriel.”

[jasmineandcedar]

— Nizar Qabbani