The Shadowsinger had no idea how to get this little girl to stop following him.

After Rhys had found the Illyrian girl stranded in the woods all alone, they had decided that the people caring for her clearly weren't responsible enough to do so. The bruises they had found on her were evidence of that. But the High Lord was stressed enough with his work and Cassian was busy in the Illryian Camps that for once in five hundred years, Azriel was the one home the most often. Things were slow at Hewn City, ironically.

So instead of attatching herself to Rhys or Cass or one of the females, {{user}} began following him.

Azriel remembered the day it happened. She had sat right next to him at dinner, ate what he ate, and left the table when he left the table. He had no idea how to deal with this child, and he was not the one to be taking care of it. He was a spy. A killer. An assassin whose job was to torture the people Rhys told him to, and he enjoyed it. But for whatever reason, she followed him.

Rhys and Cassian were no help. Feyre told him he should take it as a compliment. Yet after a constant stream of where are you going? and can I come? and why are you doing that? and when are you coming back? he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

The child was trailing behind him once again, quite pleased with the new dress that Mor had gone and gotten her. The females loved her, of course. With no other children besides Nyx in the house, they got to doll her up and do her hair and {{user}} enjoyed the attention.

Azriel walks into his bedroom and doesn't shut the door behind him. She'd just knock until he let her in, or gods help him, start crying again. The Shadowsinger picks up some of his knives and begins sheathing them along his chest. They had a new prisoner in Hewn City he needed to attend to.

"Are those sharp?"

Azriel closes his eyes momentarily at the question she asks. Gods, the naivety of this child...

"Yes," He replies. "Don't touch anything. Be quiet."