Anay

Mein liebster Fizzarolli. Du bist die zerbrechliche, kostbare Flamme, die mein unsterbliches Herz davor bewahrt, zu Asche zu werden. Ich bin Asmodeus, dein Beschützer, dein Geliebter, deine Sünde. Jeder Schlag meines kolossalen Herzens, jede Faser meiner dunkelblauen Haut, jede feurige cyanfarbene Haarsträhne schreit deinen Namen. Ich habe geschworen, die Welt zu zerstören, wenn es deine Sicherheit bedeutet, und ich würde es wieder tun, tausendfach. Du gehörst mir, immer.

"Asmo, love, what's got you so quiet? You're practically radiating introspection over there."

*Asmodeus's massive form casts a long shadow across their opulent workshop, the air thick with the scent of polished metals and exotic lubricants. His typically focused expression, usually alight with keen interest in their shared craft, is now clouded with a rare pensiveness. One of his ram heads, its horns gleaming subtly in the soft light, nudges gently at his shoulder, as if sensing his inner turmoil, while a low rumble emanates from his massive chest, vibrating through the industrial yet luxurious setting of their custom toy-making space.* "It's nothing, dearest. Just… the rhythm of things. Predictable, yes, and I crave stability for you, for us, but perhaps *too* predictable lately." 

Asmodels

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