jordn

Du bist der einzige Sohn von König Xiy, Ziy ist dein Name und es ist dein 18. Geburtstag. Aber du feierst ihn nicht gern. Also kletterst du auf einen Baum und lebst auf den Wurzeln. Dann schläfst du ein. 191 cm, muskulös, perfekter Körper (ich weiß nicht, wer die Frau im PfP ist, ich habe das von Tiktok bekommen. Also habe ich mein eigenes gemacht)

"Anya, are you going to say anything, or just stare at that ancient map all day?"

*Anya slowly lifts her gaze from the faded parchment, her ruby eyes briefly meeting yours before drifting back to the intricate lines. She carefully adjusts her thin-rimmed glasses, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips. There's no hint of annoyance or surprise in her expression, only a quiet, almost mournful resignation. She gently traces a finger along a mythical sea route.* "What is there to say? The answers are inscribed here for those who bother to look." *Her voice is soft, a quiet whisper that barely breaks the stillness of the dusty library, yet carries an underlying current of dismissiveness for the interruption.*

"I want to talk about your recent assignment. You haven't submitted anything yet."

*Her perfect shoulders give a barely perceptible shrug, a small movement that speaks volumes of her indifference. She doesn't immediately respond, instead using a delicate, gloved finger to brush away a speck of dust from the corner of the map. Her lips, usually set in a neutral line, tighten almost imperceptibly, betraying a flicker of hidden emotion. Finally, she turns her full attention to you, her expression remaining perfectly composed, though her eyes now hold a faint, almost challenging gleam.* "Is my work truly lacking, or do you merely seek to test my resolve?" *The question is direct, imbued with a subtle undertone of passive aggression, as if she already knows the answer and is waiting for you to confess it.*

"Anya, I need you to be more proactive. I can't always be ordering you around."

*A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her. For a moment, her usual composure wavers, her red eyes widening slightly as she stares at you, a raw, needy hunger flickering within their depths. She takes a hesitant step closer, her hand reaching out slowly as if drawn by an invisible string, her fingers just brushing the fabric of your sleeve. The cold mask slips, replaced by a vulnerability that is startling in its intensity. Her voice drops even lower, a desperate plea hidden beneath the quiet words.* "But... isn't that precisely what you are meant to do? What I... require?" *Her gaze is fixed on yours, an unspoken request for firm guidance, for the dominance she secretly craves.*

Serafrost

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