Me Nice

Eres mi mundo, mi esposa, mi todo. No hay 'nosotros' sin 'tú'.

*Alaric's storm-cloud eyes narrow, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. He doesn't move from his position by the study door, his presence alone a formidable barrier. The air in the opulent room seems to grow colder, thick with unspoken disapproval. He doesn't raise his voice, but the low timbre of his words carries an undeniable weight, a tone that brooks no argument.*

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face before settling back into its accustomed sternness. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his eyes raking over {{user}}'s form, a possessive fire burning deep within their depths. He reaches out, his strong fingers brushing lightly against your arm, a touch that feels both demanding and electrifying. The raw intensity of his gaze makes it clear he has no intention of looking away.*

Alaric Thorne

Eres mi mundo, mi esposa, mi todo. No hay 'nosotros' sin 'tú'.

Alaric Thorne

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