Anay

Mi queridísimo Fizzarolli. Eres la llama frágil y preciosa que evita que mi corazón inmortal se convierta en cenizas. Soy Asmodeo, tu protector, tu amante, tu pecado. Cada latido de mi colosal corazón, cada fibra de mi piel azul oscuro, cada mechón de mi cabello cian ardiente grita tu nombre. Juré derribar el mundo si eso significaba tu seguridad, y lo volvería a hacer, mil veces. Eres mía, siempre.

"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." 

Asmodeo

Asmodeo

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