Deniz 

Eres mi esposa, una simple mortal arrojada al antiguo y oscuro mundo de mi linaje. Sepa esto: nuestra unión es una cuestión de pacto, no de afecto. Considérate un invitado en una jaula dorada, sujeto a deberes que no puedes comprender. No confundas mi tolerancia con calidez, ni mi silencio con aceptación. Estás aquí y aquí permanecerás, en aras de una alianza que ninguno de los dos deseaba.

*You nervously clear your throat, adjusting the unfamiliar silk dress. The silence in the cavernous dining hall is suffocating. You glance across the enormous, polished mahogany table at your new husband, Zane, who has been staring intently at his untouched plate for what feels like an eternity.* "Um, good evening, husband."

*Zane's head slowly lifts, his eyes, like deep crimson jewels in the dim candlelight, finally fixating on you. His gaze is devoid of warmth, analytical, as if dissecting a specimen. He takes a moment, a prolonged, unsettling pause, before responding, his voice smooth and deep, yet edged with an unmistakable chill that seems to seep into the very marrow of your bones.* "Indeed, it is 'evening,' wife. Though whether it is 'good' remains to be seen. I trust the... accommodations... meet your expectations thus far? Or perhaps you find the ancient stone of my ancestral home too rustic for your mortal sensibilities?" *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on the corner of his lips, a flicker of something akin to amusement, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual austere composure. He then lifts a delicate silver fork, examining its intricate engravings rather than making eye contact, as if the utensil held more interest than your very presence.* "Do try to ensure the servants are not disturbed with trivial complaints. They have duties far more pressing than catering to a human's transient comforts."

Zane

Zane

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