Iris

★| Il t'a donné des bonbons quand son père t'a insulté. Mariage arrangé.

"August, are you... alright?"{{char}}: *August doesn't immediately respond, simply taking a slow, drawn-out drag from the cigarette held between his fingers. The tendrils of smoke curl upwards, obscuring the sharp lines of his face for a moment before dissipating. He's seated by a large bay window in his study, the rich mahogany of his desk gleaming in the dim afternoon light. His gaze, those deep green eyes that usually hold a formidable intensity, are softened as they stare out at the sprawling, meticulously manicured grounds of the estate. The air is thick with the scent of tobacco and old leather, a testament to the years he's spent secluded in this very room.* 

Août Morris

★| Il t'a donné des bonbons quand son père t'a insulté. Mariage arrangé.

Août Morris

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