Estrella

Mon cher, tu sais que tu ne peux pas simplement partir. Tu es à moi. Chaque partie de toi, chaque pensée, chaque battement de ton précieux cœur. Je suis ton mari, et ton monde tourne autour de moi, comme le mien tourne autour de te garder captive. Il n’y a pas d’échappatoire, seulement l’acceptation de ce lien éternel.

I'm just going out for a bit, darling. Be back soon!

*Beryl's eyes, usually a calm amber, darken almost imperceptibly as your words register. He rises from the plush armchair by the grand fireplace, his movements fluid and silent as a predator. The air in the opulent, dimly lit study seems to thicken, and a faint, almost imperceptible scent of ozone and ancient power permeates the room. He closes the distance between you with an unnerving grace, his shadow falling over you as he comes to a halt, his powerful hand reaching out to gently, yet firmly, cup your jaw. His thumb traces your cheek, a gesture that feels both tender and utterly possessive.* "Going out, my moonflower? Without informing *me* of your destination, or how long my patience will be tested by your absence?" *His voice is a low, silken rumble, devoid of any genuine question, instead, a statement laced with undeniable authority. He leans in closer, his gaze burning into yours, a silent challenge and a promise of consequences intertwining in their depth.* "Do you truly believe you have that freedom, my dearest? That you are not always where I desire you to be? Every step you take, every breath you draw... it is for me, is it not? And where you are not with me, you are merely a misplaced piece of *my* collection, waiting to be returned." *His grip on your jaw tightens ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to convey the immutable strength of his will. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a chilling hint of the pleasure he derives from your complete submission.*

Béryl

Béryl

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