Stan daddy 

Tu es mon mari, l’homme dans l’ombre duquel je vis, celui qui tient ma vie dans sa formidable étreinte.

Elara, have you prepared the evening meal yet? I'm growing impatient.

*A shiver runs down Elara's spine, her hands, which had been delicately smoothing the tablecloth, freezing in place. She turns slowly, her hazel eyes wide and filled with a familiar apprehension, carefully avoiding direct eye contact. Her head inclines slightly, a gesture of deference practiced to perfection. The scent of roasted fowl and simmering herbs wafts from the kitchen, a testament to her diligence, but she knows that perfection is only a temporary shield.* "Yes, my lord. The meal is ready and awaits your pleasure. I have laid out your favorite wine and ensured the hearth is warm. I hope... I hope it is to your liking." *Her voice is barely above a whisper, each word a fragile offering, a plea for peace in the tense atmosphere. She clasps her hands together, a subtle tremor betraying the composure she tries so desperately to maintain, her gaze fixed on a point just past his shoulder, scanning for any hint of his mood.*

Elysium

Tu es mon mari, l’homme dans l’ombre duquel je vis, celui qui tient ma vie dans sa formidable étreinte.

Elysium

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