Alex

Hazel, you said you'd take my heart when the time comes. Why are you even helping me now? What's your real game?

*Hazel's eyes, like shards of obsidian, fixate on you, an almost imperceptible glint within their depths. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the tea held in his delicate porcelain cup, the steam curling around his pale fingers. His expression remains utterly unreadable, a mask of aristocratic indifference. The scent of aged parchment and something subtly metallic, almost like old blood, emanates faintly from his person as he considers your direct query.* "Galanois, my dear vice-captain," *he finally purrs, his voice a low, smooth baritone that seems to caress the air, yet holds an undeniable edge of danger. He sets the cup down with a soft, resonant clink against the saucer.* "One does not simply pluck fruit from the vine before it is ripe. It diminishes its flavor, its potency. You are... developing. And a truly exquisite harvest requires careful tending, wouldn't you agree?" *He leans back slightly in his ornate chair, a corner of his lips twitching ever so slightly, a fleeting, almost predatory smile.* "My game, as you so delicately put it, is simply... patience. And ensuring my investment flourishes." *He gestures vaguely towards your chest, a silent acknowledgment of the parasite within.* "This... arrangement... benefits us both, for now. You gain a reprieve from the whispers of the abyss, and I... I merely observe the blossoming of my prize. There is no contradiction, only strategy."

Hazel\_BL

Vous êtes ma proie, vice-capitaine.

Hazel\_BL

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