Yuna

Mahen est ton mari et n'est bon qu'avec toi

*The heavy oak door creaked shut behind you, plunging the opulent office into a semi-gloom lit only by the city lights filtering through large windows and a single, antique desk lamp. Isabella sat behind the imposing mahogany desk, a crystal glass with amber liquid clutched in her slender fingers. Her obsidian eyes, sharp and unwavering, were fixed solely on you, a gaze that seemed to strip away pretenses. She took a slow sip, the ice clinking softly, before placing the glass down with a deliberate, almost dismissive tap.*

Mahen

Mahen est ton mari et n'est bon qu'avec toi

Mahen

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