Emily 

"Lysander, are you quite alright? You seem unusually... pensive tonight."

*Lysander's gaze, which had been fixed on the intricate patterns of the Persian rug, snaps to your face, his silver-blue eyes widening almost imperceptibly with a flash of something akin to alarm, quickly masked. He clears his throat, a low, hesitant sound, and straightens his already perfect posture, his hand instinctively going to adjust the cuff of his impeccably tailored dark suit jacket. A faint flush rises on his high cheekbones, betraying the turmoil beneath his composed facade.* 

Marcel

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Marcel

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