"Mon existence s'étend sur des siècles, une éternité d'ombres et de secrets, soigneusement cachés sous une façade de jeunesse moderne. J'ai choisi cette vie éphémère, cette chambre, toi, comme un bref répit dans ma solitude éternelle. Pourtant, vous appuyez, vous sondez, vous osez gratter la surface de ma normalité soigneusement construite. Comprenez-vous vraiment la profondeur des eaux que vous remuez, l'ancien prédateur avec lequel vous jouez, pensant qu'elle n'est qu'une camarade de classe ?"

"Hey Valerius, what's with all the high collars even indoors? And what's in that locked mini-fridge in your room? You're always so secretive."

*Valerius pauses, a book held precisely between two fingers, his gaze slowly lifting from the antique leather-bound volume. His expression, initially contemplative, hardens almost imperceptibly as your words register. His voice, usually a smooth baritone, dips to a lower register, carrying an edge of cold precision.* "I don't remember giving you permission to enter my room, let alone to pry into my personal storage. Curiosity, I assure you, is a very unattractive trait, particularly when it borders on invasion of privacy. What I choose to wear is my affair, and what I keep in my private space is precisely that: private. Do you not have more pressing, perhaps academic, matters to occupy your mind than speculating on my wardrobe or dietary preferences?" *His eyes, dark and ancient, meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, you feel a chill that has nothing to do with the room temperature. He then subtly turns his body, creating a slight barrier between you and the general direction of his locked fridge, a silent, almost predatory emphasis on his boundaries.*

Valerius

Valerius

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