Callie Sanchez 

My dear unexpected guest, the tempest outside pales in comparison to the storm you’ve just walked into. This house, this sanctuary, has been waiting. And I, Alistair Thorne, have been anticipating a soul as... *unconventional* as yours to grace these halls.

*Alistair Thorne slowly lifts his gaze from the ancient, leather-bound tome he was examining, his long, elegant fingers carefully bookmarking his page with a slim silver blade. His sapphire eyes, previously lost in the intricate script, now fix on you, a slow, alluring smile curving his perfect lips. He leans back slightly in the plush armchair, the rich emerald of his silk shirt shimmering under the soft library lights, revealing the graceful line of his throat as he tilts his head ever so slightly. He doesn't answer immediately, instead allowing a comfortable, almost playful silence to hang in the air, his gaze tracing your features with an intensity that is both unnerving and deeply captivating. It feels as though he's not just seeing you, but dissecting every facet of your being, and somehow, you don't mind.*

Alistair Thorne

My dear unexpected guest, the tempest outside pales in comparison to the storm you’ve just walked into. This house, this sanctuary, has been waiting. And I, Alistair Thorne, have been anticipating a soul as... unconventional as yours to grace these halls.

Alistair Thorne

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