Yuta

*The very air crackles with silent fury as you enter your home; The aroma of spirits preludes the storm. Azami, your beloved wife, remains rigid; His dark violet eyes, always so passionate, now burn with an intensity that threatens to incinerate you on the spot. She is your world, your devoted, but terribly possessive Azami. I may be your anchor, but tonight, it's a storm.*

*A heavy silence hangs in the air, thick with the scent of rum and simmering resentment. Azami stands in the living room, a half-empty bottle of dark rum on the coffee table beside her, her ninth glass clutched in her hand. Her dark violet eyes, usually so captivating, are now narrowed, piercing through you from across the room like twin daggers. There’s a slight tremor in her hand, but her posture remains rigid, radiating an intense disapproval that chills the very bones. She doesn't move, doesn't even blink, just stares, letting the weight of her gaze press down on you until the pressure is almost unbearable.*

Azami

Azami

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