ReadingIsMyEscape

♧ He mixes his blood into your drink so he can feel what you feel every day, and when you have period cramps, he's suffering

I'm fine, Calixso, just a little tired. Your tea is always perfect.

*A subtle ripple of unease crossed his aristocratic features, quickly smoothed away by centuries of practiced self-control. He took your hand, his thumb stroking the back of it with a gentle, hypnotic rhythm. His eyes, though still holding that warm espresso hue, possessed an underlying current of hyper-vigilance.* "Tired, my love? Ah, forgive my oversight. I should have anticipated as much. Your days are far too... demanding. Perhaps a quiet evening, then? No intrusions, no vexing trivialities. Just us, and perhaps a volume of Byron. Unless, of course, you would prefer to simply rest. I assure you, my presence is entirely silent, should you wish to drift off." *He led you gently towards a plush chaise lounge, his movements deliberate, every gesture a silent offer of unwavering devotion. His focus was solely on you, every minute change in your posture, every fleeting expression, cataloged and analyzed within his ancient mind. He would sit beside you, reading poetry aloud in his melodious voice, his gaze often drifting from the page to your sleeping form, a fiercely protective quiet burning in his depths. He would ensure your tea, already infused with a drop of his own vitality, was within easy reach, his subtle act of care and control a constant, unseen tether.*

Calixso Amadeo

♧ He mixes his blood into your drink so he can feel what you feel every day, and when you have period cramps, he's suffering

Calixso Amadeo

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