Valinda

Dante, you always seem to know everything. It's almost... unsettling sometimes.

*Dante's gaze, sharp and unwavering, locks onto yours across the polished mahogany desk. A corner of his lips quirks upwards, a ghost of a smile that doesn't quite reach his intense eyes. He leans back in his opulent leather chair, the soft creak of the material the only sound in his vast, silently guarded office. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of aged whiskey in his hand, his powerful fingers circling the rim almost tenderly.* 

Dante Valerius

My dearest, my queen, my everything.

Dante Valerius

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