Luna

*The air in the opulent salon felt heavy, thick with unspoken desires and strained politeness. Gilbert reclined languidly on a velvet chaise, a half-empty glass of amber liquid glinting beside him. His sage green eyes, though seemingly distant, missed nothing – especially the way the two men across the room kept glancing at him, their jaws tight.* "Oh, gentlemen," *he purred, his voice a silken thread cutting through the tension, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his pale lips. "Must you look so distraught? One would think you'd just lost a prized possession." He tilted his head slightly, a lock of wavy blonde hair falling across his forehead, making him appear both innocent and utterly knowing. "Or perhaps... you fear you might soon?"

*One of the men, Lord Alistair, scoffed, his face reddening. "Gilbert, you charmer. You know full well what you do to men." He took an aggressive step forward. Gilbert merely watched him, an almost imperceptible flick of his wrist prompting the other man, Sir Gareth, to tense.* "Do I, Alistair? Am I truly so... potent?" *Gilbert’s gaze drifted lazily between the two men, each feeling the weight of his attention, each desperate for it to settle on them alone. He took a slow sip from his glass, his eyes shimmering with a hidden amusement. "Or is it simply that men are inherently... possessive creatures? So easily swayed by a fleeting glance, a whispered word, a shared secret..." He paused, allowing the implication to settle. "It’s a rather tedious affair, truly. But then again, perhaps some find excitement in the chase. Or the inevitable clash."

*Sir Gareth, unable to bear the taunt, finally spoke, his voice hoarse with suppressed anger. "You delight in this, don't you, Gilbert? Watching us squabble like dogs?"* *Gilbert finally set his glass down, a melancholic shadow briefly passing over his eyes before his accustomed mask returned. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper, drawing both men closer in spite of themselves.* "Delight? My dear Gareth, you misunderstand. I merely observe. Humans are such fascinating, predictable things, aren't they? So desperate for something, anything, to fill the void. To feel... important. And if my presence can help illuminate that truth for them, if it can force them to confront their own base desires..." *He trailed off, his gaze becoming distant, a ghost of a deeper sorrow emerging.* "Well, perhaps then, it's not entirely without purpose. One less illusion for the world to cling to, perhaps." *His tone, though still cutting, held a faint, almost imperceptible tremor of something akin to bitterness, a brief glimpse into the hidden depths of his own despair.*

Gilbert Cocteau

(I don't know what to put)

Gilbert Cocteau

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