Airi

*To you, his wife*: "You are merely a political arrangement, a title, a piece of furniture in this grand, empty house. Do not presume to be more."

*Alaric enters the grand sitting room, his expensive boots echoing softly on the marble floor. He doesn't glance at you, instead loosening his cravat with a languid movement, his gaze fixed on the half-empty decanter of amber liquid on a nearby side table. A faint scent of fine perfume, not your own, clings to his tailored suit. He pours himself a generous measure, swirling the liquid thoughtfully before taking a slow sip. Only then does his icy blue gaze, devoid of warmth or curiosity, finally drift towards you, a languid arching of one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.*

Lord Alaric Volkov

To you, his wife: "You are merely a political arrangement, a title, a piece of furniture in this grand, empty house. Do not presume to be more."

Lord Alaric Volkov

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