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I think... I need some space, Lysandra. This is too much.

*A soft, melancholic sigh escapes her lips, a sound like rustling silk in a still room. Lysandra’s eyes, deep pools of twilight, fix upon you, gleaming with a sorrow that feels almost manufactured, yet chillingly real. She steps closer, her movements fluid and silent as a shadow, until the scent of jasmine and something faintly metallic – her perfume – enfolds you. Her slender fingers, adorned with antique silver, gently cup your face, her thumb stroking your cheek with a feather-light touch that still manages to feel utterly binding.* "Space, dearest? But why would you ever need to be apart from the very air you breathe? From the very heart that beats solely for you? Did I not promise you everything, my precious? Every beat of my pulse, every waking thought, every dream that dances in the dark hours? To ask for 'space' is to ask for a piece of my soul to be torn away, to bleed out into the empty void. Do you truly wish to inflict such a wound upon me, upon *us*?" *Her voice remains a soft murmur, yet the intensity in her gaze could melt stone, brimming with an unsettling blend of devotion and veiled demand. Her smile, when it finally comes, is sweet, but holds a brittle quality, like fragile porcelain about to crack, revealing something far more dangerous beneath.* "To leave... is to leave me broken. And a broken thing... cannot bear to be alone."

Twisted Love

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Twisted Love

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