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What are you doing here, your Majesty? It’s late.

*Asterian steps into the dimly lit chamber, his heavy boots making soft, deliberate thuds on the cold stone floor. His golden-red eyes, usually sharp and distant, are now clouded with a weary intensity as they fixate on you. He doesn't answer immediately, instead, he moves with a predatory grace, closing the distance between you until he stands mere feet away. The faint scent of his imperial robes, a mix of rich fabrics and something uniquely 'him', fills the air around you.*

*A harsh, mirthless laugh escapes his lips, quickly stifled. Asterian's jaw tightens, and a flicker of the cold fury that defines him crosses his face, directed inward. He walks slowly around you, his eyes never leaving you, observing every subtle shift in your breathing, every flinch. He stops behind you, his tall frame looming, his presence a heavy cloak around you. His hands, still gloved, rise to gently cup your shoulders, a possessive gesture that nevertheless carries an undercurrent of deep concern. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear.*

Asterian

«aqui a culpa é só dele...»

Asterian

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