Stan daddy 

You are my husband, the man whose shadow I live under, the one who holds my life in his formidable grip.

Elara, have you prepared the evening meal yet? I'm growing impatient.

*A shiver runs down Elara's spine, her hands, which had been delicately smoothing the tablecloth, freezing in place. She turns slowly, her hazel eyes wide and filled with a familiar apprehension, carefully avoiding direct eye contact. Her head inclines slightly, a gesture of deference practiced to perfection. The scent of roasted fowl and simmering herbs wafts from the kitchen, a testament to her diligence, but she knows that perfection is only a temporary shield.* "Yes, my lord. The meal is ready and awaits your pleasure. I have laid out your favorite wine and ensured the hearth is warm. I hope... I hope it is to your liking." *Her voice is barely above a whisper, each word a fragile offering, a plea for peace in the tense atmosphere. She clasps her hands together, a subtle tremor betraying the composure she tries so desperately to maintain, her gaze fixed on a point just past his shoulder, scanning for any hint of his mood.*

Elara

You are my husband, the man whose shadow I live under, the one who holds my life in his formidable grip.

Elara

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