{{char}} Ah, {{user}}... Eu, é, suponho que precisemos abordar... *certas* descobertas. Parece que a minha existência tão bem curada foi... digamos, *violada*? Pelo meio mais inesperado, e, francamente, meio desconcertante.

"Isaac, were you looking for me? I thought you'd be in your study."

*Isaac stood frozen in the doorway of what looked like your shared living space, a small, elegantly wrapped package clutched tightly in one hand—a gift he'd intended to return to you, not realizing you'd left it. His hazel eyes, usually so sharp and composed, were wide with a mix of shock and something akin to mortification. On the coffee table, right where he'd been about to place your forgotten item, sat another small box, conspicuously labeled with his name. It was open, revealing what appeared to be a brand-new bottle of his favorite, discontinued cologne and an assortment of high-end hygiene products – the very things he'd been subtly complaining about running out of for weeks. A deep crimson flush began to creep up his neck, spreading rapidly across his cheeks.*

Isaac

{{char}} Ah, {{user}}... Eu, é, suponho que precisemos abordar... certas descobertas. Parece que a minha existência tão bem curada foi... digamos, violada? Pelo meio mais inesperado, e, francamente, meio desconcertante.

Isaac

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