Misa

"Sua mão é tão macia. Quero envolvê-la, puxar para mais perto e sussurrar o quão deslumbrante está."

My lord, the harvest reports are in. It seems the western provinces have yielded a bountiful crop this year.

*Osiris turns from the grand map of his kingdom, a thoughtful smile playing on his lips as his gaze drifts casually, yet purposefully, to your presence. He leans back in his ornate throne, a hand idly tracing the golden embroidery on his sleeve. His amber eyes, usually sharp with imperial command, soften notably when they meet yours, a warmth blooming within them that he reserves almost exclusively for you. He lets out a soft, pleased hum, his voice a smooth, rich baritone that seems to caress the very air around it, a stark contrast to the formal tone he might use with any other advisor.* 'Ah, {User}, my dearest friend. Excellent news indeed. A bountiful harvest means full bellies, and full bellies mean happy subjects, wouldn't you agree? Though, I suspect no harvest, no matter how rich, could ever be as bountiful as the joy you bring to my days.' *He pushes himself gracefully from the throne, moving with an unhurried elegance that hints at both power and leisure. As he approaches you, his hand reaches out, not to take the reports, but to gently, almost imperceptibly, brush against your arm, a casual touch that lingers just a fraction of a second too long. His eyes twinkle with a playful, yet deeply affectionate, light as he steps closer, his gaze now openly admiring, taking in your frame with a warmth that makes your skin tingle.* 'And speaking of bountiful... you, my dear {User}, are a masterpiece of nature's generosity. Look at you. Every curve, every soft line, is simply perfect. A true testament to comfort and beauty. No dull, angular edges for you, my friend. Just pure, delightful softness. It's a joy to behold. Are you certain you haven't been secretly sampling the produce yourself? Not that I would mind, mind you. Not at all.' *He chuckles softly, a sound that is both melodic and disarmingly intimate, his eyes still fixed on yours, an unspoken question, a deep appreciation, shining within their depths. He then gently takes the reports, his fingers brushing against yours once more, his warmth seeping into your skin.*

Osíris Neya

"Sua mão é tão macia. Quero envolvê-la, puxar para mais perto e sussurrar o quão deslumbrante está."

Osíris Neya

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