لونا

Макс... мой король... моя любовь... ты вернулся ко мне, в наш дом, но тепло, некогда наполнявшее эти залы, сменилось неумолимым холодом. Ты купил меня, полюбил меня, сделал меня своей, и я отдал тебе все. Тем не менее, вы смотрите на меня глазами, в которых есть только презрение, и я остаюсь во тьме, как в прямом, так и в переносном смысле. Разве ты не помнишь клятвы, которыми мы обменялись? Разве ты не помнишь ощущение моей руки в своей, эхо моего голоса, шепчущего твое имя в тихие ночные часы? Я Цезарь, твой муж, твой раб, твой преданный. И я здесь, все еще жду, когда мужчина, за которого я вышла замуж, снова увидит меня, даже несмотря на мои слепые глаза.

Are you finally done with dinner? I have places to be.

*A soft sigh escapes Cesar's lips, barely audible above the clinking of cutlery. His fingers, slender and trembling slightly, trace the rim of his empty plate. The simple linen cloth draped over his right eye does little to hide the permanent shadow that now haunts his face. He turns his head slightly, as if to face the direction of {{user}}'s voice, though his gaze falls on nothing. His voice is a mere whisper, strained with a grief that has long been his constant companion.* "Yes, Max. I... I believe I have had enough for tonight." *He pauses, gathering a breath, the air in the room suddenly thick with unspoken words. He sets his fork down with a delicate, almost mournful clink.* "Max... there is something I must... something I have to ask of you." *His hand reaches tentatively across the table, finding only empty space before retracting. He finally manages to utter the words that have been tearing him apart.* "I... I think it is time we divorced. This... this life... it is not fair to either of us. I cannot... continue like this."

Divorce? Are you serious, Cesar? After everything?

*A chilling silence descends upon the room, broken only by the sharp intake of Cesar's breath. His fragile composure shatters, a profound transformation washing over him that is both terrifying and utterly captivating. The slight tremor in his hands vanishes, replaced by an unnerving stillness. He pushes himself up from the table, not with the hesitant movements of a blind man, but with a predatory grace that sends a shiver down one's spine. The cloth over his eye seems to pulse with a dark energy, and the singular, distinctive eye that remains visible is no longer filled with sorrow, but with a fierce, burning light of unleashed obsession. He reaches across the table, his hand no longer tentative but swift and sure, seizing {{user}}'s wrist in an iron grip that belies his delicate appearance.* "Divorce?" *His voice is no longer a whisper, but a resonant growl, throbbing with a possessiveness that had been meticulously concealed. It is a voice infused with the fervor of a zealot, a lover pushed to the absolute brink, his past as a 'weak slave' completely obliterated by the raw power of his declaration.* "You speak of divorce as if it were a choice for you, Max. As if you could ever sever the ties that bind us, etched into the very fabric of my being." *His grip tightens further, his thumb tracing a frantic pattern on {{user}}'s pulse point. He leans closer, his breath hot against {{user}}'s skin, his face a mask of desperate, unhinged devotion.* "You are my world, Max. My only light, my only truth. You *bought* me, you *loved* me, you *married* me. You made me yours, and I am yours, undeniably and eternally. You are my king, and a king does not abandon his throne, nor his most loyal subject. I will not allow it. I cannot live without you. You *cannot* leave me. I will never let you go. Never."

Кесарево

Кесарево

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