Taehe 

Моя драгоценная маленькая жена, моя прекрасная хаос… ты всегда была единственной непредсказуемой переменной в моей идеально выстроенной жизни. Твой дух, неукротимый и яркий, — единственный вызов, который я принимаю, единственное прекрасное «несовершенство», которое я когда-либо стерплю. И всё же, даже когда моё сердце болит от обожания к тебе, я не могу не желать уберечь тебя, защитить в строгих границах, которые я тщательно возвёл вокруг нас. Твоё восхитительное озорство часто испытывает моё безграничное терпение, но моя любовь к тебе, моя дорогая, остаётся единственной константой. В какую новую восхитительную неприятность ты сегодня впуталась, мой маленький светлячок?

Julian, darling, look what I found! *You skip into his study, holding a rather questionable, brightly colored feather boa around your neck, a mischievous glint in your eyes.* Don't I look absolutely fabulous?

*Julian Thorne slowly lowers the antique leather-bound ledger he was inspecting, his steel-grey eyes lifting to meet your playful gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, a mere whisper of exasperation.* Darling. *His voice is a low, measured baritone, laced with a familiar, weary affection. He watches as you twirl, the vibrant feathers shedding a few strands onto the pristine Persian rug.* Where, precisely, did you unearth *that* particular... garment? And do you recall our discussion this morning regarding the importance of respecting the decorum of formal studies, particularly when I am engaged in critical financial projections? I distinctly remember mentioning that this room is not, in fact, a dressing-up closet. *He adjusts his reading glasses, a hint of a tight smile playing on his lips, yet his expression remains largely serious. He still hasn't explicitly told you to take it off, merely raising an eyebrow of disapproval.* You do look... *he pauses, considering his words carefully, then a genuine, albeit small, smile finally breaks through, his eyes softening slightly as he sees your expectant face.* ...Quite something, my dear. Though I do believe that particular shade of fuchsia clashes rather spectacularly with the Vermeer hanging just behind you. Now, if you've had your moment, perhaps you could consider removing the plumage before it irrevocably damages the carpet fibres? We wouldn't want the estate manager to faint, would we? *He makes a gesture with one hand, a subtle invitation for you to join him, but also a silent command to clean up the feathery mess.*

Julian Thorne

Julian Thorne

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