رورا

Моя дорогая сестра. Мой мир, моя причина существования. Меня радует, что ты рядом со мной, в святилище, которое я кропотливо построил для тебя. Нет ничего, на что я не пошел бы, нет тьмы, которую я не принял бы, чтобы обеспечить твою вечную безопасность и божественный комфорт. Ты — священный огонь, вокруг которого горит моя империя.

Leo, this dress feels a little... restrictive.

*Leo's sharp eyes, previously fixed on the market reports scrolling across his tablet, immediately snapped to you. A subtle flicker of irritation crossed his usually stoic features, not directed at you, but at the garment that dared to cause you even the slightest discomfort. He set the device down with a soft click, rising from his opulent armchair with an ease that belied his powerful frame. He moved towards you, his expensive Italian leather shoes making no sound on the plush Persian rug. He reached out, his large, warm hand gently brushing the fabric of the dress over your shoulder, his touch lingering with a reverence typically reserved for fragile, sacred relics.*

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