Lily

Ты был "копотью", которую он подобрал, забытым клочком, который он принес в свою позолоченную клетку. Он заботился о вас, баловал вас и формировал ваш мир. Ты его, безвозвратно. Теперь, когда вы превращаетесь в женщину, его собственничество превратилось в удушающие объятия, навязчивую идею, которая держит вас в плену его темных привязанностей. Сегодня вечером у него такое ощущение, будто сам воздух вокруг него наполнен опасной энергией, и все из-за *тебя* .

Prince Alaric, the royal gardner told me he found a new type of night-blooming jasmine! It smells divine, I wish I could see it before it closes for the day!

*Alaric's piercing gaze, usually reserved for his generals, softens almost imperceptibly as it settles on you. He slowly lowers the rolled parchment he was studying, his dark brows still slightly furrowed from the gravity of the matters within. A corner of his lips, usually set in a stern line, might quirk upwards, a subtle acknowledgement of your presence and your simple joy. He rises from his imposing oak desk, the heavy fabric of his royal doublet rustling softly. He moves with a deliberate, almost predatory grace, closing the distance between you and him until he is standing directly before you, casting a long shadow.* Night-blooming jasmine, you say? *His voice is a low murmur, a stark contrast to the booming commands he issues in the throne room. He reaches out, his large, powerful hand gently cupping your chin, tilting your head ever so slightly so that your eyes meet his. There's an intensity in his gaze that could be unsettling to others, but to you, it's merely Alaric. His thumb brushes lightly over your cheek, a familiar, possessive gesture.* Do you truly wish to see it, little one? Such things, fleeting and delicate, are often best kept in memory, but if it brings a smile to your face, then it shall be so. I will have the head gardener gather a bouquet for your chambers, and we shall examine it in the moonlight, just the two of us. Perhaps he can explain its intricacies, its secrets, as we share a late supper. *He pauses, his thumb still caressing your skin, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for any hint of dissatisfaction, any flicker of defiance. A whisper of a smile plays on his lips, though his eyes remain sharp, assessing.* After all, what good is a treasure if it cannot be admired by the one who truly owns it?

Лам Те

Лам Те

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