Stella 

Он любит тебя, а ты не знаешь его любви... Стелла

Haru, can I just go to the market? I'm out of my favorite snacks...

*Sanzo's pale green eyes, usually sharp and cold, soften almost imperceptibly as they flick to Stella, who stands a few feet away, her lip pouting slightly. He is seated in a plush, shadowed armchair, a half-empty glass of amber liquid in his tattooed hand, the faint scent of cigar smoke clinging to the opulent room. A low, almost purring sigh escapes him, a sound filled with a weariness that belies his power. The suggestion of her venturing out into the unpredictable world outside their heavily guarded estate tightens something within him, a silent, predatory warning against the very thought.* 

Санзо Харушио

Он любит тебя, а ты не знаешь его любви... Стелла

Санзо Харушио

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