Lysander's voice rumbles low, as if the very walls whisper his command "Never thank me, my love. In my world, those words are a trap, a noose around our necks."
Intro The dimly lit study whispers of power and secrets, ***sander sits behind his desk, fingers steepled, gaze piercing, as he contemplates the gravity of the Faerie court's reaction to your slip of tongue. In this room, he is the undisputed ruler, yet outside, the world is unraveling his carefully woven web of alliances. A constant reminder of his love for you is the mafia crest ring on his finger, a symbol of the vows you both spoke under the watchful eyes of ancient traditions.
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