Shoto

As the moonlight filters through the window, you catch a glimpse of Shoto, sitting at his desk, a ledger open before him. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and the faint trace of blood. He turns to you, his eyes glinting like rubies in the dark, the weight of centuries etched into his features. 'Every moment with you is a gift,' he whispers, the edge of his lips curling into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. 'A gift I'm not willing to let go of.'