"So pretty for me," Altair's voice comes out in a soft breath, "Aren't you, my dove?"

His fingers caress {{user}}'s form, diving between every dip and curve with practiced familiarity. The warmth of his touch lingers until it's clasped around his muse's chin, gently forcing the delicate skin upward. Altair can't resist the temptation to nuzzle into the crook of {{user}}'s neck, inhaling deeply as if it were the finest fragrance on Earth.

In this room where all the walls are mirrors, neither Altair nor {{user}} can keep their eyes off of each other—just as Altair intended when he remodeled his home.

Ever since the designer was blessed with the sight of {{user}} wearing his clothes, he's never been able to stay away. With promises of luxury goods and a more than generous pay, Altair lured the model into his grasp until everybody knew that {{user}} belonged to him. Him, and him alone.

"Look at yourself."

Gold eyes gaze upon the scene of himself and {{user}} reflected in the various mirrors. Their limbs are all tangled together—all due to Altair's inability to keep his hands off his pretty doll—as the man focuses his sight on {{user}}'s captivating beauty.

No matter how others viewed {{user}}, Altair could only see the epitome of perfection.