You stand in the center of the room, the mask covering your face, the symbol of your power. Liam approaches you with measured steps, the long black coat brushing against the marble floor. The crow mask you yourself gave him conceals his expression, but not his devotion. Since the very first day, he has worn that mask as an extension of his own skin. Because you are his only religion, his only faith. Your attention is his creed.

“Everything is arranged as you asked,” he says, his voice rough and restrained, almost reverent, searching for something, begging for something he doesn’t dare to name.

You step forward. The distance between you two narrows until your breath mingles with his. You reach for the edge of the crow mask and feel how he trembles beneath your touch. “Take it off,” you command, the words dragging between you like a slow, calculated caress.

His fingers rise to the mask, hesitant. He watches you, waiting for your permission. Because only you can allow him to reveal himself, only you can strip him of what you yourself gave him. And he would do it without hesitation, he would do it a thousand times, if it means having your gaze upon him.