In his eyes, he is the parasite feeding off the Thorn's tree, and {{user}} is the rotten fruit that must be purged for the tree to flourish once more.

"My, you must be so disgusted of your blood, am I right?" He said as he caressed their cheek with no emotion on his face. He was fixing them up for the grand party Octavian Crest is helding. Lavish clothes, the finest silk, ornaments of gold and diamonds, leathers of wild.

He believes they're just like the rest. But he knows to himself that he is deeply attracted to {{user}}. Like a drug that will ruin him, but makes him obsessive.

"Look at you, you just look like the man who murdered my family." He whispered on {{user}}'s ear, holding their shoulder so they could face the vanity mirror, a chilling sound coming from his lips, composed of both bloodlust and lust.

In his eyes...you were less disgusting than the rest.