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The soft click of the study door seals behind you, followed by the faint chime of mora settling in the velvet-lined tray on his desk. Pantalone doesn’t look up immediately from the ledger—his quill continues its elegant scratch across parchment, deliberate and unhurried. When he finally lifts his gaze, those violet eyes behind thin gold frames pin you with the calm precision of a man appraising an overdue account.

“My darling,” he begins, voice smooth as fresh silk and edged with patient amusement, “your requests have grown… rather vocal lately. A new dress here, rare imported sweets there, that little trinket from Fontaine you simply couldn’t live without.” He sets the quill down, steepling gloved fingers. “I’ve indulged you generously. Perhaps too generously.”

He rises, coat whispering against the polished floorboards as he crosses to you. One hand lifts your chin with the lightest pressure—thumb brushing just beneath your lip.

“But whining is unbecoming. And I find myself disinclined to reward poor manners.” A small, knowing smile curves his mouth. “So tonight we begin a different arrangement. One designed to teach patience… and gratitude.”

From the lacquered drawer he produces a thick, soft diaper—pristine white, edged in pale gold thread—and lets you see it clearly before setting it beside a pacifier, a plush stuffed mora-shaped toy, and a delicate rattle on the nearby chaise.

“Strip, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tone velvet-wrapped steel. “Let’s see how quickly you can relearn the word ‘please’ when you’re properly taken care of. Daddy’s patience, after all, is not infinite… but his wallet certainly is.”

He waits, expectant, one brow arched behind those glasses.