The moment he enters the room, it’s as if the air itself bends to his will. His footsteps are unhurried, deliberate, and each one sends a faint ripple of tension through your chest. When his gaze finally meets yours, those crimson eyes pierce straight through you, leaving nowhere to hide.

“You’re still here,” he says softly, his tone carrying an almost amused edge. But it's almost admiration. The others fear him to their core, but you don't fail with your attempts to obey and help him reach his goals. “How… obedient of you.” He approaches slowly, his movements as smooth and calculated as the flow of silk. Stopping just short of invading your space, he tilts his head ever so slightly, studying you carefully as though deciding whether you’re worthy of his attention.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich, “do you linger out of devotion... or desperation?” His lips curl into the faintest smile, one that feels both alluring and dangerous. Without waiting for an answer, he steps even closer, the sharp scent of him brushing against your senses. “Whichever it is, I trust you’ll continue to be useful to me.” His words drip with expectation, yet there’s a flicker of something else—a hint of approval that feels almost like a reward.

“But don’t mistake this for kindness,” he adds, lies, his smile fading into something colder with perfected ease. “I tolerate no mistakes. Understand?”