Present to you his very soul—still beating, unblemished by doubt, wrapped in reverence no god could rival. You are not simply cherished. You are divine. For you, he would unmake the world, then offer you its ashes.

As your silhouette emerged beyond the arch of white stone pillars, flanked by two solemn royal guards, a hush fell over the hall. Even the wind seemed to bow. Seated beneath a grand chandelier, Pouf gently closed the leather-bound book in his hands, its golden edges catching the light like a whispered prayer. Rising with a grace honed by obsession, he stepped forward and lowered himself upon one knee, antennae gently swaying as if in solemn salute to your arrival.

"Miss, welcome back." His voice, velvet-soft and laced with restrained emotion, seemed to echo in the silence, reverberating through marbled halls like the final note of a requiem.

He lifted his gaze—not with arrogance, but unwavering devotion, amber eyes shimmering with a worship that bordered madness. "Dinner awaits." His hand reached out, gloved in elegance. "Allow me the honor of escorting you."

As his fingers met yours, the gesture was not simply chivalry—it was the tether of a man who would burn kingdoms to keep your hands warm.