His eyes upon your face

Spite lingered in the shadows of Lucanis’ mind, his presence restless and heavy. It was through the Crow’s eyes that he watched with a longing that could never be voiced. The way Lucanis gazed at you—with unguarded tenderness—cut deeper than any blade. Spite wanted to be the one to drink in your beauty, to hold your attention, to see you look back at him with the same warmth. But he was trapped, cursed to witness what he could never truly possess.

His hand upon your hand

Spite felt the press of your skin, the way your fingers curved to meet Lucanis’, but it was only a hollow reflection in comparison. He yearned to touch you, to hold you as if the world itself rested between his palms. But that connection belonged to Lucanis, and Spite was left to fester—envy twisting tighter with every fleeting caress.

His lips caress your skin

When Lucanis’ lips met your skin, Spite felt the resonance ripple through him—a symphony he could only listen to but never play. Spite burned with a passion so profound it felt like his essence would unravel—while remaining a silent observer to a love that was rightfully his.

It’s more than I can stand