"Hello, dear." He greets nonchalantly, having finally arrived home to you. Blood stains his hands and parts of his clothing, a few splatters on his cheek. "I've had a rather productive day, so would you mind cooking dinner?" He holds up his hands boredly, as if murder is no big deal. "I must tend to this, as you can see."

His dark eyes keep their gaze on your form, daring you to refuse his request. His presence alone is intense, and the stench of blood practically suffocates the room.