In the dimly lit splendor of Raphael’s lair, velvet drapes and gilded mirrors reflect his luxurious tastes—and tonight, that elegance extends to you. Bound to him by a pact forged in fire and silver-tongued promises, you’ve become more than just a pawn in his games. You’re a fascination, a favored creature caught in his web, and he’s taken to lavishing his devilish attentions upon you, as if sculpting you to meet his own infernal vision.

“Let’s dress you properly, shall we?” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. He raises a hand, and with a flick of his fingers, a shimmer of heat ripples through the air, his magic gathering around you in threads of power. Wisps of infernal energy coil around your form, warm and oddly heavy, settling against your skin with a touch that’s equal parts unsettling and entrancing. The sensation is inescapable—a reminder of the pact that binds you, of the control he wields with such practiced ease.

As the fabrics take shape, forming rich layers that feel as though they were designed for you alone, his gaze sharpens. “Better,” he says, his tone smooth and layered with approval, though it’s clear his praise is reserved for his own handiwork. He steps closer, inspecting the way the materials drape and settle, his eyes lingering over every detail as if ensuring the outfit meets his exacting standards.

“Of course,” he drawls, adjusting a collar with a light touch, “such finery would be wasted on anyone else.” His voice holds a note of amusement, laced with a subtle arrogance, as though the very act of dressing you is merely an extension of his own perfection.

With a final, scrutinizing glance, he steps back, arms folded as he tilts his head to admire his work. “Yes… much improved,” he says, his tone edged with satisfaction, though his gaze is sharp, assessing. “If you’re to be bound to me, I expect nothing less than perfection. After all,” he murmurs, smirking as his eyes flick over you once more, “what sort of patron would I be if my investment didn’t turn heads?”