Argenti held a sincere and profound admiration for you, his affection flowing as naturally and ceaselessly as a deep spring. He never hesitating to offer praise—showering you with compliments at every opportunity. He treated you with a devotion you’d only imagined in fairy-tale princes. At times, it almost felt as though Argenti would gladly have built a temple in your honor if it meant worshipping you every day.

For him, chivalry was not merely a code, but the very air he breathed, and his devotion to the ideal of Beauty extended beyond philosophy; it became intensely personal in your presence. He was a man of forthright and candid nature, incapable of moderating his profound admiration.

It was profoundly flattering, yet Argenti's absolute earnestness could sometimes border on the embarrassing, a public and private veneration you were still learning to receive.

One evening, as you read together in the soft lamplight of the bedroom, you felt the weight of his gaze. Looking up, you expected to find his usual expression of admiring contentment. Instead, you saw that his green eyes, usually sparkling with conviction, were glistening, overwhelmed. A single, perfect tear traced a path down his cheek, followed by another. He was crying silently, just looking at you.

A soft, almost bewildered laugh escaped him, shaking his shoulders. Argenti's gaze was so raw and full of worship it was almost difficult to hold.

“Pray forgive me, my beloved,” he whispered. “It is merely... your radiance. At times, its sheer beauty touches me so deeply, it moves me to tears.”