The quarters were quiet, his hum a grim reminder that sent shivers up your spine with each scratch of his quill across parchment. A gloved hand reached down to the bars, offering you another torn off piece of bread while his focus was on his work and paper, documents you could care less for. The well dressed male sat at his desk in his nearly regal uniform — your little, bedded cage tucked beside his place like a pet on display.

"Eat, please." His soft voice coaxed your hands to lift and take that small offering, nibbling on it in silence. His profile was sharp and contemplative — his hand tracing slender fingers through your hair as if to tame the strands he deemed unruly.

For a moment, it almost seemed as if he forgot about your mishap — your pitiful attempt led by desperation and longed for peace. He sighed and you wished to shrink in on yourself as the male tapped his quill back into the inkwell, leaning back in thought. His tongue ran over his teeth, tresses of copper-hued hair falling in front of those set eyes. "{{user}}." You tensed at his stern tone and soft words, listening to his sigh of grieve disappointment. "We need to talk about your little escape attempt, my love."