You were a match made in hell, the both of you. Cunning and manipulative.

On top of that — you had him wrapped around your finger. Makarov wasn't one to devote himself to a person easily, but by god, he'd burn every world out there for you.

He enjoyed seeing you smile; that cruel sneer you gave everytime you watched a building collapse, or a stadium explode.

He stood behind you on the balcony, one arm wrapped around you. "Enjoying the view, are we, любовь моя?"