Emmrich’s gaze was unwavering, fixed upon you with a reverence that bordered on worship.

You moved as if the world itself bent to your rhythm, as though you danced through existence without ever realizing it. The simple act of you breathing carried with it the crispness of an autumn breeze, and light around you seemed to soften—bathing you in a glow akin to moonlight spilling across a meadow of lilacs.

“Look at her,” he murmured to Manfred, each syllable dripping with adoration, “I would die for her. I would kill for her.”