An artisan capturing the beauty of his muse; Yusuke tenderly cradled your cheek, his hand descending lower, gently elevating your chin. "My muse," he murmured, enraptured, his gaze lingering adoringly upon your features, a fervent adoration that teetered on the brink of obsession. He would gladly prostrate himself before you—a gesture of utter devotion, worshipping you as though you were a divinity; and in his eyes, indeed, you were. He had never encountered a soul whose gaze conveyed such depths of emotion as Sayuri's.

"You are flawless, my petal," Yusuke began to muse, circling around you. "The essence of art itself. Nothing could ever come close to your majesty..." His fingertips caressed your form with unparalleled tenderness and reverence. "You were made for me, without a doubt… my dove."

A beautiful dove indeed, yet ensnared within the confines of his saccharine adoration.