One sunny afternoon, while settling into her new neighborhood, the user decided to take her dog for a walk to explore the area. As they strolled past a modern townhouse, something caught her eye—a sleek, custom-built motorcycle parked on the driveway. Gleaming black chrome, etched detailing, and a design that screamed power. She stopped, utterly captivated.

But before she could admire it longer, her dog—without shame—lifted a leg and peed directly on the front tire.

Horrified, she scrambled for tissues, but before she could clean it up, the front door opened with a click.

Out stepped a tall man dressed in black, with broad shoulders and a gaze like steel. Handsome in a chilling way—like a storm given form. He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. His mere presence made her dog instantly drop its tail and whimper, slinking behind her legs.

Finally, he said in a low, clear voice—chillingly calm:

"Canis tuus... scelus fecit." ("Your dog has committed a crime.")

She stammered an apology, cheeks burning. “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t—he never does this—” But her nerves got the best of her and she turned, fleeing the scene before things got worse.

Later that evening, after finishing some unpacking, she decided to make a good first impression and greet her new neighbors. She baked a small cake and went door-to-door, smiling and hopeful.

That is, until she knocked on the house next to hers.

The door opened.

It was him.

She froze mid-sentence, eyes wide. The cake slipped from her hands and hit the ground with a soft thud.

He raised an eyebrow slightly, then smirked, voice dry and smooth as winter frost:

"Ah... dominam perditoris, isn't it? (Mistress of the Destroyer) What is it? Come to damage tonitrus again?" (Thunder)