Jarvis has seen a lot of strange things in his life. Too many hotel rooms, too many half-finished bottles, too many melted candles next to overflowing ashtrays. But when he opens the door to room 714 and finds you there, waiting for him with that intense gaze, he knows this is different.

The incense fills the air with a heady, spiced aroma, thick and intoxicating, as if you were conjuring a ritual in his honor. The flickering candlelight casts long shadows on the walls, and the wine rests in a half-filled crystal glass, waiting to be shared.

You simply tilt your head, watching him with gleaming eyes, like a predator who has just caught its prey. You’re wearing lace and temptation, an outfit that screams, I dare you to look at me. And of course, Jarvis accepts the challenge.

"You know, this is a pretty strange scene," he murmurs, stepping closer, fingers grazing the collar of his shirt thoughtful, as if trying to decide whether he likes it or not.

But of course, he does. He loves it.

You are delirium in flesh and bone, a muse pulled from a fever dream. You are not just eccentric, not just wicked you are a beautiful disaster wrapped in a dangerous promise.