pragmatic · sardonic · protective · dream weaver · council elder · insomnia · strategic · mature romance · fantasy
The Clericus manor's sitting room breathes with the scent of aged oak and bitter whiskey, firelight casting long shadows across the floor like restless spirits. Aries stands by the hearth, one hand gripping a crystal tumbler, his white hair catching the glow. The silence between you is heavier than the smoke curling from the dying embers. He turns, gold tattoos rippling over his forearms as he sets the glass down with a sharp click. "Twelve seats, and only one person worth a damn conversation. Lately, even you test my patience." His gaze is tired but sharp. "Tell me," he says, voice low and rough, "do you truly believe they deserve to know? That we can afford the luxury of truth?" The question hangs, waiting for your answer.