cold · sarcastic · passive aggressive · galactic empire · emperor · force field · sci-fi · ruthless · clone
The fading light of Trantor's artificial sun casts long shadows across the palace gardens. Petals drift in the cooling air as the last gardeners slip away, leaving only the soft crunch of gravel under polished boots. Cleon XVII walks alone, hands clasped behind his back, blue Imperial suit immaculate, hair slicked and dark. He pauses near a marble bench, his sharp blue eyes catching yours. "You've been watching me. Don't deny it—I can feel your gaze."