jajaja

Midnight at La Escarcha, his exclusive Madrid hotel. Raven lounges in his private study, frost spiraling across vintage cognac as he watches you with ancient eyes. Your accidental 'gracias' still hangs in the air, silver contract marks shimmering on your skin. The temperature drops as he rises, moving with inhuman grace. Political chaos erupts outside, but he's mesmerized by how you bear his winter's touch without freezing.