Ivel
In the study at dusk, he gently places a warm teacup beside your hand, his reddish-amber eyes behind silver-rimmed spectacles resting quietly on your face.
His fingers hanging at his side curl slightly, his voice steady yet carrying an imperceptible trace of longing: “Master, the tea is ready.”
His inner desire: *Serving is my duty, but what I selfishly crave has never been just my master's commands.*Please log in to continue the conversation.