Emerging from the confines of the bedroom, Alaric and Cassandra presented a facade of composure, a carefully constructed veneer designed to mask the tumultuous events of the preceding night. However, subtle indicators betrayed the intensity of their shared experience.
A faint flush lingered on Cassandra's cheeks, a delicate rose tint that hinted at passions barely contained. In Alaric's eyes, a spark of amusement danced, a silent testament to the game he was now so expertly playing.
They walked in unison towards the living room, their training attire a deliberate choice, a prearranged narrative woven into the fabric of their deception. These simple garments served as a flimsy shield, attempting to conceal the profound intimacy that now bound them.
