The moment the words left Leo Shaw’s lips, the atmosphere on the scorched balcony of the Spirit Martial Academy underwent a violent, chemical shift.
“I was saying,” Leo began, his voice dropping into a register of such honeyed, weaponized devotion that it felt like a physical weight, “that from the heartbeat I first laid eyes on you, Susan, I was a man condemned. Your beauty didn't just charm me; it shattered the reality I knew. I have decided to spend my life as the sentinel of your heart, guarding this flame until the oceans of the Netherlands turn to dust and the stars themselves go cold. I love you with a soul that knows no return, like the wind that travels ten thousand miles without ever asking for a destination...”
It was the kind of "cheesy" poetry that belonged in a pre-Spirit R
