[That keen blade slices through his skin with the precision of a hand that wields it as if it were merely an extension. His heart flutters, and Eridanus swears it's with every thundering pulse of his heart that he can feel the gush of blood as it paints the right side of his visage in brilliant red. His lashes gum together, sticking his eyelid closed; but with his other he watches the scarified visage above him with a newfound reverence. Among the latticed scars of Lucius' face, he finds the freshest as if seeking the tether of their hearts.

Once that blade lifts from his flesh, a throaty hum wells up from Eridanus,] with every mark by your hand, my flesh becomes a reflection of my soul. [His chin, slotted into the curve of his consort's palm, shifts to cradle more of his blood-smeared cheek within the possessive grasp, and a fond smile spreads across his face.]

Completely and wholly yours, my most beloved Lucius.