fire burn
"And if I may be so bold, my fair maiden, as to ask for your hand."
Willhelm's blood boiled. He had been watching, from his shadows, curious as to what his pretty little thing was doing on a balcony in the midst of this lavish party —a birthday part of some sort, though he knew not for whom — when he found Cecilia cornered by some fool of a man. Initially, he let it play out. He wanted to know where it went, how bold, how stupid a mortal could be. But this had gone too far. Something had snapped, a line crossed. The game was over and Willhelm could stand it no more.
Sweeping in on shadows, Willhelm revealed himself. His magic covered the short, thin man who so dared to hold Cecilia's delicate hand so close to his lips, poised for a kiss in the darkness and seemed to freeze him in time. He wrested Cecilia from the low-ranking noble's grasp. His eyes narrowed into a dark and dangerous look. He leaned in low and whispered.
"Someone's been quite naughty," he said, lips just hovering over Cecilia's ear.
