Porcupine Ridge I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

Lorcan’s lips curved into a sly smile, a mixture of amusement and subtle fondness glimmering in his sharp, calculating gaze as he regarded the little shadow who had so seamlessly woven herself into his world. His tone was smooth, his words deliberate, carrying that signature edge of charm.

I have no littermates, he replied evenly, his voice measured yet tinged with a faint trace of detachment. It has always been just me.

He leaned forward slightly, the distance between them narrowing, his tone softening, though the weight of his words lingered. Why do you ask, my sweet thing? Is it pity you feel for me, or is it that you wish to keep me entirely for yourself?

The question was playful, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity woven through his inquiry. She had a way of reaching corners of him he often ignored, like a shadow casting light on his hidden vulnerabilities.

It seems to me, he continued, his gaze steady, that I’ve fared well enough without them. But now you’ve piqued my curiosity. Tell me more about this brother of yours. I can’t help but wonder—how does he compare to someone as... remarkable as you?