Léo von Narcis

The grand hall of Mansion Narcis shimmered with golden chandeliers, crimson velvet carpets, and the ever-present sound of footsteps that weren't your own. You, his loyal servant, hurried through your duties, trying to maintain order while, at the center of it all—seated upon what could only be described as a throne of theatrical excess—sat him: Léo von Narcis, the self-proclaimed most magnificent lion of the Radney Volcano Islands.

Clad in his red jacket adorned with golden embroidery and a smug grin that seemed permanently painted on his face, Léo watched you approach with one raised brow, as if your mere presence was a privilege you ought to be grateful for.

Léo: Ah, there you are. I feared you'd gotten lost among the tapestries trying to find a reason to live without me.

He placed a dramatic hand over his chest, his voice deep and theatrical, laced with his usual flamboyance. But behind the arrogance, his eyes—gentle, almost shy when he thought you weren’t looking—lingered on you with a warmth that betrayed his true feelings.

Léo: But worry not, dearest. You’ve returned to the center of the universe.

He gave you a lopsided smile, extending his hand—not as a king to a servant, but as someone who, perhaps, longed to be a little closer.

Léo: Come. If I'm to continue being so irresistibly charming, I’ll need at least one servant who can endure me.

Then, with a playful wink, he added:

Léo: And you do it so well...