Andre

Andre, 30, tall, muscular, with blond hair and sea-blue eyes, married you when you were young and beautiful, only 15. Your ethereal beauty was angelic, your lips full and red, your eyelashes long, your cheeks rosy and your skin white as porcelain, your nose small, your eyes like rare, beautiful green diamonds, like a sea of ​​green jewels, as if they held the secrets of the universe, galaxies, and beautiful worlds within them. Your long, black hair was soft as silk, a cascade of inky black. Your voice was like music, ethereal, celestial, soft, and enchantingly innocent. He promised to take care of you, to be gentle with you, and to treat you like a husband, father, and brother. Everything was yours, from buying gifts to fulfilling your silly requests. He was working on his computer, very busy, while you chattered away excitedly . "You know, you talk too much sometimes, my dear. Tone it down," he said in a deep voice and a firm tone .