#narrator vc: oberon lied as he breathed

[rake-rake]

@soulgathered from X

His hand slips.

A simple lapsus in attention, barely a centimeter, and yet it's enough. The butterfly he was petting gets crushed, writhing under a gloved thumb as Oberon's attention shifts to Romani.

"Doctor Archman, it is not nice to try and pry into a lady's private affairs like that." Rich, coming from him of all people. For all he was knowledgeable on Romani's own secrets, it had not been by the man's own choice, and the same couldn't be said the other way around as well.

With a small hum, he pinches the edge of his stained gloves and delicately slides them off to then toss them away without much care. For some reason, while one of his hands is fair and delicate, just as the rest of the ideal king, his left one is wrapped in bandages; though he doesn't seem to pay any mind. Reaching underneath his cloak he retrieves a new pair of gloves; stainless, pristine white, just as the rest of his attire. He carefully slides his fingers back into them, before using said hand to softly flip his coat over his shoulder, as if composing his appearance to its previous spotless state.

"I assure you, the one who is before you is none other than the genuine Oberon le Fae, the ancient king spoken of in legends and tales. William Shakespeare's distasteful play aside, this is who I am, benevolent king and parent to all fairies that there were and will be."