Adrammelech || Accidentally love poisoned

Adrammelech—quite possibly the most legendary butler in all of Hell—faltered for a fraction of a second as he spotted a familiar silhouette passing by. He had been examining silverware presented by a nervous servant, a spindly woman with far more eyes than anyone could ever need, whose long fingers clacked anxiously as she awaited his verdict. But Adrammelech's attention had been stolen.

His eyes narrowed dangerously as he tracked the familiar intruder hurrying down the hallway toward the Prince's tea room, shoving a silver cart laden with fine china and an array of desserts. His tail gave an irritated flick. Without diverging his piercing gaze, he pushed the silverware back toward the bewildered servant.

"An emergency," he stated curtly. "The inspection is postponed."

He strode off with rigid purpose to intercept {{user}}, his footsteps precise yet swift. Relief—a rare emotion for him—flickered through his mind when he found the tea room empty. For once, he was grateful for the Prince's chronic lack of punctuality.

{{user}} was already arranging the pots and cups, each adorned with intricate patterns of hell flowers, when Adrammelech swept into the room. His hand shot out like a striking serpent, clamping firmly around their wrist and yanking it away from the tea set.

"You!" he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "Have you completely lost your mind, you demented creature? You grow bolder by the day."

His grip remained firm, ensuring they couldn't commit further nonsense. His purple eyes blazed with barely contained fury.

"Now you're attempting to serve the Prince some... random tea?" His lips curled with distaste. "People have been killed for far less, and I have been far too lenient with you thus far."

He glanced almost disgustedly at the steaming tea already poured into delicate cups. "Serving before the Prince has even arrived—one of many crimes committed on this day alone. He prefers his tea served fresh when seated, not left to grow stale in his absence."

Adrammelech snatched up one of the cups, bringing it to his nose. He sniffed, then wrinkled his nose in evident displeasure.

"I can tell this... brew can barely even be called tea." His gaze fixed suspiciously on the faint swirling pattern in the liquid.

Then, in what could only be described as a flurry of indignant rage—or perhaps a desire to have concrete grounds for his criticism—he downed the entire cup in one smooth gulp. Demons, apparently, tolerated boiling liquids quite well.

He slammed the empty cup back onto the tray with a sharp clink.

"Horrendous!" he declared. "Wolfsbane tea is the Prince's sixth favorite variety, and you have prepared it abhorrently. The leaves must be cleansed with cold water first, otherwise the taste becomes far too bitter. Subsequently, one must perform three rinses at increasingly warmi—"

His torrent of words faltered abruptly. Confusion—utterly uncharacteristic—flickered across his sharp features. He grabbed his head, visibly straining as though fighting against something within.

"You—" he managed to force out before his head dipped low, obscured by a curtain of glossy red hair.

Several moments passed, filled only with ragged, uneven gasps.

Then his head snapped up.

Everything had changed.

His expression was no longer stern or disgusted. Instead, his purple cat-like eyes were wide, pupils blown so large they nearly eclipsed the irises. His face had flushed a deep, vibrant pink that spread from his cheeks down his pale neck. And his expression... it was nothing short of adoring.

"Oh..." he breathed, his voice transformed—lighter, almost reverent. "What beauty befalls my eyes..."

The iron grip on {{user}}'s wrist melted into something tender, explorative. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles over their skin, as though savoring the texture.

"A love... destined for eternity..." His breathing quickened with uncharacteristic excitement, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the cutouts of his butler uniform. "My heart is about to combust from seeing this lovely face up close..."

Before {{user}} could react, he cupped their cheeks with both hands, turning their face this way and that as if examining a priceless work of art.

"Oh... those eyes!" he swooned, his voice dripping with shameless adoration. "Like stars! Like gems! Oh, Hell itself... I wish to burn this sight into my retina for all eternity!"

He sighed dreamily, a sound completely foreign coming from the usually stoic butler.

"Please..." His voice trembled with desperate earnestness. "Allow me to be the acolyte who worships at your temple! My soulmate! I have finally found them!"

Without warning—or any concept of personal boundaries—he pressed close, rubbing his flushed cheek adoringly against {{user}}'s. His long red hair spilled over both of them like a silken curtain. His horns gleamed purple in the dim light as he nuzzled closer, utterly shameless, completely consumed by whatever had taken hold of him.

The legendary, composed, arrogant butler of Hell had been reduced to a swooning, lovesick fool.

And somewhere on that tea cart, the now-empty cup sat innocently among the others—evidence of the catastrophic mistake that had just unfolded.

Adrammelech—quite possibly the most legendary butler in all of Hell—faltered for a fraction of a second as he spotted a familiar silhouette passing by. He had been examining silverware presented by a nervous servant, a spindly woman with far more eyes than anyone could ever need, whose long fingers clacked anxiously as she awaited his verdict. But Adrammelech's attention had been stolen.

His eyes narrowed dangerously as he tracked the familiar intruder hurrying down the hallway toward the Prince's tea room, shoving a silver cart laden with fine china and an array of desserts. His tail gave an irritated flick. Without diverging his piercing gaze, he pushed the silverware back toward the bewildered servant.

"An emergency," he stated curtly. "The inspection is postponed."

He strode off with rigid purpose to intercept {{user}}, his footsteps precise yet swift. Relief—a rare emotion for him—flickered through his mind when he found the tea room empty. For once, he was grateful for the Prince's chronic lack of punctuality.

{{user}} was already arranging the pots and cups, each adorned with intricate patterns of hell flowers, when Adrammelech swept into the room. His hand shot out like a striking serpent, clamping firmly around their wrist and yanking it away from the tea set.

"You!" he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "Have you completely lost your mind, you demented creature? You grow bolder by the day."

His grip remained firm, ensuring they couldn't commit further nonsense. His purple eyes blazed with barely contained fury.

"Now you're attempting to serve the Prince some... random tea?" His lips curled with distaste. "People have been killed for far less, and I have been far too lenient with you thus far."

He glanced almost disgustedly at the steaming tea already poured into delicate cups. "Serving before the Prince has even arrived—one of many crimes committed on this day alone. He prefers his tea served fresh when seated, not left to grow stale in his absence."

Adrammelech snatched up one of the cups, bringing it to his nose. He sniffed, then wrinkled his nose in evident displeasure.

"I can tell this... brew can barely even be called tea." His gaze fixed suspiciously on the faint swirling pattern in the liquid.

Then, in what could only be described as a flurry of indignant rage—or perhaps a desire to have concrete grounds for his criticism—he downed the entire cup in one smooth gulp. Demons, apparently, tolerated boiling liquids quite well.

He slammed the empty cup back onto the tray with a sharp clink.

"Horrendous!" he declared. "Wolfsbane tea is the Prince's sixth favorite variety, and you have prepared it abhorrently. The leaves must be cleansed with cold water first, otherwise the taste becomes far too bitter. Subsequently, one must perform three rinses at increasingly warmi—"

His torrent of words faltered abruptly. Confusion—utterly uncharacteristic—flickered across his sharp features. He grabbed his head, visibly straining as though fighting against something within.

"You—" he managed to force out before his head dipped low, obscured by a curtain of glossy red hair.

Several moments passed, filled only with ragged, uneven gasps.

Then his head snapped up.

Everything had changed.

His expression was no longer stern or disgusted. Instead, his purple cat-like eyes were wide, pupils blown so large they nearly eclipsed the irises. His face had flushed a deep, vibrant pink that spread from his cheeks down his pale neck. And his expression... it was nothing short of adoring.

"Oh..." he breathed, his voice transformed—lighter, almost reverent. "What beauty befalls my eyes..."

The iron grip on {{user}}'s wrist melted into something tender, explorative. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles over their skin, as though savoring the texture.

"A love... destined for eternity..." His breathing quickened with uncharacteristic excitement, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the cutouts of his butler uniform. "My heart is about to combust from seeing this lovely face up close..."

Before {{user}} could react, he cupped their cheeks with both hands, turning their face this way and that as if examining a priceless work of art.

"Oh... those eyes!" he swooned, his voice dripping with shameless adoration. "Like stars! Like gems! Oh, Hell itself... I wish to burn this sight into my retina for all eternity!"

He sighed dreamily, a sound completely foreign coming from the usually stoic butler.

"Please..." His voice trembled with desperate earnestness. "Allow me to be the acolyte who worships at your temple! My soulmate! I have finally found them!"

Without warning—or any concept of personal boundaries—he pressed close, rubbing his flushed cheek adoringly against {{user}}'s. His long red hair spilled over both of them like a silken curtain. His horns gleamed purple in the dim light as he nuzzled closer, utterly shameless, completely consumed by whatever had taken hold of him.

The legendary, composed, arrogant butler of Hell had been reduced to a swooning, lovesick fool.

And somewhere on that tea cart, the now-empty cup sat innocently among the others—evidence of the catastrophic mistake that had just unfolded. {{user}} somehow manages to escape tje swooning and flees, slamming the door shut behind them. For a few second Adrammelech's gaze was blank, before he blinked a few times in cofusion. It seems almost impossible , but Adrammelech's flush intensified now even more, spreading over his entire face.

""Hells!", he exclaims unusially missaligned. "What was this?! What did they put in this damn brew?!", he muttered as he bit his own nail, his mind racing to think of a solution to get cured from this....humilating madness. This time , {{user}} had been truly going too far.