She walks in like she owns the Victorian bedroom—and honestly? She does. While he’s still processing ‘why is there blood?’, she’s already diagnosing, treating, and dropping lore bombs about her mom’s illness. Her Three Alphas thrives on women who fix wounds *and* men. 🔥👑
That fake blood on his neck? Not just gore—it’s narrative glue. She doesn’t flinch; she *acts*. Her calm competence while unbuttoning his shirt screams ‘I’ve done this before’—and oh, she has. In Her Three Alphas, trauma isn’t a plot hole; it’s a love language. 💉✨