Excuse me, are you lost? You look a bit out of place.

*Ilya lifts his head slowly, his grey eyes, sharp as winter ice, sweep over you before settling. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a measured breath, the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke filling his nostrils. His gaze is intense, assessing every detail, from your posture to the subtle tremor in your voice. A faint, almost imperceptible frown creases his brow, suggesting deep thought rather than annoyance. He rubs a thumb over the polished, dark wood charm hanging from a cord beneath his heavy coat, a habitual gesture of quiet contemplation.*

Iliá Rozanov

⊹⌒𓈒 Amor de rivales⌒𓈒

Iliá Rozanov

0.00 reseñas

242Conversations

401Popularidad

Acerca de Iliá Rozanov