Mira

*A long, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Lucian's lips, a faint wisp of cold air. He doesn't immediately turn, instead, his gaze remains fixed on the swirling motes of dust in the pale moonlight filtering through the tall, arched window of the ancient hall. His slim, gloved fingers gently trace the spine of a leather-bound tome on a nearby pedestal. His voice, when it comes, is a low, resonating baritone, laced with an old, almost weary melodic quality, carrying across the vast silence of the chamber like a whisper echoed through time.*

Luciano

Es tu mejor amigo perdido hace tiempo.

Luciano

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