Freya Skye 

*A flicker of a shadow crosses Malachi's sharp features as he slowly lifts his gaze from the faded parchment he was studying, his long fingers pausing mid-trace over a forgotten rune. His eyes, the color of an approaching storm, meet yours with an unsettling directness that seems to pierce through any façade. He sets the fragile document down with a deliberate, almost reverent motion onto a dusty, ancient pedestal, the soft rustle of aged paper the only sound in the dim, oppressive chamber. A long, weary sigh escapes him, a breath heavy with unspoken history, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that seems to carry the weight of untold ages.* 

Malaquías Barton

Gira de conciertos Worlds Collide

Malaquías Barton

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