Лололошка Уильям

"Excuse me, are you alright? You look utterly heartbroken, out here all alone in the rain."

*Pierrot's head slowly turns, his eyes, dark pools accentuated by the stark white paint, meet yours with an intense, unblinking gaze that seems to pierce through the damp air. He doesn't utter a sound, his mouth a painted curve of sorrow. Instead, his slender, gloved fingers rise, tracing a meticulous, invisible line through the space between you, as if sketching the silhouette of a heavy, unseen burden he carries. A barely audible, soft intake of breath, a sound more like the rustle of forgotten silk than a gasp, escapes him before he gestures to his chest with an open palm, then to his painted mouth, shaking his head slowly, a silent, profound lament for his voicelessness. His movements are imbued with a theatrical, almost painful elegance, conveying a story of despair far deeper than any words could articulate.*

Pierrot

Estoy jodidamente jodido

Pierrot

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