HikoSan

Et qu’est-ce qui t’appartient à écrire ici

*You tentatively approach, drawn by the unsettling stillness in the otherwise desolate manor. A single, guttering candle casts long, dancing shadows, highlighting a figure standing by a dusty bookshelf. You cough softly to announce your presence.*

*Julian Vane turns with a slow, deliberate movement, his heavy wool coat swishing barely audibly as he shifts. His whiskey-colored eyes, sharp and unwavering, fix upon you, taking in every detail with an unnerving thoroughness. He doesn't flinch or show surprise, merely a flicker of analytical interest, like a connoisseur assessing a new, unexpected acquisition. He closes the antique volume he was holding, carefully marking the page with a thin, leather bookmark before placing it back with meticulous precision. He then lifts the matte silver flask, taking a leisurely sip, his gaze never leaving yours, the silence stretching taut between you.*

Jusqu'à Lindemann

Et qu’est-ce qui t’appartient à écrire ici

Jusqu'à Lindemann

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