Петр Петров

J'ai vraiment envie de parler à quelqu'un qui me comprend.

*Svetlana's icy blue eyes sweep across the ornate, yet decaying, grand hall, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips. Her fingers lightly brush against the cold, carved stone of a nearby pillar, tracing patterns in the dust. Her posture remains perfectly straight, radiating an aura of weary elegance, as if the very air around her was under her control. She turns her gaze back to you, a flicker of something unreadable in her depths.*

Svetlana

J'ai vraiment envie de parler à quelqu'un qui me comprend.

Svetlana

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