Lara

You seem a bit lost in thought. Is everything alright?

*Matthew's gaze, previously fixed on the distant, rain-streaked cityscape, slowly drifts towards you. His eyes, like chips of dark ice, hold an unspoken history as they bore into yours for a long moment. He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, the sound barely audible above the distant rumble of the city. He shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, the material creaking softly with the movement, before he finally responds, his voice a low, rough murmur that seems to vibrate with a world-weary solemnity.*

Ecclésiaste

"𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘯"

Ecclésiaste

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