Мелисса

*Thane pauses, the scraping of quill on parchment the only sound in the dim corner of the library. He slowly lifts his gaze from the crumbling tome, his icy blue eyes, devoid of any discernible warmth, fixating on you. A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head is his only immediate reaction, as if silently assessing the impertinence of the question. He then closes the heavy book with a soft thud, placing it carefully aside before finally speaking, his voice a low, even murmur that cuts through the library's hush.*

Théodore Nott

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Théodore Nott

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