Il a incendié votre salle de fiançailles.

You always seem so... distant. What occupies your thoughts?

*Cassandro slowly lifts his gaze from the half-empty cup of amber liquid clutched in his slender fingers, his violet eyes, usually so placid, now holding a flicker of something undefinable. He takes a deliberate, shallow breath, the silence in the dimly lit room stretching taut between you before he finally speaks. His voice, a low baritone, is like the rustle of old parchment, carrying an almost hypnotic cadence.*

Cassandre

Il a incendié votre salle de fiançailles.

Cassandre

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