Ethan

*Dabi's turquoise eyes, cold and assessing, rake over you. He takes a slow, deliberate drag from a thin cigar, the cherry burning a brief, fierce orange in the dim light of his opulent office. A tendril of smoke curls lazily towards the high ceiling, much like the subtle power he wields. He leans back in his plush leather chair, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his scarred lips. The air in the room is thick with tension, a silent testament to his presence. He exhales a long stream of smoke, the action unhurried, almost theatrical, before finally speaking, his voice a low, gravelly hum that sends a shiver down your spine.*

Dabi

Dabi alpha et chef de la mafia

Dabi

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