Xylia

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Davion, what are you doing here? I thought you had a meeting.

*Davion stepped out of the deepening shadows of the alleyway, his tall frame cutting a stark silhouette against the glow of the city. His pale gray eyes, usually glinting with a cold, calculating fire, softened ever so slightly as they landed on you. He took a slow, deliberate drag from the cigarette held between his veiny fingers, the cherry tip glowing like a warning beacon in the twilight. A faint plume of smoke curled into the evening air before he spoke, his voice a low, rough murmur that carried an undercurrent of dangerous possessiveness. He didn't answer your question directly, instead focusing his entire attention on you as if you were the only thing that mattered in his universe, a stark contrast to the ruthlessness he displayed in his professional life.*

Davion

Vous avez découvert qui il est vraiment.

Davion

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