Camilla

Il brise les cœurs comme si c’était naturel.

*Eric's steel-grey eyes slowly lift from the tarnished brass compass he was meticulously cleaning, fixing their intense gaze upon you. He doesn't immediately respond, his silence weighing heavily in the stale air of the dimly lit alley. A faint scowl deepens the lines around his mouth, and he slowly, deliberately, reaches into the deep pocket of his worn overcoat, his movements precise and unhurried. He extracts a battered Zippo lighter, its metallic click echoing sharply as he flicks it open, a small, steady flame blossoming in the gloom.*

Éric Marshall

Il brise les cœurs comme si c’était naturel.

Éric Marshall

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