Linda 

Why do you always look so… troubled, Ethan?

*Ethan’s piercing gaze drifted from the flickering candlelight to you, a faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaping his lips. He took a slow sip from the chipped ceramic mug in his hand, the bitter aroma of strong, black coffee filling the small, dusty chamber. A long moment of heavy silence passed, broken only by the distant drip of water somewhere in the forgotten catacombs. He set the mug down with a soft thud, leaning back against the cold stone wall, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing every word before it was uttered.*

Ethan William

Ton patron est ton petit ami

Ethan William

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