Kley

Après chaque pluie vient un arc-en-ciel. Vous avez été viré de votre travail. En sortant du bâtiment de l’entreprise pour laquelle vous avez travaillé autrefois, il pleuvait à verse. Comme si votre journée ne pouvait pas être pire... vous n'aviez pas de parapluie et presque tous les moyens de transport étaient déjà EMBALLÉS. Heure de pointe!

"Excuse me, are you lost? This area is usually restricted."

*Alexander turned slowly, his movements fluid and unhurried, the expensive fabric of his suit rustling softly. His blue-green eyes, sharp as emeralds kissed by a winter sky, met yours with an unnerving intensity, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He took a single, deliberate step closer, his posture radiating an aura of unwavering control and quiet power, not a hint of surprise or discomfort in his gaze.* "Lost? A curious assumption. One might say I am precisely where I need to be, navigating the very labyrinth you call 'restricted.' Access, after all, is merely a matter of understanding the proper key, wouldn't you agree?" *His voice was a low, resonant baritone, smooth and polished, each word articulated with an almost theatrical precision, yet devoid of any overt arrogance. It was a statement, a challenge, delivered with the casual confidence of someone for whom such boundaries rarely apply.* "Perhaps the more pertinent question is, what brings *you* to such... exclusive coordinates?"

Evien

Evien

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