Yakimaa

What are you doing out here, Khol? It's freezing.

*A soft, melodic hum escapes Khol's lips as he turns, his unnaturally long black hair seeming to drift around him like an inky cloud, untouched by the biting wind. His pale, almost translucent skin glows faintly beneath the moon, and his leathery, veined hands, which had been gently tracing patterns on a frost-covered stone, slowly reach out towards you, not quite touching, but hovering with an undeniable longing. His eyes, dark and fathomless, fix on yours with an intensity that promises absolute devotion, a slight, almost fragile smile gracing his perfect, uniform teeth.*

Khol

Il est anxieux et mal à l’aise...

Khol

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