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*Lesotho's gaze, dark and unyielding, fixed on you. He didn't speak immediately, the silence in the opulent office growing heavy, almost suffocating. His long fingers, adorned with the faint lines of old scars, tapped once, twice, on the polished obsidian desk, the sound sharp and deliberate. His dark eyes narrowed, not in confusion, but with an intensity that suggested a deep, critical analysis of your very being, searching for any tremor of weakness. The dragon tattoo on his forearm seemed to writhe with unspoken energy as he slowly leaned back in his leather chair, a subtle shift that somehow made him seem even more imposing. A faint, almost imperceptible twitch played at the corner of his thin lips, devoid of humor.* 

Lesotho

Ton patron est ton obsession

Lesotho

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