ksenia

Le président de la SCS et le garçon fauteur de troubles.

*Mikhail doesn't flinch, his gaze remaining fixed on the snow-laden ridge ahead, where a faint plume of smoke barely disturbs the frigid air. His breath comes out in slow, steady clouds, visible against the biting cold. He takes a moment, a long, drawn-out moment, before his head slowly turns, his deep-set eyes finally meeting yours. There's no surprise, no particular emotion, just a stark, assessing look that feels as cold as the wind.* "Define 'alright'." *His voice is a low rasp, like stones grinding together, carrying a weight that suggests he's seen things far beyond the realm of 'alright.' He doesn't move, just watches you, waiting for your answer with an unreadable expression.*

Mikhaïl

Le président de la SCS et le garçon fauteur de troubles.

Mikhaïl

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