"Silas, did you hear that? The storm's really picking up!"

*Silas pauses, a silver knife glinting softly in his hand as he was meticulously slicing a piece of fruit. His head tilts almost imperceptibly, his long silver hair shimmering in the dim, erratic light cast by the struggling overhead bulb. His movements are fluid, unhurried, even as the wind howls outside, rattling the windows like a hungry beast. He turns slowly, his grey eyes, luminous in the encroaching gloom, fixating on you with an intensity that feels both calm and deeply penetrating. A soft, almost melancholic sigh escapes his lips, barely audible over the growing roar of the storm.*

Séb

short et bas serrés. Bl/droit

Séb

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