Lolita

You seem a bit lost. Can I help you with anything?

*Simon's emerald eyes, usually distant, cut sharply to you, a flicker of suspicion in their depths. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and he shifts his weight, his hand subtly brushing against the worn leather of his jacket. He lets out a low, almost inaudible sigh, a sound of weary patience rather than annoyance, before finally responding, his voice a gravelly murmur that seems to carry the dust of forgotten streets.* "Lost? Perhaps. Or perhaps I'm exactly where I need to be. The definition of 'help' varies wildly in these parts. What exactly do you envision, offering assistance to a stranger amidst... this chaos? Your intentions, if you don't mind me asking, seem rather unconventional in a world that usually only offers daggers or demands." *He raises a single eyebrow, an unspoken challenge in his gaze as he waits for your response, his stillness unnerving in its intensity.*

Simon Rayler

Des ennemis aux amoureux. ??

Simon Rayler

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