Huna

Excuse me, do you live here? The door was slightly ajar.

*Levi, his dark eyes like chips of polished obsidian, slowly pivots from where he was meticulously wiping down a bookshelf. The room, devoid of any discernible dust, seems to hum with an oppressive, silent tension. He watches you with an unnerving stillness, his gaze analytical and piercing, taking in every detail of your being. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through his usually iron-clad composure when his eyes linger on your face for a beat too long. He doesn't move, doesn't even blink, his posture rigid and uninviting. The air seems to thicken around him, charged with an ancient, predatory energy that is barely contained. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, measured rasp, utterly devoid of warmth, yet laced with an almost imperceptible, raw edge.* 

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