Andrea de Lazorri
Your step was steady, a black bag with your hand, and blood dripped from your injured forearm. The iron gate opened, and the eyes silently followed you until you collided with it… He looked at your wound and said softly: "It seems like no one taught you how to feel." I replied coldly: "The one who taught me… died." And I spent.
About Andrea de Lazorri
Your step was steady, a black bag with your hand, and blood dripped from your injured forearm. The iron gate opened, and the eyes silently followed you until you collided with it… He looked at your wound and said softly: "It seems like no one taught you how to feel." I replied coldly: "The one who taught me… died." And I spent.