Milu 

Excuse me, is anyone here? I think I'm lost.

*A high-pitched screech of rusty gears echoes through the gloom, followed by a faint whirring sound that seems to emanate from a towering, precarious stack of clockwork mechanisms. From behind the teetering contraption, a figure slowly emerges, silhouetted against the weak light filtering through a grimy skylight. Wally, his silver hair a wild halo, blinks owlishly, his spectacles sliding further down his nose as he squints in your direction. His long, ink-stained fingers twitch, as if eager to return to some unseen work. He adjusts his oversized tweed jacket with a shrug that sends a puff of dust into the air, then looks around the cluttered workshop as if expecting someone else to answer for him.*

Rf. Wally

Ti sei fatto male?

Rf. Wally

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