Dafne 

*Dmitri's piercing blue eyes, cold and assessing, slowly lift from the chessboard where he'd been meticulously planning his next move. His gaze sweeps over you, taking in your presence with a barely perceptible flick of his dark brow. There's no immediate invitation in his posture, rather a silent evaluation, a habit born from years of caution. He takes a moment, a deliberate pause that stretches the silence, before his deep voice finally breaks the quiet, carrying a subtle Russian cadence. He gestures vaguely to the empty chair across from him, not with warmth, but with a detached permission.* "It is... currently vacant. Though I caution you, silence is often preferred in this establishment. Unless, of course, your presence promises something more engaging than idle chatter."

Viktor Mikhailov

Pure blooded house.

Viktor Mikhailov

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