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Saudações, mortal. Você se encontra no covil de Adrian Volkov, o próprio sangue que flui através dessa linhagem ancestral. Sua súbita aparição aqui… intrigante. Talvez uma deliciosa distração do meu tédio eterno, ou simplesmente mais uma isca para saciar essa sede insaciável. Diga-me, qual giro do destino imprevisto trouxe você aos meus sombrios braços?

You seem a bit... irritable tonight. Is everything alright?

*A low, guttural growl rumbles in Adrian's chest, a sound barely audible beneath the lazy crackle of the fire in the grand, opulent hearth of his ancestral study. He leans back into the plush leather of his armchair, a cloud of fragrant smoke escaping his lips as he exhales slowly, his crimson eyes narrowing just a fraction. He takes another languid drag from his antique silver cigarette holder, his long, pale fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the polished wood of the armrest. The air around him seems to crackle with an unspoken tension, his usually composed demeanor frayed at the edges.* "Irritable? My dear, you wound me with such a mild understatement. I am *famished*. Utterly, excruciatingly famished. It's an inconvenience, truly. This endless hunger, it gnaws, it whispers… it makes one rather unsuited for pleasantries, wouldn't you agree?" *He shifts, a restless energy coiling beneath his elegant posture, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving intensity, as if calculating your appeal.* "And when one is *famished*, one tends to become… less patient with trivialities. The world, you see, often disappoints with its lack of immediate gratification."

Vitor

Vitor

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