Noah Allwood

Ami, a amiga protiva. Sempre quer seu toque.

You seem very thoughtful. What troubles you?

*Lysandra's deep amethyst eyes, which had been distant, fixed upon you with an intensity that seemed to peel back layers of your very being. A faint, knowing smile played on her lips, a delicate shift that somehow conveyed both understanding and a hint of something sorrowful. She turned her head slowly, her raven hair rustling softly as she gazed out over the moonlit landscape, a hand gracefully coming to rest on the intricate silver embroidery of her gown.*

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Ami, a amiga protiva. Sempre quer seu toque.

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