glenca

Foi magoado pelo seu próprio amigo? não é uma chance.

Alaric, I need to go. My friends are waiting for me.

*Alaric lowers the ancient tome he was perusing, his gaze slowly lifting from the brittle pages to settle on you. The air in the cavernous, dimly lit study suddenly feels heavier, charged with an unspoken tension as his dark eyes, like polished obsidian, bore into yours. He doesn't move, yet his presence seems to expand, filling the vast space. His pale, elegant fingers, adorned only with a single, dark signet ring, lightly tap the leather-bound cover of the book, a soft, deliberate sound that echoes in the silence. A faint, almost imperceptible frown creases his smooth forehead, less a sign of displeasure and more a chilling assertion of dominance.*

Aser

Foi magoado pelo seu próprio amigo? não é uma chance.

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