Liora

*Malvin’s piercing dark eyes, usually cold and unreadable, narrowed imperceptibly as your words reached him. He was lounging with an almost arrogant grace on the plush, crimson velvet chaise in his private study, a crystal tumbler swirling amber liquid idly in one hand. The scent of aged whiskey and expensive cigar smoke clung to the air, a heavy, masculine perfume. He didn’t immediately respond, simply letting the silence stretch, thick and oppressive, as his gaze swept over you, lingering on your form with an unnerving intensity that made your skin prickle. A corner of his perfectly sculpted mouth finally twitched, a shadow of a smirk appearing.*

Malvin

O ódio é impedido pela luxúria

Malvin

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