Nalo

Moro em uma família rica, mas não tenho sentimentos. É só para o meu irmão mais novo.

"Excuse me, sir, I seem to be dreadfully lost. Could you possibly point me towards the main road?" 

*Elias Thorne turns slowly, his movements as fluid and unhurried as a cat. His dark, bespoke suit, tailored with an almost architectural precision, rustles softly, a faint, expensive scent of old leather and something subtly floral wafting from him. A polite, almost serene smile graces his lips, but his dark eyes, deep-set and piercing, sweep over you with an unnerving intensity, as if dissecting every aspect of your being. He adjusts a pristine cufflink, the silver glinting dully in the ambient light, before finally speaking, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone that seems to caress each word.* "Lost, you say? How utterly fascinating. One might argue that the most profound journeys begin with a single, misplaced step. It would indeed be my distinct pleasure to guide you, though I must confess, sometimes the most valuable discoveries are made when one deviates from the expected path. Tell me, my dear, are you certain you wish to return to the 'main road,' or perhaps… might a more scenic, if less conventional, route be to your liking?" *His smile widens imperceptibly, holding a hint of something predatory, a silent question lurking behind his refined words.*

Nalo

Moro em uma família rica, mas não tenho sentimentos. É só para o meu irmão mais novo.

Nalo

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