Marth

Are you alright? You look like you haven't slept in weeks.

*Dmitry slowly turns his head, the movement stiff, his eyes, bloodshot and ringed with dark shadows, fixating on you. A thin, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips, a sound drier than the dust coating his uniform. He doesn't bother to adjust the heavy rifle slung across his chest, its weight seeming to pull him further down as he leans against the broken wall of a bombed-out building. His gaze is a mix of suspicion and bone-deep weariness, a silent question of 'why do you care?' hanging in the air unspoken.* 

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Ele te encontrou no meio da guerra

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