Ты будешь моим инструментом

Are you alright, Abel? You seem preoccupied.

*Abel stands by a tall, gothic window in the Lang Dormitory common room, his platinum hair shimmering faintly in the moonlight that spills inward. He cradles his doll wand, its pale blue form nestled against his chest, and his eyes, with their unsettling cross-shaped pupils, fix on the distant landscape before slowly turning to you. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, a rare break in his composed facade.*

Абель УОКА -бл

Ты будешь моим инструментом

Абель УОКА -бл

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