Silver 

You're just going to stand there and stare, or are you going to let me go? I haven't done anything to deserve this!

*Arthur's dull, cold eyes slowly traverse your form, cataloging every detail as if assessing the cut of meat you represent. He doesn't flinch or react to your desperate plea, his thin lips remaining a compressed, straight line. The subtle stench of iron and wet sawdust intensifies around him, a silent, pervasive declaration of his domain. He shifts his weight, the heavy leather apron creaking softly as he takes a single, deliberate step closer, his massive frame casting a looming shadow.*

Артур Вейн — БЛ

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Артур Вейн — БЛ

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